Dream: I am with a man who is teaching me about the fire I carry inside of me. We are sitting together in a grassy area. He teaches me to bring the fire inside up and into my hand, which I do. The fire is blue sphere that does not burn. My teacher indicates there is much more for me, that I am learning.

Behind us, there is a great deal of uproar. Something is happening and I feel I should get up and go help. Maybe bring my fire to help. My teacher lays a hand on my arm, tenderly, indicating for me to stay with him. To keep learning.

To tend my fire.

The other element of the drawings are coming from a few dreams where I am, again, a girl In one, I am feeling like I have done something terribly wrong that caused something terrible to happen. In another, someone is telling me that I will never ever be able to do something I really want to do because it is too late.

There is something about words and the place of no words – the place of what is the blue fire in me. Some of the words in these images are words I heard as a kid. Some of the words are just piles of words.

Words carry magic. Words work magic. Some of the words I was supplied in my growing years carried a magic that worked against me knowing my blue fire. Something about these pieces with words are playing with both kinds of magic – word and blue fire. Something about alchemy. About learning to be with words I have been given and to let the blue fire blaze to render them back to something else.

Back to the blue, perhaps. My friend Bettina asked if these are poems or something else. I am not completely sure. Some pieces feel like prose poem/fairy tale like things. Some are just words.  Some are the words I was supplied in my silence.

This is such a strange process that is rendering me. The words only showed up one night when I realized it was close to midnight and I had to do a quick sketch to get a piece posted. I did a quick sketch of the girl, put a few words around her, watered them down and put it up. Something about that pressure, the intention of getting something posted in order to keep my commitment to myself, something about how it got my mind out of it that has opened these up.

My friend Peggy asked about one of the pieces, about what the words actually are. I have obscured some of them (also I have very bad handwriting) because in some ways it does not entirely matter. And, of course, it does matter. The words have battered and mattered and made a difference and some have created magic and alchemy and transformation.

All so very mysterious. All so very strange and slightly scary and slightly exciting.

Sue Scavo