Transcript of part of the Journal
Its velvet skin brushed my face as I lay engulfed in the field of tall, cool clover. I sit upright and my eyes open to colors and objects so subtle that my mind cannot comprehend nor recall. I gaze at the field as the air's gentle breath whispers across my face taking with it the weeping leaves of the eucalyptus. Why? Why had I not noticed before? Surely I should know them. I "created" them. My own pen held so often in my hand. But still my mind reels, grasping for the familiar. The known. The comfortable. But is this not why I came? My desire to experience the subtleties and pleasures of my own skill so often quenched by my stronger pull to simply "create". A view to behold. I sit mesmerized for hours letting the silence speak its own language, a language that I somehow understand. The cool clover receives my body once again. I close my eyes and dream.