Emily Timmer / If you can’t climb out of that tiny sphere,

Poetic Essay Written By: Emily Timmer  / Imagery By: Sunday Suppers

Commas are a breath between ideas; they are there nudging us into the yet-to-come, another clause, another phrase, one further idea, the next to be revealed.

I placed a comma just after the ‘e’ in ‘sphere,’ the final word of this post’s title.

You might have noticed.

Beyond the comma, there is more. It’s a measured pen-stroke of promise. Things aren’t finished just yet, not quite, not entirely.

I ought not make too much of grammar, but for a moment, I’ll compare the comma to our creative existence. Us, humans, little bipeds of brilliance, formed within the Breath and Utterance of the Creative Fountainhead.

Our Source is inexhaustible, but often, we eschew our creative birthright and allow a stale fist to close around our ideation.

This, I think, is a significant portion of the problem, the roadblock: we’ve settled for periods.

I mean the full-stops that shut us up. inside. staccato. rhythms. and. limits. We believe the rut in which we trudge presently, will be our rut indefinitely, enduringly. The threads of our current insecurities, doubts, and frailties stitch us into tiny. round. periods.


Blind to the expanse of our creativity, we hunker within period-encased statements.

“I can’t.”
“I don’t know how.”
“I’ve failed to often.”
“Someone else. Not me.”
“I’d make a fool of myself.”

We climb inside the full-stop. We settle there. Idle. Insecure. Uninspired.

The critic squats within us. Expanding to consume free space. Spitting skepticism. Hushing us. Our inklings, ideas, dreams.


We cease creating.

We deem ourselves incapable. Inferior. Ill-equipped. And there we camp. Within the tiny sphere of our full-stop.

No fresh wind. No whisper. No comma.

And yet,
embers still glow, still warm, requiring only breath,
an exhale,
an inhale,
fascination. The essential expression within us matters.

A turn of phrase is coming, just ahead, past the curve of the comma, there is more. Optimism meets us, breathes upon us, and provides the ladder.

We must choose to climb out that tiny sphere.

Our yes traces the curve of a comma, and carries us into freedom. Are we willing?

Caution is meant for the wind, we are meant for the comma, and the expression within us is meant to find its way out.

Write it,
Film it,
Utter it,
Paint it,

Create, And let’s give ourselves the optimism of the comma,