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
Belief, the shattered glass occluding ones view. Faith, an open window, allowing the wind to again remind you of its presence as your own.
– Josh Fleming
Such lights that drift from cosmic seas, whats gathers forth to speak without words. Awashed in the dark cloth of night, brave intensities spark fire alight, spreading out across a grieving sky. In this cavern they speak with light and form, sheltered from the echoes of false words, sheltered from thoughts that springs forth from the dead. Effortlessly they arrive and depart, exploding into the chaos of night, death wrapped in such beautiful-disasters. Existence, to witness their passage as our own, as we effortlessly arrive, so should we depart, into the chaos of night, death wrapped in such beautiful-disasters.
We impede an oscillation, by constrained relations, waves of activity will mount until falling upon silent shores.
…the river splits and separates from its source, moving and changing its every direction and flow, yet the source does not separate from the river, within its memory resting peacefully, abiding effortlessly, seeking out an indication of course not yet taken…
…embodied wisdom guides the hand that does not move…
Image by: Alexis Malin
Thresholds of our existence, spines supporting ceiling, slowly the lamps wept, a prisoner to some, the hero understands the task, drawing forth from the well, the halls of solitude, in this house, the self seeds the hearts of all, a reflection of the world-creative divinity, the results in a pattern not of action, but of significant representation.
Inspired by and some words rearranged from: Joseph Campbell, The Hero With A Thousand Faces