Remember this always: You are not one person but two. You are the conscious mind that prepares coffee, showers, brushes his teeth, takes out the trash on trash day, walks his dogs, eats his meals, converses about the things he knows, offering opinions on things he has only a hint of understanding; and yet this public person is not your entire self. That other self, the unconscious dreamer, the playful child, the builder of sand castles and slayer of dragons, the tree climber and cloud counter and the one who sees tortured faces in stone, the rock collector, bottle cap spinner, music maker and doodler, sign maker, investigator of fox holes, gopher holes, snake holes, who fears the dark and yet feels mystified in its presence, he is the one your art is made from. Believe this always: To silence the petulance, fickleness, shiftless, maudlin weeper of dead bees, that silly, improbable one inside you, is to stifle the one who sees connections the conscious mind cannot, will not; for the conscious mind looks upon the builder of dreams as the public to Noah building the Ark: What is this madness? What is this nonsense? But be stubborn little child within, do not be dismayed, and carry on. Just as you need the conscious mind to shape your crude etchings, doodles, your erratic words into something meaningful, the conscious mind needs you to see the importance and dearness of life. So when your uncertainties descend you into a slough of despond, release the playful side of you, play on the page, the canvas, the marble block, the piano keys or strings, beat your drums, play and play and play, let loose, whip the trees with your wild sticks, create knights slaying dragons in the sky in those shapeshifting clouds, stir the waters of your unconscious with rods charged with lightning and then step back, sigh with relief that your play has been worthwhile and sleep, then let the conscious clean up your beautiful messy play.