Blank. First thing that comes to mind – blank. I am drawing a blank. A hasty outline, which I then gently fill, one stroke at a time. I missed myself swirling across the hidden chambers of such a profound blank. The brush of life uplifting the canvas. Each advance of the hand revealing the obscure in colorful whims. The trace they leave dampens the mind and stills the heart. A merciful beckoning for a worn man and woman.

The pallet of paint will not dry. I feel the texture of the whirling colors with my eyes. One moment I caress my longing to keep them open , then silently prod myself to turn away. Now the outline dances as the delicate borders lose their fringes, deliberately seeking liberation from their confines. Oh what wonder in the rapt furor of colors spreading out boundlessly. I savor the mighty disturbance, breaking down limits we ourselves installed under the pretence of keeping safe.

I glide on the tightrope fearlessly. I shed myself of the restraints that were meant to safeguard me. I face helplessness as I balance myself on the tips of my toes. I shuffle forward on an imaginary line , golden in hue , bright yellow, a frail zigzag fading in the distance. The underbelly of swirls and ropes and brushstrokes, a quiet abyss. If I fall now, I am enmeshed in colorful ribbons, transcending this human experience into far more, far more. It matters little. I flail and flutter some, then leap and turn, spin my core inside out, am dancer, am color and tightrope and abyss. Glad to be a passerby in this timely adventure.