darkmother

I want to believe.  New beginnings, clean slates, tabula rasa.  Instead I feel entombed in my own crap – belongings, messes, baggage, history.  The task – to transform this into something workable.  A friend said that there was a “mad sadness” to my eyes – a “spark that had not found it’s fuel”.  But this is the fuel.  This stuff around me.  This “mess”.  And if I were, if I ever could be, an alchemist, a magician – then my task is to transform this into a life – to bring beauty out of the chaos.  Pattern recognition is not difficult.  It is learning to pick out the ones that bring joy and beauty.  That sustain life.  That fuel the fire.

Ignite.