The Impossible Garden
& The Wildforest
ART & STORIES BY MARICHIT GARCIA
So this is how it feels. I woke up yesterday, Monday morning, and spent the next eight hours working. Only it was work I have always wanted to do. I painted pieces for the summer art shop. Then I scanned and posted those pieces. Then I made announcements on social media, processed a few inquiries and orders, and before I knew it, the sun was ready to go to sleep.
When the moon was up I wrote. Coaxed a few poem seeds to sprout. Filled out my daily pages.
I was tired enough that when I went to bed at near midnight, the battle with insomnia was short. Then I had a complicated convoluted dream that had Benedict Cumberbatch and Hiroyuki Sanada in it.
Yesterday, to my utter surprise, I was able to finish eleven art pieces.
It all felt good. It all felt right. I was still scared and worried about whether I will sell enough to get me through the month of June but I am moving, and the movement reassures me. I am doing something, and the doing is something I love. I dream of the Tribe Gathering. I dream of him who is a story haunting the blank pages of my life, waiting to manifest. I dream of finally Becoming -- artist, poet, writer, agent of hope, beloved.
Almost as if on cue, I received an email today from a headhunter (a.k.a. recruitment agency). There is a big job looking for a person. And I know enough of myself and my skills that if I wanted it, I could get it. And if I choose to get it, I won't ever have to worry about money. Of course I know how this exchange goes. What gets left out. What gets risked.
It always happens. This test. This trick question.
I am tired of this question. And I am tired of always hesitating over what to answer. Of agonising over imagined consequences. Of guilt rearing its ever-ugly head.