In so many ways I can look back and see how my life was molded, impressed and buffeted. Like an unspoiled block of clay in the hands of a child, I was squished and pulled, ripped apart and put back together, tossed and dirtied, abandoned and found in the unyielding grip of life.
And now I am cast, this stolid sculpture hardened by time and carved by interaction. Scraped, scratched, and cracked I am given new guidance even as I wrestle with the wheel steered by interference and control.
And if the solid cracks, if the structure falls, if the foundation dissolves the whole into a mess of rubble; the only one to put it all together and to make something of it will be me.
I am not a victim of life, I’m not a victim at all.