Bright stars fill the sky - the sky is nothing but sequined colour but is she blue or is she black? If I make a gift, will she give it back?
Words exist suspended in mental space by a string of associations.
Every person walks with cables tied to different friends, beliefs and destinies.
Fate favours the felicitous. And the daring - so dare to be, dare to be all you can become.
Coming downstream, I see, amongst the driftwood, a parcel of bright-stars, wrapped in baroque wrapping paper and glistening in the morning light.
'What does the current bring?' I ask.
Stars that contain a nucleus of creative energy - poised to burst forth onto a half-suspecting but still slumbering world.
Bright stars that need no explanation. Bright stars that need no name. Bright stars whose face you remember, not because you have seen it before, but because the energy behind them is universal and its particularity, a call to reconnect.
They tumble into my lap, like puppies, overcome with excitement, and announce, over and over, their possibilities, and we are blinded by visions of what will come to pass.