S.B.T. 404

reciprocity

play both big videos at once for a unique spin:)

and so being, this shows a kind of social concept that divides the whole, dis-unites, i'll tip my hat to the truth in that. though there's the flip side to consider, that chaos is often called for. but now at thanksgiving the family will gather and try to boost the boat above any turbulence with philotimo. philotimo—some good explanations of the concept in the film below, though i admit philotimo makes me feel we could stop talking and just do it. not that we aren't great. it's just better quality philotimo to embody that fact as routine operational. that delicate balance I was referring to. when being in a time and place where some basic tangents

are tipping, and we're staying above, above water

you hear me? slap!

)

we're gonna make it cuz you're not gonna stop til we get there.
you want a smack in the head?

the 21-day meditation with oprah and deepak chopra is now complete. it was really great. they sent around a questionaire, asking such things as: what would the matching CD set need to have for you to want to buy it? I guess they don't know about audio hijack. or maybe it's something more sinister hahahahaha as you can see the experience did me no good at all. and i'm comfortable with that;)

so i wrote:

i tell you oprah, the stuff just needs more heart. it's like ok ok peace is good, but i need inspiration on top of that, meaning "energy". not so much meditating just to quiet my mind because my mind is as such by nature, i only direct it sometimes towards chaos or disorder for reasons i could call philotimo.  i like the dream-life of it. i must confess, it'd take a lot to get me to buy the CD set. Like maybe you can come and visit, stay at the harbor hotel and have lunch. i can see it, my CD set wrapped in rice paper and tied with a ribbon. anyway, you asked.

S.B.T. 403

   

in the company of angels

it occurs to me that the self is a mystery. they say the true self is the self from the wellspring of harmonic fields, light=speed curved air and the eye of god. so, what would this "i" be able to know about it?

in energetically co-creating with the universe, one should have some idea what product in particular is coming down the line, at least for the sake of efficiency—having background in design/manufacturing, there's a built-in a stanchion for regarding all processes in terms of productivity.

a matter of setting priorities, highest good being all that it is. 

focusing on the highest good actually reveals a tier type of scale, in the middle and at the top and bottom there's the true self's desires and then there's the mystery self's boxes of stuff, really, bookshelves full of desires, some fulfilled, many discarded, some piled up in the corners hung on hopes for some other time. let's just let that go for now. sharavana bhava.

last night i climbed down musty basement stairs at the old family home, into a cellar so still and silent, with books and rusty tools and dusty ornaments left behind, departed loved ones, things that once were a part of family life, things that were kept, bought, collected, and used by any number of familial hands, hearts, eyes, stomachs. i was struck by a box of

glass bulbs, still shiny under the lid ajar, the box label shows it was from a store that was on the main street of this town some 50 years ago. long-forgotten lovely glass balls lying so still, where once upon a time i stood in front of the christmas tree marvelling at them, my eyes melting, imagination spinning around blurred edges of delicate glittery glass, sparkles and lights. 

i stopped, looked around. there were stacked chairs, the same chairs my grandmother once had circling her dining-room table. there was my father's leroy neiman framed golf print that once hung over the fireplace. there was my aunt's kitchen table, piled up with boxes of old gadgets and cook-ware. i drew a line with my fingertip in the dust between boxes and the edge of the table. a good part of my life was anchored at that table,

i remember live scenes, as if watching them happen now, on a parallel screen. where we talked laughed ate drew did homework read the paper sliced apples, rolled out pastry argued cried over onions played cards wrote letters, paid bills, strung popcorn garlands with cranberries, did knitting, polished the silver, and sat at that table, the joyful table of being safe, loved, loving, having a place-mat, the secure comfort of knowing one another well and reaching for the salt.  well and cared for, accepted, having the power to create joy just by being there, in the company of angels.
 
the shadows close in around me, a spec in my eye, an ache in my heart. i wonder if i will ever stand up to the magnitude of divine spirit, if i will actually place my feet squarely on the path carved through the woods ahead of me by whatever genie knows more about where i'm going than i do.  shreem nama.

S.B.T. 402

light bending

it's mid-november, my fingers are cold, there's a draft that floats right over the keyboard it seems. i wonder if it's the chill of some ghostly presence, maybe an angel come to visit. i'm shivering in the studio, the morning rain is giving way to a topping of blue sky and i just looked up to see a wide shaft of bright sun envelope the colorful leaves still on the old oak.

the yellow-orange sizzles surrealistically against the still-grey horizon, geez I can hardly type.  i listened to a talk with Eckhart Tolle, it was explicitly not interesting, and he would agree, in fact he kept saying that. "Is a sunset 'interesting'?" he asks. "Only when you start to think about it." i do seem to have a prejudice about thinking, but why throw the baby out with the bath-water. It's not thinking that bugs me, it's over-thinking.

like a flashight on the bough, like the clouds have bent the light horizontally. this is a case where a picture doesn't do words justice:) and the words just disappear.

S.B.T. 401

different

when i was a fledgling art student i thought 

protecting ones precious ideas, concern about being ripped off,

competitiveness for whatever reason unless it was to enhance everyone's overall effort/experience (like friendly competition towards a greater goal), were sort of beta-brain-wave-pumping exercises in futility—

all these "it's MY idea, you better not touch it with a ten-foot pole" attitudes were an out-there off-balance social phenomenon

that

didn't 
add up 
somehow.

so every time someone stole, used with or without permission or bought one of my original so-to-speak ideas outright, i heard a chorus, in counterpoint:

"that actually Is my dear idea"

"but, there are an infinite number of ideas"

and i'd note the occurrence and move on, not that it happened every day but the few times it did a little chunk of soul went missing, but that left a space for some ventilation, so it was encouraging in a sense. i could have chosen a battle or maybe a collaboration, but i let it go. i began to realize that it was a good thing in a way to have an idea get a lift to another place. it meant i didn't have to provide transportation.

one time a teacher who must have been agonizing over something unseen said "but what if there are only one or two REALLY GOOD ideas that can make your life a dream come true, out you on the map, get you into the Whitney." and i didn't react, out of respect and shyness, but i thought it was an "expect limitation" message. 

i have to admit that the geese flying over called out a cacophany at the exact moment these inner words echoed: "i think different".  it could be seen as my ego's baby finger nodding toward me while the rest of the hand holds the cup delicately at afternoon tea.  let's take a sip, lovely assam aroma. 

waht? do i even know anything about anything especially myself? duh,  i do and even if i didn't so what. but then again, i'm not at the Whitney. and only one of my ideas ever ended up at the Whitney, though it was completely transformed materially, by an artist who'd been a friend in my class, who'd been inspired by the idea, had come several times to my studio when i was working on it.   when i saw the works at the Whitney, i realized the idea never was mine to keep. 
I wouldn't want to have been carrying it around for years. however, i do work in concept development.  just covering the bases.

"You can't use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have."    

— Maya Angelou

clear path ahead, on to the next idea....