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| I am all too familiar with the making of hopes and wishes.. The wish becomes a nagging doubt: a hunger that devours. The wish turns upon the wisher, and becomes outbursts of unseemingly behavior, a psychic tantrum. Do we know these unfulfilled dreams so well that they cannot exist as anything else? Does the energy placed upon this deprived state manifest so strongly that we can no longer recognize what we truly want, who we really are? Do we simply become, over time, the gathering of habitual yearning, unable to recognize satisfaction when it comes to our door? Somehow the wish must change from �I want,� to "I will." A demand, rather than a request, a statement of the coming harvest, rather than staring at the seeds, unplanted and rattling in the palm of our hand. Potential swirls around us, all we must do is throw the seeds to the ground and spit, and know that the rain will come. Patience, not a virtue of those in need, will come as the planet churns beneath our feet, the sun makes it�s pass over our heads, the moon croons us to sleep and to dream, and the wind forces us to push back in order to stand against the tempest of our own inner storms. |
| of hopes and wishes |
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| v i s u a l s e e k e r all images, poetry, and writing are copyright jennifer hawke unless otherwise noted |
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