The ego clenches itself around all it holds dear, like a fist. It coils around its own centre, rattling its tail and spreading its deadly hood. The fangs are at the ready and poised to strike. But also held curled inside that fist is a wave of love, and the fingers only need to let down their defences for a moment, the tightness to hesitate for a second, and love may prise open the prison and rush out in a tide of compassion for others that releases both the inner and outer worlds.
Art and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2018