METAMORPHOSIS

Day one, 
in the morning sun, silk ties to the passion vine

silk ties

to the agent of change

TRANSPARENCY II

A letter to R.

 

Saturday Sermon

"Transparency.  To let the light not on but in or through.  To look not at the text, but through it; to see between the lines; to see language as lace, black on white; or white and black, as in the sky at night, or in the space on which our dreams are traced."  Norman Brown, Love's Body. 259.

The man is a poet!  And questions questions questions remain. 

 

The moment underground when we can no longer imagine the compost,

when process ceases,
is that death?

Or is compost the soul? 

It is when and why we cannot, we are unable to integrate the teachings of the underground on to our school curriculum. 

Hibernation, burrowing, quiet, multiple deaths of some species and on and on.  Like monarch butterflies that migrate to Mexico in one season, in two or three, or a hundred generations.

I do not think butterflies have been tagged by scientists to count their multiple generational deaths. Kind of hard to do.

 

Simply because we do not wish to go there. To the place of soul.

Silly of us because we are surrounded by this fluid death.

"When I was born, a death wish so strong the certainty then I was already dead."

Or can we imagine this intriguing in-between,

the between the lines as something other than - a possibility?
The blank page? Amniotic fluid as death and life in one.

I have been writing about this place in dream, this City of Lights and it is a haunting task - the entire comes from dream state and it comes in pieces, ready made.  An amazing process of translation on to word that which does not wish to be translated on to word.

It is like a "real" dream I had once about a theatre play that had no words - the entire play was made out of movement without a sound or a word. A mimic, a mime.

 

 

I have started training a new bunch of interpreters at the arboretum and once again, it is time for the wonderful talk about the "ecology of the watershed". 

When this old biologist, a "deep ecologist" reminds us of the closed nature of the cycle of life - from water to water. 

He looks at all facets of science and ties it all together –

the flow of the creek downriver, the resistance to the flow downriver. To the large body of water in the bay, to the eggs of fish spawning upstream, to the calcium in the teeth of human and the egg shell of bird, to the methodical transformation of nail and tooth to dots in the wings of a butterfly, seen under the lens and back to full color, when seen by naked eye. 

 

 

George, our resident neighbor peacock showed up today, after a long absence.

In the end, they all willingly or not, come up with the moralizing tale that we (humans) are more predatorial than,

And I think - why?  This anthropomorphic view does not yield great insights! Anymore, anyway.  We have written the classics already.  It is time for new thought!

Well, it is Saturday and a day to write and to ponder.  Another literary magazine in New England picked up one of my poems - to appear in January.  I am done taping a CD, The case of dreams.  Will read some on Friday, October 8, at Ed Kling's gig with the open mike thing at the St. Michaels Community Center at 8 pm.  At least, I think I will, if the spirit of the soul moves me.

Next week it is Saint Michael’s 200th anniversary celebration.  Gordon will dress up as a true "colonial" baker at the Saturday farmers market.  I will come as his "poor relation".  I thought perhaps to dress up as a South American rarity of an Indian old woman, complete with a bone on my nose - brought to the northern territories as a circus act, way back when, and now working for the "boss man" as a baker's assistant in exchange for room and board and a little sex.  We are trying to get a true black man to come in dressed as a slave - so what else is new? in shackles and chains.  Do you think Mark Woodie might go for it?  We shall be arrested for sure.

Of course, Gordon is working on a boat that shall land at Muskrat Park precisely at 10 am, when the bells ring for market start.

 "Oh how pretty!" will exclaim the ladies!  And out of the boat all the slaves will disembark, fresh from Sa Leone, covered in slime and in shit!  And the good ladies of the market shall hand them lemons as a good remedy to combat their scurvy!!

Cheers!  This is my sermon for the week.

 

 

 

 

 

CRYSTAL AND FLAME

Musings on transparency, crystal, flame and harmony with the material...

Transparency as lightness - same as in flame same as in crystal. Ever noticed the light out of those is not dissimilar?  I tend to lean toward one or the other, all the time. 

 

And in both, we have period of non-light.
Less gliss in crystal, defects, intrusions from other stones, lack of outside mirror images of light to reflect the clear of crystal? 

And for the flame, the common talk  - the fire is out, no more passion, no more firewood, depleted forests, and by lazy extension, no more electricity, no more no more, no more of more.

Ah, but wait --

Once we couple crystal and flame, we may hopefully see that this is not about either/or.

Rather

to stare at clear water, yes, we learn to say these are clear sailings!

 

to stare at muddy waters, no, we learn to say, stay clear. 

- I propose then to stare long enough until the particles of sand loam and clay separate, and a space appears in between - that is one of the meanings of transparencies - you do not change the waters - you see into them.

thus knowing thy topic as mirror image to what you may see. 
And here enters the topic of time, while you wait and gather up the necessary patience and knowledge to wait. Here is the exercise to be practiced.

It occurs to me that confrontation is, in a way, the mode of staring into the "muddy" waters - into that we do not know, into the possibility of change.

Society and physical reality are separate entities.

The anthropomorphic view eventually always gives way to a more earthy reality, or, if you wish, to a cosmic reality - a slightly larger scale. or a smaller scale ( the bug, the virus, the tiny) 

What you touch - gets touched AND moves on with your touch.  No way for us to deny that simple reality.

Sympathy with your materials

as harmony.

Interesting that in architecture the "people" who make up a structure are called materials, as opposed to the architect, who calls himself a man.

The notion of leavers and takers, a book called Ishmael

the notion of leavers and takers still places man at the center, does it not?

And the issue of control comes to mind -  No. No, it will not change – I am in control, here!  “ Ah, but to control is to take. “

 

and, at the end of this particular time

it is not about moving or change

 - that is a given. -

it is more about moving and change in a particular manner

every single paratactic moment, in grace

 

it is about a take in cinema, flash, point, swish

and hwishh of eternal oceans

 

as long as we stop

when the endings are there

we leave

 

hwishh and swish of oceans

 

TRANSPARENCIES, POSITIONS AND SPILLS

Transparencies, positions and color spills

 

"Why name them? Vanity, vanity, nothing but vanity: the itch for naming things is almost as bad as the itch for possessing things.”

Edward Abbey in Desert Solitaire

http://ag.arizona.edu/OALS/ALN/aln35/Abbey.html

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Through naming comes knowing; we grasp an object, mentally, by giving it a name - hension, prehension, apprehension. And thus through language create a whole world, corresponding to the other world out there. Or we trust that it corresponds. Or perhaps, like a German poet, we cease to care, becoming more concerned with the naming than with the things named; the former becomes more real than the latter. And so in the end the world is lost again. No, the world remains - those unique, particular, incorrigibly individual junipers and sandstone monoliths - and it is we who are lost. Again. Round and round, through the endless labyrinth of thought - the maze." Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire

   

 

Transparências, posições e transbordares de cor

“Porque dar nome? Vaidade, vaidade, nada senão vaidade: o impeto de dar nome as coisas é tão ruim quanto o impeto de ter coisas.”

Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire.