kolonga mon amour
“At that instant he saw, in one blaze of light, an image of unutterable conviction, the reason why the artist works and lives and has his being—the reward he seeks—the only reward he really cares about, without which there is nothing. It is to snare the spirits of mankind in nets of magic, to make his life prevail through his creation, to wreak the vision of his life, the rude and painful substance of his own experience, into the congruence of blazing and enchanted images that are themselves the core of life, the essential pattern whence all other things proceed, the kernel of eternity.”
Funny where you find love. Or where you fall in love. Or where your soul takes flight. Or where you find a certain something you have never found or maybe felt before. If home is where the heart is, then mine can be found beating happily somewhere off a bumpy Pacific island road, somewhere through a coconut plantation that stretches down to a sea of unimaginable beauty and colour, somewhere where there is a hammock strung low and where everything shimmers and time stands still. So still. Do you hear it? That whispering sound of gentle nothing?