Speaker 1: Hey, Serrol, I am a daily writer. My first published book,
One Man's Thy twenty one Thoughts, has earned me only
one response, Dude, I don't understand what you're saying in
this book. I can't finish reading it. The book covers
the daily imprints made for oneenty twenty one days starting
in August of nineteen ninety seven. It's twenty sixteen, so
I'm going way back to the original thoughts because I
believe that every one of us when we write, we're
writing to our future selves. This is your daily ray
of light. This time around, we're going to go back
and put focus on October twenty eighth, nineteen ninety eight.
The piece is titled When Art Is more than pictures painted.
A whisper of wind is all I wanted to hold,
to lift, to soar, to bring to the child the
motion of flight, like the aimlessly flying butterfly in The
Blue Jay, leaping into a world so untamed, yet his
thought A whisper of wind helped him gain the confidence
to continue on. A dream isn't a whisper of wind,
nor friend's encouragement and continued support. A whisper of wind
is that of insight to have to hold, to build up,
bringing to life a gust or passing storm. For in
a butterfly's life, as tiny as it seems, the way
it flies resembles a black and white movie. So strong
the rain pours, the character's feet wobble from side to side.
Maybe he too is toying to feel the whisper of
wind held by the butterfly, the blue jay, the insight
of holding something incredibly difficult to see, a whisper of wind,
inspiration and influence, never that of greed. So I close,
with no whisper of wind to hold, my paint shall dry.
I'll close this book, then move on to another day.
I'll stop to view the ice crystals that have grown
from the first seasonal freeze. Another whisper of wind I
chose to watch, but never seek. A whisper of wind?
Will it one day fill the sails of my ship?
Only I know that answer. Only I have the insight
I can help guide what's quite difficult to see something
as simple as a whisper of wind, inspiration and influence,
never that of greed. You know, the strangest thing about
this particular piece of writing is that, hey, I don't
remember writing it, and That is probably one of the
most difficult things to deal with with being a creative mind,
because people will always say, hey, I saw this, Hey
I heard this, Hey I read this, And all you
can do is accept it in the way of well,
if you saw it and you compared me to it,
and you think it's me or it was me, then
I feel blessed that you even connected my name to it. Now,
to be connected to it in this moment, it was
really a moment that I tried to create because it
was a gift that I was sharing. That's what the
whisper of wind really is. It is a gift from
the universe. It is a gift that moves through you,
that whisper of wind. And we talked about it several times.
It could be a cloud formation, it could be a gust,
it could be a storm. The piece of poetry A
heared on a painting that I had donated to a
group called Pets Pets. It was auctioned off to help
her these funds for the elderly and their fuzzy little buddies. Now, surprisingly,
a sixteen year old girl purchased the painting and poetry.
She felt that it described exactly the way she felt
while growing up. She was sixteen years old. The whisper
of wind was moving through her at the age of sixteen. Now,
since these years have passed eighteen years since it was written,
I wonder what she's doing with her life today now
that she's thirty four. What are the whispers of wind
that control your life? Or do you put up a
wind sock and it stops, because when it stops, that
means it falls. And how many times do you find
yourself picking yourself up. I'm Ryl, and that's your daily
ray of light.