What
Wild
Hope
Having lingered long and lovingly in a labyrinth
of my own making,I emerged to find the world
still beautiful but changed. Music and poetry
had fled, along with the Tutelary Spirit; in his
place a dark daimon arose, beckoning toward
that chaos we called home before our birth.  

In the sudden silence I began to paint - like a
child, like a primitive, unencumbered by style or
technique, groping toward the real, inventing a
mythology.

Slowly, words returned, then music, and finally I
found myself  - now daimon-wrestler, he who
seeks his face in the courts of chaos.