It is 7:20 p.m. I am having a cup of yogurt and a glass of wine. I’m nervous to tell you that but there you go. Life is not normal. Or maybe it IS normal. Who can tell anymore? I just got off the phone with my best friend. I am really afraid for him. There is a sense of foreboding.

I really don’t want to talk to anybody, I just need to send thoughts out into the void. I finished the first intuitive piece in my sketchbook, as seen above, and a powerful message was revealed, but it is deeply personal, I will not be sharing it. And yet… I do wonder if it speaks to you? Of course you needn’t tell me what it says to you, but if it resonated with you I would like to know that. Suddenly I feel like a powerful mirror, like these pages might one day be a deck of cards that might help people connect with their own intuitive inner voices. I wouldn’t put words on them like Tarot or Oracle Decks do because the image itself would be meant to speak to the person viewing the card in such a personal way that I wouldn’t want any words on the card to interfere. I am finding that so many oracle decks that I have and truly love and find beautiful would speak to me far more deeply if there were no words or little booklets to tell you what the cards meant. Who can tell you that? I think no one should. Good Lord how did I get off on that tangent?

I started to say, or rather the thought flashed through my mind, that I wished I could go away and hide in a cave with only Molly and my sketchbooks and art supplies so that I could just paint and paint and paint until every single thing I have inside of me was expressed, as though once the thoughts and feelings were expressed in a visual form, made manifest, made tangible, I might better understand this life that started in nearly 2 decades of serious abuse, and was fraught with tragedy and terror and yet beauty and joy laced throughout. How does someone ever make sense of that? What is one to do with it? I am terrified of everything and yet steadfast in my determination to do my work because I believe it matters. I worry every day how to bring more Patrons to Patreon so I have the financial support to get this work out into the world and yet I know that that is the last thing I should be thinking about, and yet, I am human after all.

I have so much I want to say, and yet what if it is not me saying it? What if we really are, as human beings, human bodies, simply vehicles for spirit to use as a way to bring messages through. I am willing to be that vehicle, that vessel, that portal. And I realize that when I write things that others would find ludicrous or truly perhaps the thoughts of the mentally ephemeral being I often feel that I am in fact I believe it is the deepest, truest, most real truth of who I am, who any of us are. I am not afraid to be thought crazy. I have lived with that most of my life.

Oh, the most puzzling, yet magical and amazing thing is that I thought the work was about Maisie, and the Maisie work is real, and I am doing it, and yet I am finding that Maisie herself is singularly responsible for getting me to a place where I might actually heal enough to live more than I ever thought possible, and my path to that place is this new work in the sketchbook that is so powerful the actual page quivers with life, is luminous, luminescent, otherworldly, thrilling, scary, real, and true and I don’t really know anything about it and somewhere deep inside of me I know it is exactly why I am here.

I don’t mind sounding crazy. Tonight I just needed to say it all.