We are surrounded by arcs of light, spheres of confluence and influence, yet we fail to collectively notice the brilliance, the animate force within and without. The genius loci of the local expressions, the moss on stone holds the truth of your memories, mirrors for the moment. Cosmic radiations reflecting photosynthetic gradiations, the macro-scopia needs the micro-scopia as much as the micro-neisacs needs the macro-nesiacs. The world(s) needs your attention, your directed gaze, your passionate intensities. So lay down your qualms, your arms, your worries and doubts, cross reference the books with the trees, and the trees with the books. Invaluable is the imaginative—generative— creative—compassionate—reciprocal—investigative—logical processes of the universe becoming known. On the seventh day, when we rest our beliefs our conceptualizations of what we thought we knew with what is becoming known.
Image by: Unknown, Nikola Tesla is quietly reading under the canopy of Zeus, storms of activity, thoughts electric becoming known.
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
The search for reason ends at the shore of the known; on the immense expanse beyond only the sense of the ineffable can glide.
We do not leave the shore of the known in search of adventure or suspense or because of the failure of reason to answer our questions. We sail because our mind is like a fantastic seashell, and when applying our ear to its lips we hear a perpetual murmur from the waves beyond the shore.
Citizens of two realms, we all must sustain a dual allegiance…
– Abraham Joshua Heschel, 1990: 1-2
-Image by: Josh Fleming
In the valley of a pathless night, who will remain? Dressed in sweet honey, fiery hearth of new life, drunk on what is left to behold. I dreamt of a god, cloaked in song, eternal markets hum, the smile of a mind salient, lifted in perceptual tone. The mythic current of sonic textures re-establishes its connection. Death is only with what cannot follow, without its ragged edge we would wither, the unknown is the imaginative force. The mortal soil is the generative phenomenon of evolutions curse, to bury its dead, is to bathe in rebirth, in baptisms of solitude. Within the emotive breath of this song a memory conjures that is not my own.
Inspired by: Buckethead, Whispers Way and Coupon and words remixed and recycled from The Rag and Bone Shop of the Heart.
Image by: Unknown
Duality expresses an either/or relationship. A duel and opposition of concepts. Polarity expresses dynamic reciprocity and equipoise, a yin/yang relationship.
Words from: Synaptic Stimuli
Image by: Ling Meng
Draw the line and the light will follow, shape peace in violent acts of serenity. Resurgent recovery, exposed in raw truth, induce a little death, before the burial release the pigeons. I read the news, it spoke of blame, fault and denial, the obituary said nothing. Rooted in ignorance fear grew wicked, embraced in solitude it burst into an astounding fire. Possessed by a phenomenon of world growing within and without boundary, of a power beyond control. Bent by it weight we gather what we can, to erect a story of its passage, to honor its awakening as our own. Draw the line and the light will follow.
Image by: Reuben Wu
The water is falling, all over itself, tumbling and turning. Some waters flow swiftly like deer down stream, others wash over the edge, into monastic pools for reflection. I stand asunder, engulfed in mystery, shrouded of my own reflection. To sense and orient, to serve a purpose by simply being a witness, a passenger. That nature has found us bewildered, if only our hearts would gather the wisdoms to feel its wealth, to learn to trust in its currents, to move freely with the sense of belonging to the paths that we must go upon.
Image by: Daily Overview