And I am left with agony. So perfect that it enhances my gratitude. It gives life to my humility and generosity. My resilience and perseverance are made stronger and brighter and in the end, my portrait is full of wonder, generosity and kindness that would not be present without my pain.
Morning is a canvas, broad and tall. “Do with me as you will,” it says.
So I take all the shades of anger, from rage to grousing, and set them aside —for later perhaps, but not for now.
The three large tubes of regret and melancholy too, I hide them in a drawer.
And over here, under a cloth, are seven different hues of conceit and pettiness. They go into the locked cabinet.
Recrimination briefly catches my eye, but I set it aside as well.
And soon, I am left with these:
Hope, resilience, wonder, generosity, vigor, action, kindness, perseverance, humility, and gratitude.
I dip the edge of my brush in hope, and touch it to the canvas.
Raw Man The Book 