This is such a small offering on such a sad day, eh? But I do, offer it up to you. The Chrysanthemum rises up in peace and strength today after many days and weeks of labor. You know that. Determination and patience.
It is almost finitti. Tomorrow I’ll take the damned near teeniniest round brush to it and detail the hell out of it. Then it will be done, before all my various color mixes are dry.
Now it’s literally time to make the guacamole.
The sad day I’m referring to is the bombing of the Boston Marathon. Words do not come. I go into a familiar shock. Tears. And a familiar sending of peace meditations into the world again. Love vibes. Helplessness and … rage … and uber … kindness to the helpless victims. It’s like last week all over again. Bad death.
I hug Chipper, who is on the bed for his nap and is innocent of the bombing, as a child would be. Safe. Thankfully I stroke him. Dear one.
It has been a very heavy physical pain day, which I worked through to finish the painting, for which I had a lot of energy to finish from somewhere. I don’t know where the painter comes from, or where she has been for the past four days, but she has returned. Thank you.
I have less emotional pain today, but I feel the rotten crap still in my chest, the crying and the old rage still there, waiting to be worked out. I’m still willing to work her out. Thankfully I don’t give up easily. Thankfully some spirit inside of me doesn’t give up easily, some rebel, some Light, some kickass something or other. Yeah. Go me. Allow me that.
Shine, dear ones. Keep shining for us all, you survivors and you lost ones. You are not forgotten. You are not truly lost. They will never win.