On occasions, more frequently than I might care to admit, I feel like my writing isn't going nearly as well as I would like. Or I don't have the time to devote to it I'd wish. Or that I have to work, because writing alone won't sustain me financially.
Or simply that I have to work (Monday mornings are particularly bad for that).
On such occasions, the sculpture of the Weeping Buddha helps, or at least serves as a focal point for the feeling. I used to have it on my desk at work (now it sits near my writing computer) and, on being asked about it, would say, "Somedays, it's just like that."
Everyone seemed to understand.
And yet, and yet...
When I do feel like that, back at my home office where I also do my writing, I have two other sculptures that provide a different perspective. These remind me that anything, no matter how crazy it might seem to the outside world, is possible.
And so I continue to write, safe in the knowledge that all I have to be is awake to hear the story, and that it's OK to be quite crazy at times.
The title of this entry is from a poem I wrote much time ago.
The cracked mirror explained the many images that seem to make up my life - some even externalized like those above.
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