Melancholy eyes gaze on past creation. They are beautiful and amazing and my heart aches for the flow and natural order of it – the present momentness – of starting with nothing and somehow the world and the stars and the universe align, channel through me, move my hands.
My muse – a blessed miracle – unappreciated, maybe by others, but especially by me.
Without it I constrict, emotionally and physically, and lose that sacred connection. I’m left without a partner, a wallflower standing shadowy in the wake of the world dancing around me. Caught in a slipstream, but never creating my own.
But one can not find that which has not been lost.