Funny how words can sculpt our feelings which in turn sculpt more words. It often becomes a vicious cycle. Meaning in the heart gets tormented by the definitions held in the head.
Aesop’s fables came off the shelf today and I read a few of them and thought about how these arose out of the mists of time. They are so thick with animism and natural metaphor you can’t help but connect on a myriad of levels, each different as it arrives to you in your place and time.
The aliens invaded my little piece of reality yesterday. They came in waves
reflections of Other
of our future
sent to us via double helix bionet
across the aeons,
freak when sees a rift
jump into it
dance to it
There was nothing I could think of word-wise to throw at it. There was no need. It was just a matter of feeling the art as opposed to analyzing it. Walking in to an exhibit and allowing yourself to be randomly drawn to the pieces that catch your soul. Feel the surroundings. Absorb the energy. Feel how the room changes as each vast vessel of consciousness enters the room. See their reactions to the art, to each other, to themselves.
I took the whole thing in as one large piece of art. Just the notion of art was interesting. is art what differentiates us from other species? Or is art mere BEing? OK, enough artiste.
On to the next day:
Walking in the rain this evening I look across the street and only in America would I see two guys standing on the corner talking on cell phones pulling each other in opposite directions by the collar. It was like they were arguing, but they were each engaged in their own phone conversations. They were pretty much going around in circles.
Oh where to start? So much happening these days. What would be an antonym of fall from grace?
Taking shape not too far in the distance is a person. You can see her rather clearly. Heat rising off the planet distorts the vision now and then. But as she draws hear, you can see her face, her eyes, her soul.