We cannot be surprised, then, at invasions, or broken relationships, or suffering in general. This starts with examining ourselves, our conscience.

Every now and then, we encounter a person, an event, or a view that acts as a small key that fits the lock of the heavy door we have found ourselves behind.

That’s how we know: Do we want it enough to wait for what can seem like nothing, AND does it produce good fruit?

It’s a surreal time. We know this.

At what cost are we attaining what we are grasping for? At who’s cost?

They’re like a thread of the past, of experience. A continuity. Nodding to the past in order to be able to see into the future.

Repetition over seasons.

Over time.

This year, I laid the cornerstone.

Several shovels contributed to the first dig.

When it comes to creative genius, some draw from the most poignant, beautiful experiences of life. Others, the most abysmal, dire and wretched of them.

It immediately took me back to my younger self wandering through the winter streets of Montreal alone but filled with happiness.