Creation

There is a certain amount of fear about committing oneself to the art you create. Will all that I have put of myself into this work lessen me? Honesty is not the point, the danger is in a thorough effort, an enervating amount. You never completely recuperate. But you are always dying anyway, why not add what you have to the world? Why is it so hard to accept the paradox that sacrifice will give you life as well? Trepidation. Ambiguity. All we read of Kafka he willed be destroyed, a kind of life I can't yet grasp.