All is not as easy as it seems. (vague, ambiguous cliché)
I've started reading A Book of Common Prayer and I am bedazzled with joy and awed by art. I am: affected and reminded. Whisked away. Winked at. Held tight and jossled lightly. Smiled at. Kissed.
And always that nasty anxiety, that space where soul should be. I go for the quick fix because longer projects require participation. Which makes me lazy. Which I am.
And once in a while I dribble a few lines that make it to web. Big deal.
But there is the Project at hand, not to mention my own little cosmic surgery. So many things. Not enough lists ?
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