I’ve said, again and again

That there is no point in doing something

Unless I want to get better at it

I still say it

But what it means has changed over time

And, I dare say, continues to change

The many facets of this thing called improvement

Lie in front of me

At the outset I cannot see beyond technique

Manual skill

In pressing a note

Or wielding a paintbrush

Or honing a phrase

Or pulling gems from a book

Bogged down in technique

I run the risk of not experiencing the magic

Of pouring myself into whatever I’m trying to create

Of seeing images

Of hearing sounds

Of feeling warmth or chill

Of touching a soft, yielding, giving surface

Of the joy of friendship

Of pathos at parting

Of what resides in my heart

How do I clear this hurdle


Squelch out of the morass

No effort involved

Just allow myself to do it

And step over the fence

To wondrous pastures

To experience the joys of real improvement

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