Having lingered long and lovingly in a labyrinth of my own making, I emerged to find the world still beautiful but changed. Music and poetry had fled, along with the Tutelary Spirit; in his place a dark daimon arose, beckoning toward that chaos we called home before our birth.    In the sudden silence I began to paint - like a child, like a primitive, unencumbered by style or technique, groping toward the real, inventing a mythology. Slowly, words returned, then music, and finally I found myself  - now daimon-wrestler, he who seeks his face in the courts of chaos.