I Can’t Call Myself a Writer. {Poem}

Via Ben Ralston
on May 28, 2015
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I can’t call myself a writer.

I’m not committed to words.

I commit to

expression

feeling

truth.

 

I’m committed to love

and the beauty and

pain of life herself.

 

Words sometimes bless me with their presence

and permit me to play with them,

and it feels damn good when they do.

 

It feels like life herself bursting forth

through me like the flower that grows

miraculously through the crack

in the concrete.

 

 

I don’t call myself a writer,

But I sure as hell can write.

 

 

 

Author: Ben Ralston

Editor: Renée Picard

Image: via the author

 


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About Ben Ralston

Ben Ralston has been practising personal development—necessity being the Mother of invention—since he was about six years old. He’s been teaching and sharing what he’s learnt along the way for a couple of decades. His main thing is Heart of Tribe retreats—whose very purpose is to help you fall back in love with life, no less. Leading these retreats alongside his woman Kara-Leah Grant—also an elephant journal writer (that’s how they met!)—they combine a deep well of lineage-based yoga teaching experience, with expertise in healing trauma and various other methods of personal development. Ben also works with clients one-on-one via Skype, writes, makes videos from time to time, and is passionate about parenting. He lives in an intentional, tribal community in the hills of Croatia, where you might find him gardening barefoot and talking to the rocks. Connect with Ben on Facebook or YouTube or check out his website for more info.

Comments

One Response to “I Can’t Call Myself a Writer. {Poem}”

  1. eighthson says:

    calling someone a writer is like calling someone a talker
    or someone who walks a walker
    writing is walking with your fingers