Art is an unbroken chain.

It seems fitting, in the beginning, to acknowledge that no art is created in a vacuum. Here is a small adaptation I made to a poem by Rilke (I,3 from “The Book of a Monastic Life”). I made mine a bit more overtly about my own shadow, void, and devotion to the Morrígan.

'But when I lean over the chasm of myself -
it seems
my Goddess is dark
and like a web: a hundred roots
silently drinking.

This is the ferment I grow out of.

More I don't know, because my branches
rest in deep silence, stirred only by the wind.'

Happy wanderings,

Sorsha.