The universe is inherently balanced, with equal shares of good and evil, truth and lies, strength and weakness. Since balance holds dominion over all things, survival does not always go to the fittest or to the strongest, as many believe. Often, true victory is bestowed upon those with access to an inner world of magic, where each soul possesses the ability to create a world where evil fails in it's quest for victims. In this inner world of childhood magic, evil is given little power to distort or to destroy and we are born knowing how to overcome and defeat the enemy.
We all had access to this inner world until most of us closed the door to the magic. There are many souls who have survived unthinkable horrors yet have come to believe that they are weak rather than strong, feel shame rather than pride. Authentic reality must provide an understanding that it is not that which has befallen someone by accident of situation or birth that defines the essence of the soul. Instead, we can be only be victorious, just as we can only be conquered, by the reality that we, ourselves, have created out of shredded memories. If we listen closely enough, the whispers of the past still lead to a door where entrance is granted simply through a belief in the power left behind and a need to live in the magic that was once our birthright.
My art expresses our early connection to the magic and wonder of a world that still exists if we choose to change our beliefs and to alter how we think. Deep inside of all of us are memories of how to reach this safe place of power and triumph. We all know how to do it, if we search for the early memories that we were convinced were merely fantasies.
We can find our way again, to a world where there are always ways to escape and often a way to win, even when evil stalks those believed to be without power or champions. A world where the weak triumph and evil is defeated over and over again.
Surreal Visionary Fantastic Art & Metamorphosis Art Book
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Unborn Dreams
I served not as one who follows or one who leads;
I served not in abasement,
on my knees, with my head in the dust;
I served proudly, accepted, accepting
Ever in my heart crowding ancient and unborn dreams.
Horace L. Traubel
What does a child do with a worn-out doll?
I was a child once; and I had a father.
He was a king; and, having royal ways,
He made a queen of me
Edwin Arlington Robinson
The Many Faces of Rose
Hard to find one rose-face,
Where the dark rose-faces cluster,
Where the outland laws are strange,
And outland voices hum.
Margaret Widdemer
Circus Pet
A CHILD 's a plaything for an hour;
Its pretty tricks we try
For that or for a longer space—
Then tire, and lay it by.
Mary Lamb
Brainchild
Come, said the Muse,
Sing me a song no poet yet has chanted,
Sing me the Universal.
In this broad Earth of ours,
Amid the measureless grossness and the slag,
Enclosed and safe within its central heart,
Nestles the seed Perfection.
By every life a share, or more or less,
None born but it is born concealed
or unconcealed,
the seed is waiting.
Walt Whitman
Hunger
WHITE little hands!
Pink little feet!
Dimpled all over,
Sweet, sweet, sweet!
What dost thou wail for?
The unknown? the unseen?
The ills that are coming,
The joys that have been?
Cling to me closer,
Closer and closer,
Till the pain that is purer
Hath banish'd the grosser.
Drain, drain at the stream, love,
Thy hunger is freeing,
That was born in a dream, love,
Along with thy being!
Little fingers that feel
For their home on my breast,
Little lips that appeal
For their nurture, their rest!
Why, why dost thou weep, dear?
Nay, stifle thy cries,
Till the dew of thy sleep, dear,
Lies soft on thine eyes.
Alfred Austin