May this be a morning of innocent beginning,
When the gift within you slips clear Of the sticky web of the personal With its hurt and hauntings, And fixed fortress corners, A morning when you become a pure vessel For what wants to ascend from silence, May your imagination know The grace of perfect danger, And the wheel of repetition, To reach beyond imitation, Deep into the call of all The unfinished and unsolved 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 Excerpt from the blessing, 'For the Artist at the Start of Day' in the books, Benedictus (Europe)
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