Pochette of a few hours

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Sketched these. Most of these are from Pinterest, except for the third one. I have a very heavy heart since the last few days...when I meditate, I feel as if a very old wound is trying to emerge. Or like a thorn or a shard of glass or a pebble that has wedged itself in my flesh can't be pulled out now because the wound has become crusty. The only way the pebble can come out is if the surrounding muscles soften. And the only way to soften them is by weeping out the truth.

I hadn't intended it this way but maybe there is a story in all these pictures. Maybe it's the story of a person's transformation...a person's reluctant transformation.

Maybe becoming the butterfly is all very well...but the caterpillar had more fun. 


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