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  • As the locusts sang the sun to bed that summer evening he sat in the wing chair and spoke to life with great conviction.

    “You should always follow your head over your heart.”

    And then, gently but with a sad shake of the head, “Everyone thinks they can be a writer”, raining on my hastily organized, very tentative and still fragile parade. A discouragement committee of one, self-appointed.

    Self promotion was new to me then so after he left I eventually cancelled the parade, packed up and went home.

    Such power I gave him. Power he clearly didn't want.

    Funny thing was, the words he said never seemed to match another mysterious broadcast I always received from him which seemed to plead that I prove him wrong. A desperate need to be proven wrong.

    It was years before I was able to trust in the validity of those mysterious broadcasts that I had been receiving all my life, years before I could trust in my own intuition. Years before I was able to start up my little parade again, such as it was, just as it was, and head out into the world with adventure in my heart.

    (image credit: Christian Bortes flickr commons)

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