Enough now.
Enough of the stops, don’ts, doubts, blank stares at empty pages.
The Death card has turned up for ego –
so small yet so loud – a sparrow’s cry in a canyon echoing – an illusion of bigness.
Peace doesn’t live in illusion.
Peace is where ink finds paper, and Voice forms the white spotlight on a stage walked by masters and fools alike.
And it welcomes you.
Begin.
