On an ordinary day I think about work and love, what I am doing, how much it satisfies me, would my life be happier if...? I wonder if my spirit can maintain a creative life? Will tomorrow fulfill a deeper purpose, a longing on my part to capture the essence of my richer self?

Those thoughts occur to me in small and yet sometimes obtrusive ways. I know I live with deficits, voids that exist simultaneously with my creativity and passion, voids that can shut down my music. This thought repeats in my mind, I will need to accept partial healing of my original wounds, which have been my mystery since birth. When healing fails, it fails badly, as it did recently when a talented author committed suicide at the height of his creativity. "Man is born broken. He lives by mending."