Those were difficult days, my child; the questions threatened and the answers were unknown. Many lost patience or lost their hearts to fear. They feasted on anxiety and grew more afraid. They blustered and puffed, or lied and gripped dying stories in useless hands. They found their time of strange freedom overwhelming, and yearned for old prisons, gray and crushing, but known in every contour and shadow, every closed door, every shackle, and inequity.
And these were our lessons: Sit with surprising questions, or hide in ancient answers. Listen for undreamt music, or repeat tired songs. Create enchanted designs, or imitate dead patterns. Lead with powerful compassion, or follow cruel oppression. Wait for the way of joy to appear, or trudge dull roads forever. Open your mind to wonder, or partner with shuttering ignorance.
Dare to live wildly, or die safely.
But why choose the path of death?
All the earth’s magic lay as dust at our feet; why force the old puzzle back together?
Wild life beckoned.
It was a time for fierce hope. (And there was such weakness, such fear, such anger; my child! We swept it aside and lived beyond it.) It was a time for hope of beaten gold, forged by sweat, and struggle, and the pain of birth. Artists are the midwives of change on this earth, and in that time of dark confinement, we gestated dreams of the possible unknown, and through our patience, our suffering, our hope, we brought them into the magical world…
See the new earth we created and love her well, darling. She is a treasure, eternal and strong, and we are her fragile, fierce lovers. What does she ask of you, today? Be true.
Over and over, name your darkness and heal it. Over and over, create the way of wild love beneath these shining stars. Feast on joy and live in peace, my child; live in joyful peace.
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