The poem below says to me that the hope of healing is nested in perspective, and that we don’t have to understand everything to be creative and share the fruits of ourselves.

Love Love means to look at yourself The way one looks at distant things For you are only one thing among many. And whoever sees that way heals his heart, Without knowing it, from various ills — A bird and a tree say to him: Friend. Then he wants to use himself and things So that they stand in the glow of ripeness It doesn’t matter whether he knows what he serves: Who serves best doesn’t always understand. –Czeslaw Milosz

Many things inspire me. Today I went to the San Jose Museum of Art. My brain absorbed lots of images and pondered technique and context. And then I went to the café for refreshment and saw the adorned tables. The vases glowed brilliantly in the soft light, and the fresh flowers begged to be remembered. So I took a series of photos of the simple beauties at my table. This is the first of them.

Lastly, here is one more poem that I’ve posted previously but is such inspiration for finding intimacy with one’s creative self that it bears re-posting. It inspires me because it speaks of a homecoming with oneself, a tender self-regard that, once genuinely felt, can be extended to others. I believe we offer our deepest compassion to others only when we are able to extend it to ourselves. This is not an end-point, but an ongoing process, as is creativity.

Love After Love The time will come When, with elation, You will greet yourself arriving At your own door, in your own mirror, And each will smile at the other’s welcome, And say, sit here, Eat. You will love again the stranger who was your self. Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart To itself, to the stranger who has loved you All your life, whom you ignored For another, who knows you by heart. Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, The photographs, the desperate notes, Peel your image from the mirror. Sit. Feast on your life. –Derek Walcott