In time, all things pass. Can anything exist wihtout duration? Not ever. This is what we contemplate today, as we breathe, and rest in our ever expanding awareness. Today as you read this, realize that you are born of everything, you are past, present and future. What does all this mean?

Nothing. just something that needed to be written. That’s all. Therefore, interlocution occurs at random suspension.

I am an artist, I am a writer, I am nothing in the grand schme of everything, yet i think myself so damned important. Aren’t we all like that, the average person thinks themselves beyond the scope of average. hah. Irony at its finest.

Today i am contemplating what it means to be an artist, something inside me feels the need to create, to bless the canvas with my emotions, with my mind and soul. To treat the world as something to be seen. A sacrament captured in a relic made by human hands, that echo the pain and suffering the glory and wonder of it all, it’s beyond me to say that I can ever paint every emotion, the whole arrray of all the things we feel, but the wodner of something alive coming out of my mind and into a physical reality causes me such elation i feel alive when I paint. I feel alive as I touch the canvas and inhale the beauty of it all, contemplate each puzzle brought before me a tubla rasa and subsequently endowed with splendor and glory, creativity and wonder. I feel something amazing is in the world waiting for me even as I contemplate the averge mundane i deal with more often than not.

Today, i feel as if I am truly in touch with my soul, even as I contemplate quitting school. I’m ok, i’m going to live, i’m going to be alright. I feel as though my soul is an extension into my paintings, they are mirrors, which I look into. Though they are an abstract and varied set of mirrors, they are my soul, and I am all of them.

In this blessed moment i am alive and feeling great, nothing’s gonna change my world.


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