Tag Archives: Heaven

Movements

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Are we racing back towards our beginning, entranced in futures-past, is tomorrows technology the high priestess, the culmination point, is time seeding itself from branch to root, from the earth to the heavens, are we working our way back through the archives of an encrypted code entombed in the earth to establish telemetry within the heavens or are we moving forward through the heavens to re-establish communications within the earth. Will we stay within digital dreams forever or settle back into analog notions, could we be entangled in-between two strings, not knowing which end to untie and which to tie together.

If the shoe fits don’t where it.

Time bending upon the axis of a circle squared.

Tripping over the laces of reality.

Walking without rhythm the bear feet feel the drum of the earth.

Yet wearing the socks of logic makes winters frost warm the toes.

The square gives pause and boundary to the circles curvature.

Cornering on the right angles of reason.

Walking in step to feel the measure of the heavens.

Paradox is a mother fucker. The end. Or maybe the beginning.

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Jorinde Voigt

http://butdoesitfloat.com

Heads or Tails

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The ordinary and the extra-ordinary states of being.

May it possibly be of the case that at times things need to be sheered and experienced or expressed as separate distinct notions, to learn anything of value. To feel the real dirt and shit-stained muck of the Earth without Heavens polished bounty or to behold the jewel of light without obstructions from the black soil. As within other times, both sides must be implicitly expressed in and through their opposites, or the actions of the observer, to behold the Heavens within the Earth as well as the Earth within the Heavens. To take out the trash and witness creation itself rising from the refuse and discarded remains, resurrecting in the very moment you fully realize the intensity of any given moment given the intensity of your attentive directed gaze.

Image and words from: Josh Fleming

Original Street Art discovered in Iceland by Unknown Artist

Conversations

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To take “the winged energy of delight”, to bring it down, from the heavens, to drag its perfection, its clarity, in and through the muddy bog. What it thought it once new, what it wants to remember. Mother Amnesia comes and buries it well in the dark soil, to allow it to seed in its depths, to collapse its light under its own shadow. To root itself in dank forests or branch upward through the slender cracks of concrete in some dirty sulfuric city street, wondering how the fuck it found itself here, shackled in some ghetto wasteland. Somebody else’s war. Somebody else’s disease ridden trough. As bones chew against the wall, as the flesh weakens in doubt, forgetting its appearance. The tumor says that there is not much time, growth is in its final decent. Empires still rolling-roman bones, a wilted dandelion starves to taste the air, as the morning dew still returns, to wash the unclean, settling ever so gently on all things. So if our wings be clipped, if they still be dripping with that thick blood, brutally amputated with the dull rusty blade of indifference, deformed gnarled stumps, where once great mountains grew forth, 10,000 fiery feathers burned inflamed in knowing a presence that cannot be defined or defiled. So, if you find yourself drunk and stumbling within your own chaos, some horrible haunt that wrecks your dreams, look up and look down. As you grew out through the cracks in the skye, the cracks beneath these burial grounds. You arrived to learn, of things that only such a life could teach you. Arriving to restore, some place amongst your ancestors. To cultivate, from where ever they began. To grow out from that centre, to strive, to move towards that conversation waiting to be had. Where once stood a wilted petal, stepped upon and torn, blown out and drifting over desolate places. Until that seed was caught, by your hand and instructed not to fear, instructed to release its grasp on such thing it cannot control, instructed to refashion itself from this seed, to shape itself within this form, to grow within this frame, to know its boundaries and its reason, to work within the patterns, is where you’ll find yourself, yet always keep an ear towards the sea-wall.

“Just as the winged energy of delight
carried you over many chasms early on,
now raise the daringly imagined arch
holding up the astounding bridges.

Miracle doesn’t lie only in the amazing
living through and defeat of danger;
miracles become miracles in the clear
achievement that is earned.

To work with things is not hubris
when building the association beyond words;
denser and denser the pattern becomes––
being carried along is not enough.

Take your well-disciplined strengths
and stretch them between two
opposing poles. Because inside human beings
is where God learns.”

-Josh Fleming

Muzot, Febuary 1924

Rainer Maria Rilke, translation by Robert Bly

Image by: Robert Gutierrez

The Clod & the Pebble

 

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“Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a Heaven in Hell’s despair.”

So sung a little Clod of Clay
Trodden with the cattle’s feet,
But a Pebble of the brook
Warbled out these metres meet:

“Love seeketh only self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another’s loss of ease,
And builds a Hell in Heaven’s despite.”

-William Blake

Image by: Ryan Sullivan

 

 

If The Light Coalesced

The prism shattered, broke through the barrier of darkness, of pain, of sickness, of death, and disorder. Treats the wounded, until all things have mended their wings. It gathers together high above the earth to sing songs of the absolute, as it all ends, sinks into a forgotten memory. Can life exist without its counter, could the heavens bear such light without the space of darkness, an equal of its opposite. The absolute is forgetting to name the infinite shards, the broken glass, that which allows the reflection, the retention of a memory obscured in the dream of the living. The light is only brightest in the darkest cave.

– Josh Fleming

Image by: Tim Hodkinson

http://www.butdoesitfloat.com

Deep Ecology

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However we may wish to view it, a deeper ecology of mind must persist to retain the beauty and the glory of all that abounds with intrinsic value. Whether we exist, all else holds the rights to the deeds never written down. What is sacred if not the ground, that which allows are spirit to unite with its creation. Lay down your fear, tear down your fences, allow what is wild to awaken you from the dream, that it was only created for you and me. What we left behind in the garden, is what we are seeking to find, heaven exists, as we desecrate its divinity into extinction.

– Josh Fleming

Image By: Victoria Siemer