When I’m in the middle of the devastation feeling like nothing I create is worth noticing, and I’m caught in the trance of crushing any pretentious notions of worthy endeavour I dared to dream into existence yesterday, I know it is a temporary state of being.

It has only taken me forty years to get here.

And, even though I know in my head that the cycle will continue — tomorrow, I will turn into the next phase of my particular creative flowstate; even though I have learnt the skill of pulling backwards just half a step in order to observe, to not be utterly consumed by the emotional vortex — I don’t entirely believe it.

My heart resists. My softest places whimper.

Yet, here I am, inside the tomorrow that yesterday, I was certain would be filled with the proof of my sly iniquity. The day that everyone would see through my clever disguise, which is absolute truth by the time I get to the other side of the circle.

The other side of the circle is where every awesome sparkle of my being sings with delight.

Mine is kind of a lop-sided circle, more of an oval, really. Most of the time, the awesome sauce is slathered all over my skin and I slide around inside the wonder of it all, marvelling at the magic of the universe.

Or, maybe, it is more of an infinity symbol, with the parts that make me cringe living inside the smaller loop. Yes, that feels a more apt description.

Today is one of the cusp days. The first day since mid-winter that the light and dark of the world shift in favour of the sun.

Perfect.

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