Roaring Garden



Eva Wylie, Roaring Garden, 2008


When I feel like a prayer has hit the ceiling and fallen clumsily back onto my head, I try to remember that the universe is not cold and black metaled. It is not stained opaque by indifference or despair (as some existentialists would have you believe). No, the universe is full of spark and crimson fire. Stars and sun and hot molten planets explode like autumn, searing their laced, leafy veins into the ether.  When I feel like my vision is choked, I try to remember that the universe is not stillborn and breathless. It is an eruption of blushing sex and flush creation. It is birth, transcendence and expansion. It is a roaring garden that sows my becoming.