An Author’s Journal Reflection
By Michael J. Beery
There is a particular joy in being inspired.
It can arrive unexpectedly through a conversation, a walk through the woods, a moment of silence, a beautiful piece of music, or the words of another writer.
Sometimes inspiration brings laughter. Sometimes wonder. Sometimes an overwhelming sense of gratitude for simply being alive and having the freedom to express what moves within us.
And sometimes, inspiration hurts.
I am currently reading Andrea Freeman’s Ruin Their Crops on the Ground: The Politics of Food in the United States, from the Trail of Tears to School Lunch.
It is not an easy book to read.
Freeman examines how food has been used throughout American history as an instrument of power, oppression, and control. Her work confronts historical realities that can be profoundly disturbing, particularly the treatment of Indigenous peoples and the deliberate destruction of their ways of life.
As I read, I find myself experiencing anger, sadness, disbelief, and moments of genuine grief.
There are times when I need to put the book down.
Yet something else happens.
Words begin to form.
Not necessarily organized thoughts or polished poetry, but fragments of emotion searching for a way to exist outside of me.
A line appears.
Then another.
An image of blood soaking into soil beside a planted seed. The loss of ancestral lands. The silencing of songs and ceremonies. The unimaginable experience of being told that your identity, your traditions, and your understanding of the Creator must be abandoned to survive.
These images become words, and the words begin to become poetry.
I am reminded that inspiration does not always arrive bearing gifts of happiness.
Sometimes it arrives carrying a responsibility to pay attention.
Writing as a Way of Bearing Witness
I cannot change the history I am reading.
I cannot fully understand the lived experiences of those who endured it, nor would I pretend that my words could adequately represent their suffering.
But I can allow what I learn to change me.
I can refuse to look away.
And I can use the freedom I possess as a writer to explore the emotions, questions, and moral responsibilities that arise when confronting difficult truths.
Perhaps that is one of the extraordinary gifts of creative expression.
We do not have to know exactly what we think or feel before we begin writing.
Sometimes the writing itself becomes the process through which we discover those things.
A poem may begin in anger and end in compassion.
A meditation may begin in sorrow and end in gratitude.
A story may begin with a question that the author does not yet know how to answer.
And sometimes, the finished work leaves us with more questions than we had when we began.
I have come to appreciate that experience.
The Unexpected Joy of Being Moved
There is something deeply rewarding about recognizing that, even after six decades of living, learning, loving, and experiencing the world, I can still encounter something that changes the way I see it.
I can still be surprised.
I can still be humbled.
I can still be inspired to reconsider what I thought I understood.
And I can still find myself reaching for a pen because something within me refuses to remain silent.
That is a joy of writing I had not fully appreciated when I first began sharing my poetry.
Inspiration is not simply the arrival of a beautiful idea.
It is the experience of being moved deeply enough to create something from it.
Sometimes that creation is a celebration.
Sometimes it is a protest.
Sometimes it is an expression of love, forgiveness, grief, or hope.
And sometimes it is simply an attempt to make sense of being human.
An Invitation to Be Inspired
I am grateful to Andrea Freeman and to the countless writers, historians, poets, philosophers, artists, and ordinary people whose words and experiences have challenged my understanding of the world.
Not because everything they share brings me comfort.
But because they remind me that there is always more to learn, more to question, and more to understand about one another.
As I continue writing my poetry and novels, I hope never to lose the willingness to be moved by something outside my own experience.
Even when it is uncomfortable.
Especially when it is uncomfortable.
Because perhaps one of the greatest joys of inspiration is discovering that we are still capable of growing.
And perhaps one of the greatest responsibilities of a writer is to do something meaningful with what moves us.
— Michael J. Beery