Open space is unlimited. Guilty. Who will be paying time, paying penitence? Is penitence what any of us need? I just need a few simple things to trust. What will help time stop slipping through my fingers?
Going their own way all minds meet in that center of the void where they each separately awaken with core energy filling the room, re-dreaming someone else’s dreams left behind. Collective thought lay somewhere near. It is unique to them, the small I and the big I. Where do I to find the pieces?
Parts have been measured out in mugs of paint and cans of coffee and in the breaking of a porcelain toothpick holder in the shape of an iron, in the bondage of short days wishing for spring while savoring winters work. Measured by helping stray animal and orphaned colors no one else would give a second look to. Dying the fabric of results and covering the wounds that the product exposes even as the processes’ pain is hidden from my view. Finding others to hold up even as I kick aside my own work and lose myself for moments at a time only to round the corner to find that I never left my own private studio. Creativity has never been a convenient thing. It does not enable super human strength, assuage the need for sleep or automatically come with a paycheck. It dwells in the deepest part of the pile with its head and hands exposed, ever waving for attention with a slow burn that is never exhausted nor satisfied.
Is someone haranguing salvation really what we need?
The fugitive kind, the ones that got away. A fish story? Everyone’s got one. Surrender is a powerful tool. Surrender physical, eventually the mind will follow.
I do go on.