Wednesday, December 06, 2006

What were we talking about?

A friend and I were talking the other day. What we talked about, I couldn't tell you. I just don't remember. Its seems it wasn't that important. But what was important, what I remember, was that warm feeling you get, you know, when the heat you've been standing next to you finally gets into your muscles and into your bones, and you feel like you can breath, relax, stop fighting off the cold as though you thought grinding teeth and pressed biceps will actually radiate heat into your hands and toes. So that warmth that I could once again stand and feel, the freedom from bracing, this kind of warmth sank into me.

I want to thank you for being just who you are that you could thaw my chilly cheeks into a smile that comes easily when I think of you.

Sunday, May 15, 2005

No reason

I love you.

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

Tell me - is that Art?

Hi, I thought of you today when I was talking with a friend about art. We were trying to decide about what art is.... loaded question, you think? Yes, indeed it was. How many arguments have occurred in our lifetime that started with the statement, "Now THAT's art."

Luckily, we were never embroiled about a particular piece of work, but rather just talking about art in general. We came to see that we were talking about two different things. One was that a piece of work is art for the simple fact that the artisan expresses it is so. If someone called their expression of work "art", then it is so. How it is perceived is open to interpretation, to be sure, but the definition in this case sufficed, because as long as the people doing the work considered their craft art, then it was art.

The other definition we were talking about, without knowing it, was that we call something art as long as the person perceiving the work believes it is art. That is a common belief, that once enough people believe something is art, then it becomes so, etc etc... Then there is all the people in between - some believe it is and some don't, but the definition remains the same. As long as someone in the perceiving role believes it is art, then it is so.

Of course, there are lots of arguments we can avoid right now by my telling you that definining what is and is not art does not interest me. What interests me is that moment in time when we are compelled to call something art; or that moment when a person, working on something intently, looks at their work and they feel it is their art; or that moment when a person walking by the crafter says, "Wow, that's art." Is she looking at the work, or at the working, or at the craftsman's perception of his own work?

If we stretch out the timeline....we are walking through a museum, and let' suppose we don't know what the original intention of the craftspeople were, but we walk by and we perceive some objects therein as art. What are we participating in when we do this? For whatever the reason is that we think something is art, in that moment when we say to ourselves, that is art, we are receiving something. Across the miles and mellinia, we have perceived and received the crafter's handiwork. As we receive works as art, are we not receiving a message of the energy and work that went into it, regardless of the intention of the crafter? Is that not a gift we are able to give to the crafter to have received that locked energy when we recognize their work as art?

My cats - one is black and quite onry, and one is light grey and purrs a lot. She - the black one - sometimes bites , especially when I don't hold still when she's chosen it's time to groom me. Then there is the light grey one... He's quite affectionate. He never gives licks or grooming, but everyone agrees: he's the loving one.... he loves being petted. The black cat gives attention in her way and she is loving, but it is the light cat who receives love and who is seen as loving.

If receiving is a universal sign of love, is receiving the work of others also a way to connect to the crafter in a conduit no less powerful than love? The bond that can exist between crafter and those who receive it can occur over decades, creating a connection across the years and generations. This makes sense, because love - true love - knows no space and time as boundaries.

The medium of air and water is very fluid, and signals travel through these media very quickly. The denser the medium, the slower the message. While this may seem far fetched, doesn't it make sense that there is possibly a tangible element to this perception or reception of which I speak? Is it possible that the crafter, working with their wood or canvas or vegitable twine, can infuse a message of art, of love into their work, that can be received years later in the recipient who perceives it as art once again? The statue in the hall, or the basket in the garden, or the paintings lining the room walls of a student, who so loved his subject he never sold one of them, may all have transmitting through them the signals left in their media by the crafters.

And maybe there are works out there that have that energy, but have not been released yet because the receiving has not yet occurred. There, waiting like jars of rippening jam ready to be received, and when that occurs, the threads of connection are picked up, and the connections of love are complete. There must be millions of potential woven fabrics of this sort of reception and perception right here, right now, if we would just look upon, feel, open to, and appreciate the works of art around us. I'm thinking, hmmm, I wouldn't mind that sort of blanket surrounding this planet right now.

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

Inside that column of moist electricity

Have you ever walked onto a path, and felt the air shift, become warmer, as though you entered into the field of a space heater, or the beam of sunlight, though nothing around you seems different from the step before? You make a mental note of it, and you think, oh that's nice. It helps you shake off the shivers. Then, a few more steps, you're out of it, out of that illusory room and back into the elements.

Imagine that awareness can be like that. We're walking along, pretty alert as standards go, and then suddenly, we become somehow more aware, more awake. We feel it to our bones, shaking off illusions of our inadequacy and warming our fears into calmness. For that moment in time, we sense some different truths with our ultasensitive inner skin. Oh! it's warm there. Then the awareness subsides, and we again perceive our life the way we normally do.

I don't know about you, but I tend to remember where those warm pockets are on my hikes. I like to think I can get back to those spaces of awareness when I want to, too. I'll start to remember to collect some trail markers along the way.

Wednesday, February 16, 2005

Your Place or Mine?

I've been thinking... Our sense of choice, the sense that we have the power to make choices seems to be the least remembered aspect of our participation in this life. But our choices are what make up our lives, our Life. Why do we forget this, I wonder. I know for me, I get exhausted remembering I have that much responsibility, and then when I'm that tired, I have a hard time making a decision about Sea Captain's Choice or Lamb Gibblets. Really, the cats should be with me during such trips.

There are things that do seem to be predetermined, and, putting aside the belief that we choose this life previous to our birth, we still have choices to make ever since that moment of entry. We make choices about how to handle rude kids on the playground, we choose to tell the truth or not in a tense situation, we choose to pay attention, or not. But many of us don't experience these moments as choice, but as pressures into one direction or another. Do we not have enough time to wipe our brow and listen to our hearts...? Well, maybe or maybe not. Somehow we forget that we always have the faculty to decide. I'm guessing once we fall asleep to that, it is difficult to arouse that wakefulness in times of stress or fatigue.

The world these days feels beleagered. Thinking of our personal responsibility may seem perhaps a luxury we can't afford while we shore up our defenses against everything. As a collective, we are sleepily imbibing in a toxic gas of fear and aggression. We continue in this dream as though our actions make no difference, as though our choices have no consequences.

Oh - the hangover when the waking happens! In our dreams, we are the hero and the villian and the confused bystandard. Only in lucid dreams do we realize we have choice, and what a joy it is to discover the dream state in such a way. But the same applies to the waking world, to this life. What if we woke up inside this dream, realized we are dreaming and started to live this dream differently, with power of choice and determination? Suddenly, we would see that the monsters we were running from are only apparitions of our conflicted personae. Literally, the veils would fall to the side revealing a truth we do not normally imagine, but if we are lucky, we sometimes glimpse. If we woke up, as though we were dreaming, anxious struggles would fall away as we checked out every detail of this world. We'd again feel free to decide, to make choices about this world we created. We'd see it for the beautiful landscape it is and look to clean up our dream-state misunderstandings.

For those of us who have never had a lucid dream, I appologize for the lengthy comparison. Have one, soon. Simply tell yourself to wake up inside your dream the next time you're there. It may take some practice, so don't be surprised if you actually wake up immediately after realizing you're dreaming. You'll get better at it. Give yourself a chance.

Once you get the hang of it during your dreams, then try it out in this life. Set your intention at the beginning of your day to wake up the next time you find yourself asleep in your life. Just like in lucid dreams, telling yourself to wake up may not be enough at first. Keep at it. You'll get better.

Thursday, January 13, 2005

How are you...?


It's been a long time since I last wrote, I know. I've missed you, though, and think of you quite often. I'd like to start a correspondence, a conversation of sorts,...that is, of course, if you're amenable. I feel like we have a lot of catching up to do..... in more ways that one.

I'll start.... first, I want to appologize for cutting out on you, for being self-absorbed, and for not paying attention. We all come here to do something, big or small, flamboyant or quiet. I strayed and forgot, and for that I'm sorry. I feel more awake now, and I ask your forgiveness. I know I'm not perfect, and I promise I won't pretend to be. But, I think, together we can make something wonderful here....

Well, that's it for now. Think about it. Let me know. I'm right here.