On the wings of a snow-white dove

Sometimes I wonder where my thoughts come from.  How do those little synapses in my brain translate into words and pictures?  Perhaps even more "wonder-full" to me is what influences those synapses?

Where does inspiration really come from?  Where do gloomy feelings come from?  Is it possible that there is some connection to other souls, especially in intensely emotional moments?

I truly believe there is. 

Even if I don't understand how or why or where they come from, I am driven to try and create paintings of them with the words I have.  I want to find a way to make those thoughts and feelings manifest in my outer world.  To give them the substance I believe they are.

Like the steam of a tea kettle telling me it is ready, my thots are the collective end of something slightly intangible. Flying in on the wings of a snow-white dove, slipping in on sound waves too high for me to hear, touching me in some unimaginable way -- however it happens I can't believe it is all me. There is too much diversity, too much intensity, but whatever it is I am eternally grateful for it.