What is the nature of your search? Are you stuck on your own island of despair, sunk in your everyday life?
I hear the hawk squawk, cry, bringing me back to the hear and now. How easy to get sucked out of your passion into the mundane tasks life's breathing lists of todo’s. This is an awakening, one, few will be awake for. The time itself is folding in on its self, folding so that two points bend back up and touch each other. A kiss of time, this is the essence of the search of ones internal connection. To touch the sound of hawk on air, to travel into the hologram of a multiverse. Shedding any linear thought of “gifts to share” ‘Medicine to heal” knowledge to bestow” for to follow the thought is to get sunk in your own island.
To follow the eddies and currents of ones own muses, diving into color on a page letting the hawk cry inform the hand. Maybe its taking a journey of left hand turns. Giving your self one rule, every mile make your first left, then go another mile and make another left until you left yourself to the place you can go no further. This is the destination, look around see the fold folding in on its self? You are not lost, you have never been lost, you have no need of map, or GPS. Only trust the folds of time and space.
To come away form each fold with another question to ask. You take yourself off of any known track. To be on track is to be knowing, to be knowing is away from, magic and wonder.
Wonder, wander, lifting, lighted for the world is spun into being by birdsong. Singing weaving a circle language to all sitting in human form.
Two hands, sculpting faces, drawing, scribbling, writing, ripping, sewing, listening and moving to a tweet and chirps.
Both hands moving in time with the wave of sound. This allowing, a space within to be expressed without the knowing as a bird song comes forth in language unknown to the human.
Movements moved with out a care to relevance.
Voice carried on air to pray the intent, self evident to all in the world.
Both hands moving one color in one another color in the other. Its song being made into a souls book of knowledge. The artist a healer, born of vibration of bird song. The book released from all constraint of story.
The song being of light.
Motion informed out of the word, concept informed by the very energy that informs birds to sing.
This is the journey beyond good enough into the magnificence of informed light, the very nature of the sound of the amazon rain forest. Swirling sounds informing and grinding out life. Cycle of circles inside cycles of circles.
This is the book of life language. Draw your book into wonder, see the beauty around in all islands of being. This it to awaken, hawk calls, hands move, vocal comes through, colors exit the spiral and a record is played.
Written 2/22/17 Listening Writers group, Lafayette, LA
Prompt From: The Moviegoer, Binx Bolling by Walker Percy
I hear the hawk squawk, cry, bringing me back to the hear and now. How easy to get sucked out of your passion into the mundane tasks life's breathing lists of todo’s. This is an awakening, one, few will be awake for. The time itself is folding in on its self, folding so that two points bend back up and touch each other. A kiss of time, this is the essence of the search of ones internal connection. To touch the sound of hawk on air, to travel into the hologram of a multiverse. Shedding any linear thought of “gifts to share” ‘Medicine to heal” knowledge to bestow” for to follow the thought is to get sunk in your own island.
To follow the eddies and currents of ones own muses, diving into color on a page letting the hawk cry inform the hand. Maybe its taking a journey of left hand turns. Giving your self one rule, every mile make your first left, then go another mile and make another left until you left yourself to the place you can go no further. This is the destination, look around see the fold folding in on its self? You are not lost, you have never been lost, you have no need of map, or GPS. Only trust the folds of time and space.
To come away form each fold with another question to ask. You take yourself off of any known track. To be on track is to be knowing, to be knowing is away from, magic and wonder.
Wonder, wander, lifting, lighted for the world is spun into being by birdsong. Singing weaving a circle language to all sitting in human form.
Two hands, sculpting faces, drawing, scribbling, writing, ripping, sewing, listening and moving to a tweet and chirps.
Both hands moving in time with the wave of sound. This allowing, a space within to be expressed without the knowing as a bird song comes forth in language unknown to the human.
Movements moved with out a care to relevance.
Voice carried on air to pray the intent, self evident to all in the world.
Both hands moving one color in one another color in the other. Its song being made into a souls book of knowledge. The artist a healer, born of vibration of bird song. The book released from all constraint of story.
The song being of light.
Motion informed out of the word, concept informed by the very energy that informs birds to sing.
This is the journey beyond good enough into the magnificence of informed light, the very nature of the sound of the amazon rain forest. Swirling sounds informing and grinding out life. Cycle of circles inside cycles of circles.
This is the book of life language. Draw your book into wonder, see the beauty around in all islands of being. This it to awaken, hawk calls, hands move, vocal comes through, colors exit the spiral and a record is played.
Written 2/22/17 Listening Writers group, Lafayette, LA
Prompt From: The Moviegoer, Binx Bolling by Walker Percy
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