In Our Dreams While Sleeping

This is a page in a sketchbook I kept back in 2004.

I rarely fill a sketchbook completely, so sometimes (like the other day), I pull them out to tear out some clean pages for a current art journal. Right now I'm working on an altered journal.

I opened the old sketchbook to this page, and found myself pausing in that sweet, beautiful sorrow of love & gratitude for the people in my life that...

were always meant to be there, even if only for a time.

Of course, every person is - I do believe that.

But there are some who speak the same heart language as us. It's different. It's...

Ineffable. {I don't use that word lightly}

And, as Life is, Time passes, and people do, too - in many measurable, ordinary ways that can unleash rivers of mixed-up emotion.

I like to remember to pause on those shorelines and take a breath around me, and a drink to see, how it really feels when the ego's tangible tools of measurement are set aside for the deeper truth, the stuff of relations, the clarity of dreams.

And I find every time that how it really feels is perpetually Still {and} Wholly Connected.