In the grand scheme of things- specks of dust
Floating in and out of being- rays of sun
Following our hearts- as if nothing mattered more.

The truth stings like nettles
And makes for delicious tea.

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Things, as always, come together- with sufficient patience- such is their nature.
Things, as always, come apart- with sufficient love- such is our task.

To be present in the wake of being, to witness without judgement, to see without taking sides-

Things, as always, aren't things after all- friction, tension, repulsion, formation and dissolution- always a process, always a dream.


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Am I wasting words trying to capture what cannot be grasped;
what should be cherished, adored and adorned with,
witnessed in its force, tended to with love, worshipped in dread,
accepted and fought until the very end?


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The I is skin deep and hollow- the rest is being.


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It's a balancing game, really. the urge and the need, the want and the must- game of push and pull of the weightless, weighted and the uplifting; where one is many, all possibilities open.


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The beauty of a landscape, the light distribution lawfully contextual- rich yet bounded- what we see is the essence of physics within which we grow.

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CREATIVITY THROUGH PURPOSEFUL CREATION.

Challenge yourself to embrace boundaries; restriction as the central practice of creation- to put a stake into the ground and say: "I shall not go past this point and yet I will create beauty and value" is the highest trust in ones capabilities..

For that reason I say, limitations should be seen as a badge of honor- to create within boundaries is a sign of respect and understanding, of wisdom and gratitude towards all that is.


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The sky is empty, 
no stars to follow,
nights as dark as hollow hearts.

No signs to interpret but my own being
irreducible to its core,
relentless- inviting to the game of marvels.

(I alone is the greatest joke)

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Tell me, pray:
what is the difference between words imposed
and words revealed?


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Only one heart to follow, one whispering voice to listen for-
the one closest to joy- pure in its essence, one that never lies;
A chirping stream with waters cold, so refreshing to the aching soul of a wanderer.


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Freedom is wonderful but paradise is a walled garden.


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I am thus.
A space, a floating frame, a mirage of the everyday's self same me. Neither here or there, ending is a liminal space of being anew; an invitation to self reflect.

I feel hopeful, sad, fragmented yet whole, I feel new yet old- different yet same, joyous in despair; I feel it all now- when I reflect my being dissolves in time; past and its formativeness, future and its hopes- my present sensing is swelling, pouring out over the edges of whom I can speak of. I feel liminal: nor here or there but grateful for the journey.

I am.


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WORDS ARE MERE PUPPETS WHOSE MASTER RUNS THE SHOW


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Can visual pattern recognition translate into other "realms" of experience?

- creativity as a capacity/ flexibility to observe and diagnose/ identify patterns and compare them to other layers of experiencing/ compare them with no regards to "official categories" ie. senses


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I am.

A half circle. 
Part man, part story.

A quarter then.
Part motion, part presence.

An eighth, maybe?
But to split now, I have to become whole.


Empty of meaning, the river flows.


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Keep falling apart for the new leaves need space to come out; new seasons, new cycle, new day.
Await more beginnings.

Same but different
Different but same


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I am.
I is.
We all are I.
-Untransformed, centered in being and yet..

Who is that I that I claims to be?
I change. 
From context to context, from day to day;
there has never been a moment when I was the same.

NEVER CHANGING, NEVER UNCHANGED



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INDIVIDUAL consisting of TRAITS consisting of TENDENCIES consisting of MEMORY BANK OF PREVIOUS INDIVIDUAL ACTIONS & ENVIROMENTAL REACTIONS

So, for the matter of an example, say
-*little Jack accidentally pushes over a vase and breaks it.*

Environmental Response (ER): mom, primed by her own storyline shouts & calls little Jack an ungrateful, unobservant little prick.
-Jack in the role of Individual Response (IR): is still stunned by the unexpected accident
-ER: does not read the silence as Jack being stunned but that Jack doesn't care.
IR: Jack accepts the role of careless kid for he trusts his mom

Result: an accident in the form of ACTION and Reaction framed in the specific context's light becomes part of the MEMORY BANK which in turn, under the condition of repeated exposure will influence the TENDENCY of little Jack's response and so on..


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It all takes time; future is inevitable not certain.
[patience for hardship, steady breath and one step at a time]


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Every painting is a living form and potentially a proof of concept.


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Modern humanity seems so lost in the newly acquired world of  seeming abundance.


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God is nothing but contradiction and all that's left.


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To start with it's a question of comfort to think primarily within our language and eventually becoming entrapped in its snares of duality and linear logic rather than embracing the seemingly chaotic world of raw experience that is much harder to grasp*.

*Experience itself is by its essence ungraspable, one can only witness it and, with some latency, possibly project one's understanding onto it**.

**Projecting which will either be allowed to be molded by the experience and thus over time become more synchronized, or, as it is the case with many amongst us- forcing our projection onto our experience so aggressively that our own perception of the lived experience becomes distorted (which will inevitably catch up on us sooner or later)



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