of miracles

People usually consider walking on water a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either in water or thin air, but to walk on earth. Everyday we are engaged in a miracle we don't even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black curious eyes of a child -- our own two eyes. All is a miracle. ~ Thick Nhat Hanh

my art

But why so much inner chaos within me the past few weeks?  I trudged with tears the rolling weight of rocks, and with a liquid of loneliness that bore through the soupy marrows of my being, and with a wild child tantrum clawed around the cartilages of my bones.  It was a different woman I had no recognition of that walked the way of my body those days. Life was a spiraling blur.

-- and to Answer: I had left myself open unprotected from the vile of this world! Like a gate unhinged, every prowler seeking entry was free to do so. Vulnerable, I allowed myself to absorb all the fear, the anger, the mindless chatter of a world absorbed in negativity. It is a weakness or a strength that I easily imbibe ( with a heightened sense) the intoxicating energy of a place ( or person), pulp bits of joy and felicity or -- fitful virulent impulses, the latter so lately contagious.

But I am grateful to my angels. They are all around me, these refined creative souls who reassure, ground and center time and again. Their healing potions tucked within the power of their words, splashes of pigments, composition and sound recapture what so genuinely resides within -- miracles, magic and charm, my belief. I am most grateful for their reaching out. I am not alone. Ever.