There is an abstract painting that hangs on the wall beside my bed. It moves from the darkest black in the bottom left corner and morphs in color, tone, and mood as it moves upward. Strokes of black blend into magenta, bleed into ruby red before contorting into midnight blue. Mood shifts from the deepest pit of despair to a horizon of loneliness and longing. Hope swirls upward, a light gray floating just out of reach. Lightening here, breaking there to reveal the blue of a bright sky barely peeking through.

There are 2 tiny stars, almost invisible. Clearly an intention of the artist to some unknown purpose. I think about the twin divinity of those bodies and wonder at the artist’s desire to hide some meaning in her work. Then I am reminded of the duality of our creation. Man and woman. Light and dark. Good and evil. Joy and sorrow. And I know we are not meant to be alone.

Every morning upon opening my eyes I turn my face to the right and consider my place in that painting, willing myself to choose a color as far from that bottom left as I can reasonably attain. I close my eyes trying to imagine the soft air of hope encircling me, and I choose once more to let my feet hit the floor.