for the artist at the start of the day

may morning be astir with the harvest of night;

your mind quickening to the eros of a new question,

your eyes seduced by some unintended glimpse

that cut right through the surface of the source.

may this be a morning of innocent beginnings,

when the gift within you slips clear

of the sticky web of personal

with its hurt and its hauntings,

and fixed fortress corners,

a morning when you become a pure vessel

for what wants to ascend from the silence,

may your imagination know

the grace of perfect danger,

to reach beyond imitation,

and the wheel of repetition,

deep into the call of all

the unfinished and unresolved

until the veil of the unknown yields

and something original begins

to stir toward your senses

and grow stronger in your heart.

-john o'donohue

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