I was recently gifted a painting, a larger painting 36” wide by 30” tall. I hung the image on a bedroom wall, at the foot of my bed, across a short distance. The image coalesces nicely with a series of smaller personal photos I had matted—no frames. The larger painting has come to represent the idea of purity: flowers in abundance, sunshine with shadows, a white door, cleanliness, order, and a blue (Marian) shuttered paned window–crosses–looking out to the exterior. The idea of an interior—a home, and an exterior purely harmonizing; a door, a throughway establishing a point of demarcation allowing passage, a brick path for walking. The battle of the flesh has always been an intense confrontation for myself. There is no escaping the matter, a humbling accepting of a vulnerability to sin. Reality, letting go of delusions of grandeur, embracing the spiritual life not for self-glorification or achievement, rather a desperate game of salvation. So much at stake and a sinner at heart–not the words of a winner, the pleas of a man scared of himself, afraid of his past, afraid of tendencies, afraid not of things of the world, rather fearful of himself. The man who once owned the painting, a recognized saint by a living reminder, struggled with similar difficulties as myself. His devotion, at times, I feel, as well as his love, and a sense he has identified me, assisting. It is not important, nor nothing to concentrate up, at worst a false nice idea, at best a gift from God. Either way, I am pleased with the image.