It is that time of year, the week in between Christmas and New Years, where inertia has set in like cement. I have no will to do much of anything except brush my teeth. Changing clothes is optional as well as bathing. Projects guiltily lay in wait in my studio. I muse over the year, think about what I have accomplished, what I didn't, and what I want to pursue in the coming year. 2020 was a year for the books, none of us can deny. I felt like I was watching a world wresting match with people being thrown around the ring, limbs flailing in all directions, the scene coarse and vulgar, yet I could not avert my eyes. I still have a bad taste in my mouth. Will 2021 look softer with lighter shades of grey? If things keep going in the same trajectory, I'm thinking the city should consider adding antidepressants to the water. I worry about so many things.....but as I get older I realize more and more that I can't control any of it, only how I react to it. This in itself is no easy task, especially for an empath. I absorb and feel everything around myself like a sponge with tentacles. Leaving my safe place requires putting on a coat of armor. It's tedious and depletes my creative reserves. What can I say? My coat has a lot of holes in it and I'm terrible at sewing.
With crumbs down the front on my shirt, I keep asking myself Who Do I Want To Be? What Do I Want To Create in 2021? I don't know yet, but I do know this week next year I will be asking myself the same question.
Spiritual Awakening: Plaster 2020
