I am sculpting, because it’s time to sculpt. It’s that simple. When you know you know. I had never heard the name Bakula, but it appeared behind my eyes as I meditated to “meet my spirit guide” in a bout of insomnia… It could mean habitual liar or flower or symbol of ecstasy. Part horse, part strange human, its only apparatus for sense is mouth and that’s for the fundamental breath or the chant of NOW. Bakula is the princess of her own post-mortem party or the gargoyle for my life. She reminds me that now is always happening--that surprises are often humorous, and both can be fierce exercises of generosity.