Hi Peter:

Someone painted 🎨 abuse and hate on my mother’s canvas. She then painted abuse and hate on mine and I had a lot of work to do to remove enough of the nasty painting off my canvas enough to see what’s been hidden.

Love/ genuine connections within and with other people (including with Bogart the beagle 🐕) was ✂️ off by said painting.. well, not fully cut off, more like the love-connection hung loosely off the canvas, hanging on a thin thread, trying to hold on.

“The love we were trying to achieve was actually the ground we were standing on all along”-

I just had an image of my mother kicking me, so I fell.

And I just remembered the poem I wrote as an older teenager (or in my very early 20s). I shared about it with you, Peter, but now I remember more:

In the poem I was lying on the ground, crawling, asking or begging passerbyes to give me a hand and help me up, help me so that I can stand and walk on my legs.

Huh.. so, no, I was not standing on the ground all along.

I suppose the work was more about standing on the ground that was there all along than realizing it was always there, as in changing my position to the ground- from crawling to walking.

Funny perhaps, I am known in the area were I live as “the walker”. I walked 4+ miles today ( with Bogart). I walk every day.

🚶‍♀️ Anita