I started this post about two months ago, and by started I mean I popped the title into an open document only to stare at a blank screen wondering why the inspiration that first struck me to write had disappeared.

For about seven weeks now I have been waking up every morning to my own complaints about life as I frustratedly, furiously, annoyingly, and sometimes passionately, write three daily pages in hopes to “get to” my genius. The one that’s supposedly buried under layers of all the bullshit I tend to think. At least that’s what I have come to find out about myself in these past weeks.

I believe that life is a dream. Its pretty simple actually. I realize I am dreaming yet am not always self-reflective enough to be able to predict or project in a focused manner, as a magician would, the precise images I would like to step into. Therefore, many times the “dream,” used now in the sense of an idealist goal-oriented wishing, stays stuck as a dream.

And Having Lost Track
~Joanna Klink

And having lost track, I walked
toward the open field. Now transparent,
now far, the day-moon burned through the waste
air. I passed a scientist, his hands
holding cinders to the sky.
I passed a pile of corroding metal,
a young girl with a ring of keys.
The sound of a flute came and went.
I passed a garden under snow, a half-open book,

I am bemused by being in this moment. I am swept into the sacrificial spirals of the sacred. I am wept along with the women and men of Egypt. We have been gifted by their incredible dream of freedom. Their incredible belief of self, community, and truth. Their persistent prayers have produced a miracle that will undoubtedly ripple throughout our histories of past, present, future.

I am a perfect reflection of a mother. This womanly body contains within its flesh the soul of water from which the stories of our creation churned out the word. Be it bird song, human talk, or an acorns fall onto stone, I am all sound and water bound. Floating in the mystery of a molecular mash, my ovaries are making me hormones to dash around mad within.

I noticed something about myself yesterday that usually slips under the radar most of the time; I can be quite silly! The realization struck me like an epiphany.. an epiphwhat? An epiphaneia mania that’s what... an E equaling pipping off any thing that is not seriousilly. Because we must take everything very seriously.

I find it quite absurd that I am just now discovering Ernest Haeckel's illustrations and contributions to the curious creation which is our world. My artistic brain is particularly fond of fractals, so I am quite thrilled to have stumbled upon this geniuses work recently.