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Underneath the linen cloth of summer, with my plums, elderberry and sorrow, I shall swim in the river of joviality and, right away, with feet wetted by vivacity I will jump into the dark wine of the burning emotions I pray to find within the veins of books, poems, paintings and journal entries.
So God bless the hands of painters, writers and poets. God bless the bodies of the men who handed me hope instead of flowers. God bless the hearts of my sisters who listen to the echoes of my ache, who raise the glass and buy me cigarettes.
God bless the trees and the animals, the grass underneath my feet, the sand I had sunk my toes in, the sea I dipped my head in.
And praise God, my Lord Jesus Christ, who had borne my ache on the cross and created a way out for me, a new path I shall stride on, one hand in His, the other clutching my journal.
