I’m looking at these sketches, these doves and halos, for the new mural down at the chapel – you know the one, everyone chipped in, such a sweet gesture – and I… I just don't feel it, the… numinous, is that the word? The divine effulgence, if you will, that's supposed to translate through my brush, and I just keep seeing the barn door I need to fix before winter, or maybe that old stray cat I saw last week, shivering, and thinking about the real suffering, the mundane, the corporeal, and thinking, where IS it, this light? Does anyone else ever feel such an absence? Or am I just… calcified.