It is easy to forget silence exists or what it really means, even if most of the noise is in my head and created by words, images, news, concerns, planning, existential concerns. The true impulse of creativity at times seems far off like a distant memory. I can sit here and see manifestations of it in my paintings, pottery, poems. But on a deeper level, I forgot: there is a place out of which everything arises. I forgot for a while to take the time for it. Before my last post about signs of hope, I had not written on this platform since January 2016. Being overly responsible, I kept up with everything, the civil rights work, planting flowers and vegetables, designing and building…