Standing before the spirit of the rock, the carver takes his place. The master caretaker of his craft, he selects a line to trace. To shape a block of marble, crystalline, cream and gray, his solid chisel charts the contoured lines with grace. Any slip or mishap might cause the rock to break. So, he travels well beyond the worn path he planned and enters deep within his soul where he calls forth, "Courage." Now, an extraordinary vision flows forth and rushes through his humble hands.
The precious stone itself compels the carver offer all to this molten limestone, tumbled and cooled, by the rivers of time. His hammer beats in a steady pulse; his gaze remains ever calm for the silent mystery is waiting, devoid of reason, end or rhyme. The ebb and flow of sunlight pours through an open door, and as he chisels, tiny chips of stone begin to vanish from view. His self-expression is his sole intention, nothing more… and if that lacks perfection, it is your sight that is askew.
His tools move like a journey into a cloud-like, rosy mist, descending on the room like a sweet kiss from afar. In truth, the carver knows that the earth angels are all around him. They are the assistants in this manifestation of magic, awakening through art. Too soon, the brilliant hues of sunset blaze a wonder he observes until the stars beguile the long shadows of the eve. Still later, the moon sparkles along finely, polished curves until it all rests on the horizon and shifts the final light to leave.
At last, the new morning trades one bright day for another. The carver stands and stretches his body, cold and tired. Now, he waits for you to behold his creation, this holy, blessed mother. Her head nods, as her palms rise, to welcome the inspired. She evokes an ancient memory of a heaven, eternally aglow. The purity of her essence implies the longest sigh… and for your absolute devotion, a revelation is bestowed. In her all-embracing heart abides the most glorious love on high.