It is in an empty time like these when hands are busy but mind is idle that I see stillness.
It is understood that something agreeable is arriving and the expectation is staggering high.
This is the silence before the storm hits.
It reminds me that I was once a greedy one, like large egos I see everywhere I turn. Politicians are no longer the ones who want to be at the center of our lives. Artists crave to be celebrities more than ever in human histories. Unfortunately the world is a larger puzzle now, meaning each of us plays a smaller role.
Based on the fear of not having, not being, we behave like adrenaline facing death. When the stillness arrives, I ponder, if one will not be famous, will not make a difference in the world, will not make great works defined by others, nor will she make a living, what is she?
That day I came down from a hill just burned by a wildfire, the voice told me, "you may never make it," then, "But that is ok."
"Is it ok?" I ask the perfectionist in me, "what are you?"