I would be either driving or walking down a street, looking at my surroundings, trying to take in as much as I could, when suddenly, out of the chaos, a trigger would pop up that sent me straight into action — sometimes a color, sometimes an object; other times, no more than a mere intuition.
The more open I let myself be, the more was revealed to me. The less I tried to impose my own perceptions over what was already there, the less I tripped myself over.
As much as I’d like to say that I was the sole author of this book, I must admit, I’ve been nothing but a joyful witness — a necessary actor to play the role of the doer in a universal puppet show, while the strange visitations linger behind every source of light and shadow.
With time, I’ve come to understand these strange visitations as a gift, given to me as a reward for learning how to notice, for trusting even as the pain of uncertainty strikes my heart.
