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There is a kind of peace I’ve only found through creativity — not a stillness without storms, but a deep trust within them.

This is what I’ve come to understand:

True art is not a destination.

It’s not a mountain to be climbed, or a trophy to be won.

It is an ocean. Sacred, vast, ever-moving.

You don’t drown in it.

You learn to swim.

Sometimes clumsy, sometimes graceful —

but always alive.

There are storms.

But you don’t fear them.

You grow stronger in them —

learning to breathe through the waves,

to trust the rhythm of your own body.

There are days of stillness, too.

Moments where the waters shimmer with light,

where time slows down,

and your heart glides like a seagull

moving with the currents, not against them.

And when you live here —

in the sea of creation, reflection, and meaning —

you don’t long for dry land anymore.

You don’t miss the shore of certainty.

You begin to see that this ocean is your home.

In this place, every thought becomes a tide,

every gesture becomes a stroke,

and every breath —

a quiet prayer to the beauty of becoming.