I woke up late to a still mind.
A second later the voice of inspiration
Whispered. Only its presence, not any words.
On such mornings everything is subtracted.
All objects, with names and with no names,
Fade into a misty horizon, but still at hand.
Figures emerge out of this soft mist,
They love me. They are kind to me.
I then see my face among the figures.
Believing and learning
To love and to be kind
To whose mist I made my home.
Featured image: Breton girls dancing by Paul Gauguin. Original Title: La Ronde des petites Bretonnes (1888).
