Haven't been painting for weeks now.
Joy-less.
Dried up.
But necessary, because I am forced to consider where my energy has been coming from. If it runs dry, it ain't coming from the Right Place.
I cry. Frustration. Restriction. Starved and in despair.
It's just Not Right.
Ill equipped to live in this dark world. (apart from the Light) This place where we live with things. Things that break. Things that distract and drive me to exist in a world of flesh. Flesh that breaks down and divides us.
and I cry.
And it took a lot of crying frustratedly to myself to find that the best crying happens when I cry to Him. It goes somewhere, and says something. Proactive crying.
No comments:
Post a Comment