Day 8 of Inktober was dedicated to the star. Day 9 of Inktober is dedicated to something #Precious.
For a man like me, that is Freedom.
There is nothing more precious than freedom, from this idea is everything else possible. Yet to illustrate the possibilities of the delicate nature of the concept that is freedom and why it should be important to anyone is too much to cram into one panel, let alone one canvas.
So, we must shrink the scope into a more relatable image. A, “star,” is indeed precious, the night seems oppressive without the twinkle of light to guides one path.
As I traveled as the, “lone chicken,” or “star-child,” or as an “exhausted artist,” my list of #precious items only increased.
The love from someone who understands my need to believe life did not begin or end in the 19th century. To find an organization or person who loves me enough to invest and sponsor my talent. Notice my words, “Sponsor,” not “control,” I seek advice, not dictation, employment, not tyranny.
Precious to me is the peace I’ve derived in the night from seven to nine o’clock in which I use the time to journal and illustrate what two dream weavers, loving each other would like.
My children are precious to me. My mother called me the other day to inform me that my daughter who was deemed autistic, died. A very painful experience for me.
My daughter had no control of her physical body, she could not ingest food without the aid of a G-tube. (Gastric By-pass Tubular System.) That protruded from her navel cavity. She died at twelve years of age. For twelve years her body was made immobilized by excess mercury around her brain stem, cutting off neurological function. Twelve years and no one knew how precious she was to me. Many believed because I was not in her life I had no understanding of her joys and pain, I was not emotionally attached, so I can speak of her and shed few tears. It is not so. I have nothing but rage against the minds that have caused such issues with vaccines cocktails of 18 different medicines in one vial and in the name of neurological science and the advancement of humankind, believe they are helping the world or saving lives by creating a tonic that sends a child; my child, into an epileptic seizure and blame a weak genetic code on her sickness.
They blame “weak genetics,” on a child who was mentally active, crying and demanding, vining for life, life being the most precious thing in the world, they blamed the diminishing of vibrance in a child’s eyes, they blamed “Fish eye’s” on weak genetics!
Now if it is true the eyes are the key to the soul, a signal of intelligence, my child lost her ability to relate her soul to the world. Her dreams remained locked behind ‘fish-eyes,’ for twelve years.
Her bowels ruptured upon her death and everything released her body, black as death.
“Oh, how I pray for the souls of men who care not for the souls needed to build our world! Educated fools who would inject a child 6 months on the planet with 18 different vaccines at one time as if the very air we breathe is so toxic, it is better to die than to be born to affect the world we live in for the better.”
Oh how precious is the time we hold here.