Fingering through the pages of an old book, long forgotten and placed on the used book store shelves, it is my intent to bring home these words and transform them into my own. I sit, I snip, I place and rearrange... until the words flow into reflections of my insides turned out.
Poetry flows through my mind and out through my fingers. When I am satisfied I glue them into their final resting place, a natural toned brown journal.
As I sit with my books, I graze my eyes over the the pages looking for phrases, sentences, and single words that stick out only to me. It is my mind, my soul, and my heart that sees the words that are meant for me. I am fascinated with the thought that given the same pages, and someone else, that a whole 'nother set of words and phrases would evolve.
The words are waiting like seeds in the winter, suddenly given light and warmth... another chance to live.
This personal meditation gives me a sense of ease in a body that breathes anxiety. This time of self expression gives me the opportunity to dilute the rush of beating wings inside my chest.
It is when the bird sleeps...
I am a deep thinker.
I am a deep feeler...
and often times my heart is enlarged.