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The sky opened suddenly

and he tumbled to earth

Unable to open his wings

he crashed with great force

Dazed and fractured

he did not move for some time

Feather by feather his wings opened

and he rose slowly

The density of matter

overwhelmed his senses

and he sank to his knees

Lowering his head he prayed

for salvation

from himself

Art: Igor Mitoraj, Angelo Caduto (Fallen Angel)



A dear friend shared his thoughts with me. All I could do to comfort him, was to understand…


… just returned home from the shack.


I know what you mean about hating memories. I have to make a conscious effort to focus on those that haven’t been burnt out of me by tragedy and the ruin of depression. Sometimes that seems impossible. I see beauty all round me but sometimes cannot feel it in my heart even as I recognize it. I think as we get older our sensitivities etch a sadness that mars our capacity for appreciation.


…I felt empty. I’m not always like this but something sometimes feels broken. We both seem to share this malady – and it can stay without abatement for long periods of time. I usually get angry enough at some point to will it away.



Art: Egon Schiele