“I am not a smart man, particularly, but one day, at long last, I stumbled from the dark woods of my own, and my family’s, and my country’s past, holding in my hands these truths: that love grows from the rich loam of forgiveness; that mongrels make good dogs; that the evidence of God exists in the roundness of things. This much, at least, I’ve figured out. I know this much is true.” unearth nh 9

 

As the year, draws, itself, to an end.  And, as those of us who fancy ourselves…artists, gather what is dearest us, the ART of ART…one thought prevails…

Mongrels make good dogs.  Freaks make the best friends.  Things done to us, in the past, be them naughty or nice, are not the items that should represent our future.  Love is wonderful.  Whether it is young or old.  I, we, should, embrace it like that one childhood item…in which we put our childhood. fears.  The stuffed bear, the Snoopy comforter, even, the handed down Cabbage Patch doll.

As children, we stuffed our fears, our wants, our innermost secrets in these simple things…

Love, intimacy, the bond we find with just that one, singlular, individual…should be held, such as we would something, we wish to never let go.

Artists, people of unique capabilities, dwell.  We dwell in the past, in the accomplishments yet achieved, the loves we have lost and the neglect of our beings.

To me, it would only be naturally, with above stated…a given, that, we all have the ability to be an ARTIST.  That is if we are willing to behold love in our hands…as if it were just, a memory.  A memory we may never have again.

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