Calling Miss Page...
Miss Page, you have an urgent call. The Light Bringer wishes to speak with you. He says it's something to do with saving your soul.
I recorded some pretty epic footage tonight. More balcony activity. Unscripted stuff. Stuff that you cannot yell quiet on the set and put into motion. Have to just surrender and try to capture as many frames as possible that have been on display since before you arrived at this moment. For it is grace in motion.
The issue (if there ever was one), is time. So there will be no accompanying short-film as much as I wish to search through Mozart orchestral archives and see what lines up with the takes. I want you to have all of it. Because it is all so fucking wild.
All is to say, I started writing late this evening, as there are greater priorities than writing. Said this to myself when I sat down at the typewriter with time waning and said — William, it was an amazing run, but what you need here is a good scrubbing. At least that’s what Lucifer intends to communicate to Miss Page today, as she came to him for some light therapy. I’ll leave it to you to determine whether the therapy was light, or filled with redemptive promise. For it is a result of thought that has brought us all here, to this moment, to receive a reflection of who we were, in contrast to who we are, now. For why else is this book called Harvest?
—-I AM LOVE, I AM—-
p.s. Read it. It’s free. Share it. It’s pure. I promise it won’t bite as much as it soothes. Please do share these offerings, if love for creation is a part of your vocabulary and daily practice. Share it when it is not. Everything through love will work itself out.
Perhaps you may wish for a translation of the poem from Octavio Paz, which is called ‘Escritura’ — here it is: I draw these letters as the day draws its images and blows on them and does not return.