Diana is 33, a Hoosier placed (misplaced?) in Minneapolis. She refuses to identify as Minnesotan, as it means all sorts of unfriendly and uncourageous things to her. She recalls well her 6th grade class discussing the election of mayor Daly in Chicago and her teacher shutting it down by pointing out that no one in that room was actually from Chicago, despite our Illinois saturated media making us think that we were.
Ever since then, her life has been one of slight misconnection and occasional shock when perfect alignment happens. She often sits and writes in her living room, watching the view of the street and the skyline over her balcony. A murder of crows lives atop her building, and at certain moments, usually on Fridays, a crow will appear, wingspan stretched out and shockingly large, to glide to a tree across the street slightly below her building. She has come to think of that tree as the murder bar.
Di is seeking alignment, to tap in perfectly to that universal plug and to let the electricity flow freely through her. Too many meditations the energy starts going but is never quite complete. She sees that energy pushing out the blocks and sorrow or disconnection, electrifying her to exercise, to write. It isn’t people with whom she needs to connect, but direct, universal life force, nothing filtered through reiki or somehow sent imprinted with another person’s usually inaccurate perception about her.
Abraham’s children may well be people of the book, but Diana is an artist, a person of the page. It is not the word of another but the manifestation of what she creates and how she creates herself that makes all the difference. Round and fleshy, she belong to Eros, an artist, a person of the page.