JENNIFER THANGAVELU
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I believe that authenticity matters; hiding who we are stifles growth opportunities for the individual and collective. So in this blog I write about all things that genuinely fascinate me: art, spirituality, the puzzles of personhood--and their ongoing interplay. For some, learning the artist's thoughts contaminates the experience of the art, and I respect that. It might be best to avoid this blog and visit only my gallery pages. Personally I can't get enough of the stories, ideas, and people behind art, so this blog is most appropriate for an audience similarly curious and open-minded, and who won't take offense at challenging perspectives and taboo topics. It's especially for those who are aware they're undergoing a spiritual awakening and seek to feel less alone in that process. I wouldn't be at this better place in my life if it weren't for the wayshowers I found online who helped me understand what was happening to me and to the world, and I hope to pay it forward by doing the same for others on the awakening path. 

Poem | Wings

5/20/2022

 
Picture
Image credit: Jennifer Thangavelu

​you weren't born with them
fully formed, you know,
no dorsal petals
damp and molded 
to fetal folds you were in,
but they are with you 
within:
waiting, pale
and aching to sail
like sprouts seeking
sun
which, by the way,
They said,
avoid
They said
don't fly too close
take the middle path, my dear
it's safe
it's clear

so you did
so you sat 
so bored before the blackboard
as They harnessed you
in feathered wax

yet
as rays slid between blinds
you could read between lines:
every time a 
(school)
bell rings, an angel gets their wings
(clipped)

and still your own true two
bore upward
drilling through layers
of fascia and fascism,
scapula and scorn
you've learned to live torn
from the inside

do you know why Icarus fell,
wracked with sorrow?
can't you see, child,
his wings were borrowed
from bee and bird?
haven't you heard
a feather's only fetter when false?

those swelling bruises on your back
someday will crack
as regiments of fine filament
in one hustling rush thrash through flesh and flash
into iridescent crescents
humming, warming
in the sun

Come closer
sings that sphere of siren fire
as you rise to the skies
there is nothing to fear
in joy of flight or threat of sear
for child, know this:
the cosmos can only kneel
to the true,
to the real

- Jennifer Thangavelu

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  • Gallery
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    • Formation
    • Of No Mind
    • Cetacean
    • Spheres of Influence
    • Desert Monsoon
    • Wild
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  • About
  • Contact