But I have only this paintbrush, and eyes that don't always see. I get so involved in the illusion of what's real, and at times bills or a stray stroke of paint define my existence. Hangnails bode the end of time, and politics in my mind can all but steal my hope....when I forget that these tools are not my God. When I fight of my will against material ideas, I forget I am more than made of material. The physical me is no more me than the reflection I see in a mirror. I forget that like you, I am the stuff of stars. Since we are one, though perhaps you'll see you, if I show you me. I who stumble, and forget I am Love, remember with me.
"Tribute to My Fellow Angels"
Oil on Canvas