This project recalls a thought that occupies my mind too often: with every branch representing a choice, I wonder whether the precise life path I’ve chosen is the right one, or if instead I missed my train and should have been headed elsewhere. Are the right opportunities still ahead of me?
My concerns reveal selfishness and a lack of trust, and they prevent me from appreciating the myriad of opportunities that exist here and now.
With some watered-down
acrylic paint in one end of the straw, I blew through the other
end. Sometimes the leftover paint would settle
or run back down its rivulet.
Studying occupational therapy, I wonder how I would continue to do art if I were to lose use of my arms—straw in mouth?
The Hebrew word for moving air, or breath, is "ruach." Ruach is also the word for "spirit."
Is it possible that there’s a Holy Breath who notices when we
settle, moving us onward?
Who is less concerned with the precise path we’re taking than the general direction we’re moving?
"Ruach" also means "life."