I hear voices. I’ve never written that plain. I hear voices, and see glimpses and feel the wispy touch of Spirit- and every shred of my works owe a debt of gratitude to this phenomenon. Every word and phrase I smith, every elfin countenance I draw is sourced from this font.
Inspiration is literally the breathing in of Spirit. If I have created beauty through my faerie tales, the credit is Spirit’s.
One such calls himself Gratian. He has appeared in my dreams and spoken audibly and capably in my waking. I quote him directly, and feel the need to give glory to the old monk. He lived in the twelfth century, a brilliant catholic juror. He compiled the Decretum, or the Concordia Discordantium Canonum. I am honored to be his conduit, and as he has taught me, Love is Honor.
I write this with trepidation. The benign tarot cards have caused a bit of an uproar among individuals self-righteous and evangelical of my small community. I waited as long as I could. My children are quite grown, my personal status free, so, the time of truth and gratitude is presented.
I thank God every day for the wonder of creativity, and the joy of expression.
As of this moment, I am outing myself. All that I am, and all that I create, I owe to the Grace of Spirit.