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If it can be conceived, it can be.

Embryonic thoughts in stasis hang, like stalactites, in my cavernous subconscious.  Waiting to be gestated.  Slowly growing over time.  Some mutating.  Some falling away.

And, I stand.  The crook in my neck, long forgotten.  I too distracted trying to mine the “right” ones.  Find the “perfect” gems.  Rarely considering that extraction is a craft I have to hone.

Having merely hacked away at raw talents and piling inspirations up like unpolished gems for decades; never honing my tools or developing my craft, it really is no wonder I often feel I produce little of value.  And, the repetitive strain caused by bad habits and techniques are realities I have to face, accept and mitigate if I am to do my true work.

Once upon a time, I could not only tolerate, but also appreciate the value of pain.  Today, it seems, I can be flattened by the slightest turn the wrong way.  Both mentally and physically.  Is it that my tolerance has so diminished?  Or, is it that the pain has become that severe?  Either way, my efforts end up being of some form of pain management.  Always have in truth.

Why am I so daunted by the effort of birthing my conceptions?  I have endured so very much to keep them viable.  Bringing anything to life is never a painless process.  It is far less stressful when you focus on the life you are realizing rather than the labour itself.  And, it greatly reduces the likelihood of stillbirth.

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