The only ‘Fool’ I have time for is the eternal innocent portrayed in the Tarot. I love my anima, my muse – she has crow-feathers in her hair and tatoos on her skin, she howls like a wolf. Risking embarrassment, not caring what others think of me, allowing myself to become humble (not humiliated as I was when a child) is ultimately very freeing. I choose to be free, I let go of needing others good opinions, I throw away the straitjacket of ‘normality’.  And the poem bursts forth from somewhere deep inside, a resounding ‘Yes’ to life, to my self. Journal cover April 14