Reflection, Wanderlusting, When I'm Not Writing
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A Wildness Within

There is a wild place. Untouched by life, yet very much alive, this place sits at the base of a mountain on the edge of a vast grassland.

Experience tells me to look toward the sun. Its brightness, coupled with the flatness of the land, ensures an unobstructed view for miles on end. No hills to climb. Nothing to fear. There is plenty of time to seek shelter when storms approach.

My body tells me I am meant for warmth.

But in this wild place where sunlight abruptly stops, shadows whisper, “What if?”

I respond by pointing my gaze toward the West, away from the warmth of the rising sun, to find my individual story. My restlessness drives me to madness, and in this wild place, I will either find greatness or fall.

“No artist is pleased. [There is] no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.” —Martha Graham

Source: Image by David DeHetre (cc)

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