There is a turquoise blue circle near the sixth chakra in the forehead—or perhaps this is a figure in profile with arms outstretched from a white cloak. Surrounding the face is a warm red earth color, which also shades onto the rim of the face, as if the latter were attached to, or emerging from, the earth color. Beyond this are two irregular wavy blue lines—more like a hole into another place, but also like water. A sketchy brown line navigates around the blue, which is in turn surrounded by a densely detailed rim of combined blue and brown, looking like lichen growing on rock, or maybe a desert vista. The faintest wash of lavender blurs the edge of the face, and of the encircling lines, and of the entire image—like a warm breath softens frost.
Who is this face in my life at this moment? Who is gazing out to see me, mute, from circles of earth and water, wearing ice and soft shadows? Is this face the center of awakening spring? Is this face in the center of a story I am telling myself about my life right now? What part of me is this face? What part of me is awakening, emerging from my own jagged rims of winter?
I see many rims. Rims are separations, or sometimes they show what is beneath, or beyond. They say “here is one thing, and over here is another.” The lines that trace the rims in this image are sometimes lost and sometimes found, moving in and out of clarity. Am I feeling the earth season whose approaching rim of warmth brings sprouting and new growth? Am I making rims? Am I focusing on the rim? Will the rim hold if the center falls out?
