Prologue

I’ll be okay one day, when the back and forth of my weaving has settled into more reasonable limits. When talent can find its clear channel, when I can’t be oppressed by the nature of others, when beauty’s all I know. I’m working again on a collection - little scraps of happiness, little eruptions of quirkiness, morsels of sweetest clarity and thankfulness. Start another page, another canvas, another paragraph, and when a library tall as the oak trees is finished, I hope only to have found my real self in the process. When a collection begins, so suddenly does all life have meaning, but can excitement cloud my vision? I think I fear that all I surround myself with will blind me to some simple Truth waiting on reality’s plain stage for my gaudy curtains to rise. Without trust, though, my journey can never really begin, and once more my ramblings have led me to the point where I must recognize the omnipotence of Creation’s Laws. Should the path stumble down rocky crevasses, whatever I then reap will tell the tale, and I pray I be awake enough to hear a warning cry. Back and forth, gallantry and modesty, expressive and reclusive, fool-hardy and world-weary; find the middle, find happiness. All you have to do is what you can, all you have to think is what can be better, all you have to live is what you are now, and keep flying.

Drawing: The other side of my heart - hellobaby