It is Autumn.
Besides all the world-things happening in the world, I must do something to my world. It is Autumn and has become a little …… boring.
I have always had an unsatisfied feeling in my soul, but now that my Mother has passed away, it is really looking me in the face and smirking, “HELLLOOO….”.
I have to do something with my Autumn . Maybe have a mini retreat. I must go to some coffee shop and sit with a couple of coffees and truly look at myself and the world. I must research, get ideas, bounce things off the wall, read, talk, laugh, spit and breathe in huge amounts of something to fill me up in order to become creative again. I guess part of this melancholy comes from the turning of leaves, pretending to be cheerful with their bright colours, knowing that it is their time to share in Autumn death.
I feel challenged and listen to a bell gently beating, “BONG, BONG, BONG …. BONG”. Then my soul sighs, turns around. Where o where am I being called from? I used to be the arrow that flies and hits its mark. Where o where is my mark? Even my art says , “Where o WHAT?”
The brushes get tired and split open, worn out by streaking over the canvas.
When you say, “This is right.” – that becomes old wooden, worn out chairs – in that spot, that space – never to be moved again. Hear this now:
CLEAR THE AIR
CLEAN THE SKIES
TAKE THE SKIN FROM THE BONES
TAKE THE BONE FROM THE BONES
AND WASH THEM
(Murder in the Cathedral by T.S. Elliot)
It is Autumn.
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