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A week or so ago I wrote about the beauty of crisis, mentioning that crises of all kinds have been defining the past few years and seem to be multiplying at a rapid rate.  No sooner had I made pronouncements about the beauty of crisis am I immediately faced with one of my own.  Walking into a shit storm would not aptly describe the situation.  I would liken it to walking along happily minding my own business (you know, kind of like in horror movies where you imagine the carousel spinning at the carnival while the sweet, cheerful music precedes something popping out of the shadows).  That is what we’re dealing with here.  I come home to visit my family and someone drops a 3-ton piano on my head.  “What the hell?” Nothing makes sense anymore.

That said, I am in need of a short sabbatical.  Artists are supposed to swim to the depths of their pain in order to create – and often find the most beautiful gems are borne out of turning the pain into art.  So a part of me thinks that running from expression of that pain is not necessarily the answer.  Nonetheless, I am in shock and need to process the revisions of everything that I believed to be true until I am out of my numbness.  The planet is definitely being enveloped by crises, both on a macrocosmic and microcosmic level, but to rise to the challenge we must be proactive and look for the opportunity hiding in it.


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