Alexander Rabb CC
I'm not going to pretend to have the right words for much of anything right now, but I know this much to be true; I survive through the stories, poems, and visions you have each shared, here, at this home at the edge of the world. The beautifully broken way that you see the world, that feeling of; "hey, I know this place - I've been here too before, I know what it's like to need to make that call and not have the quarters." Have we not each, at some point, been lent what we did not have on us, the kindness of strangers, a wild and endless kind of faith?
You all add something (a kind of light's light) to this world that cannot be reduplicated or broken, no one can do what you can do, can offer what you have to offer. Strength, experience, hope; it's forged through the fire. We wish it were otherwise, easier, but the story almost always asks for blood.
That's the beautiful thing about art, just when we think we cannot possibly make sense of where we've been and what we've been through, we close a book and put it down in a place called home. A wind battered place inside us that was waiting for words just like those found, here, in these pages. Lodestar language, that you may know you are not alone. Not entirely, not always and forever.
It is okay for there to be in this life such a person as you are.
Welcome home, friends.
Write something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview.