wordstream

biologically held as we are, motes of self-awareness, rare objects in transformation, exotic particles roaming the surface of this world. we are exactly suited to this narrow band of blue-green chemistry, this spectrum of delicate conditions, whilst we spin and speed through the black vastness on a galactic voyage charted by our sun

a life holder, a vessel for the gathered and the contained. this i, an illusion of separation, adrift in an endless night

an unanticipated event, a marker, an adjusted trajectory, a new navigation through an unknown interval to some future destination. a point in constellation maybe, or out there, standing alone. the thin layers of days, months and the distance of years accumulating. a succession in which transparency fades through the finest of opacities, laid by the unseen washes of our moments

the mundane and the particular collapses in the face of the infinite

a rising and a falling, a gathering together, an upwelling pool, through watercourse and tributary, river and delta and, eventually, in release to the ocean

we are particles floating in the river, flowing forward without end

listening to the minutiae, the fleeting thoughts that arrive from within the flow of the micro-movement

and somehow it is happening, we are becoming disconnected. separated from the ground, separated from wholeness, a boundary grows between us and the natural order, our senses are becoming less permeable. if we persist, only the vestiges seeping through. just a fractured understanding will be left to us

knowledge that seems to enter the mind from nowhere, a subtle and constantly flowing word stream

a glimpse beyond the mirror and the flickering glimmer of a richer state of being. but in the mirror’s reflection, artefacts of self-deception

if we could only anchor a line to the centre of our deepest heart and keep it taught

we must become bewildered, led astray, lured back into the wild and avoid the dream-fear absurdity of being lost forever, with wisdom, we can but go with the river

the sky, blue, luminous illusion of containment, but night defines a sharper truth, standing on the unknowable edge-reach of a star pricked blackness

small ideas arise that reveal the nature of this awesome and irrefutably unique position

any mind can insist that it will seek the mysterious. reach to the wondrous. not requiring specific truths, simply an organ of intuition and imagination

from deep within the deep, rising through the thermocline, an upwelling of bioluminescent detritus. bright starry filaments glinting in rich diversity. undreamt materials emerging from darkness. like specks of fragmented information, pulled upward from unconscious depth, to dance in the mind. tiny geometries, elusive jewels, bearing minute hints and traces from the origins of existence

we are all islands residing in a sea of flux

fractal images, left by the passage of energy through matter. traces and marks that describe the folding and unfolding of dynamic activities. energies building and enfolding, attracting, feeding back throughout themselves

i find my self the space in which the world happens. a seer called by instinct to witness and respond 

we are the subjects of an implicit evolution. a universal urge, a natural will to unfold. unwittingly, each day, we live and breath this instinctual, inherent consciousness

what can we really grasp or hold onto in a continuum, best leave life to faith

even when we intuitively know that there are no boundaries we seem to create them through forms of signification and definition. here nothing can flow or blend as we cling to our thought objects in the river's current

one is free to avoid the results of one's actions but not free to avoid the results of one's avoidance

we are as goethe saw us to be; advanced instruments that hold the capacity to activate, in pursuit of heartfelt truths, our exact sensorial imagination. goethe allowed his mind to yield to phenomena beyond the automatic processes of learnt thought. he once said, 'how difficult it is, to refrain from replacing the thing with its sign, to keep the object alive before us instead of killing it with a word'

gabriel marcel once said, 'existence is inseparable from astonishment' and intonated that once 'i' is relinquished, 'original self' floods in and a beauty, previously invisible, becomes visible

a falling back into fields of chaos. disintegration, deterioration, desiccation, decay, degeneration and dilapidation. an eroded, corroded, fractured, fragmented, timeworn, patina coated beauty. a sun-bleached, sand-polished, water-worn beauty. a faded, frayed and softened beauty. an entangled perfection born of strange and wondrous imperfection

as we walk, small stones pass continuously under our gaze, a mesmerising microcosm of self-similar particles, and then, unexpectedly, a tiny colourful, sea-worn bead. a rare delight of discovery, gathered, now held fast. at least for a time

we generally dislike small endings because they remind us of the bigger ending and our struggle to see beyond that dark, mysterious threshold

unfathomable our existence. our calling unknowable; and how stupifying that our imaginations have been set so loose. an unending flow of creative response passing from mind to mind in every possible direction

through a fine field of focus the wide open lens can isolate the subject in a landscape. it sees as we do not. transforming deep fields of detail into shallow softened planes. it abstracts the three dimensional truth and in doing so becomes our poetic eye. our sight filtered to the subtle moment. hard won in the function of daily life. but this sight, this image, has its own reality. it existed at the optic nerve and once given to the senses joined the universe, never to be lost

the container is as vital as the contained. a container describes the quality of pattern that forms within it. we are all subject to containers be they natural or socially constructed. many of them are barely visible. we all step into unwitting patterns and are thus unwittingly entrained. every container has its own unique quality, its sympathetic resonance, dark, light, loud or gentle

one space blends into other spaces into other worlds but every 'thing' appears to be contained within another 'thing', containers within containers. ultimately, all an illusion relative to the position of the experiencer

imagination can open through sound and light, their transformation of the mundane revealing new spaces between our concrete concepts of reality, the obvious dissolving before our eyes

a viceral facination for materials. paper, glass. or water and stone. their physical diversities maybe, or somehow in the poetic processes of collecting, storing, collating and archiving. something slowly revealed, connections noticed after many years

there is nothing else for it. nothing else to do. but the most layered delivery, the deepest senses of things brought to light, must enter every moment's work

did we listen to ourselves, hear our individual callings, did the pattern of our upbringing drown atmospheres, our natural given vocations left behind, undeveloped

we walk through weather, walk over ocean softened rocks, gaze deeply into pools. the colour of filaments and a spangle of diaphanous forms set painterly against a pale grey, blue and mauve grained ground. electric lime-green mats and dots of fluorescing orange sponge shimmer through the sky-water surface. below the surface when still, more detail. pink tipped tendrils, and soft bladder spawn-sacks glow yoke ripe and tiny forms move between small rocks stroked by long weed

through great reaches of time, mind arisen from all things existent, we are slowly drawn like a flood towards an ocean

it is a strange and intimate action to observe oneself observing ones own sense of being inside ones own body

this universe, this world, this land, this nest for our beings, holding us safe

from deep within the origin a long tide is called, into form, into being. unfolding with complexity and gathering diversity. quickening in pulse, it sees itself rising in a stream of fleeting moments. reflects upon its curve steepening. it yearns for a future, far ahead, in which all will be drawn together, an omega point of total recognition

today it rained like a sheet over the open ocean. folded or open, on the highest reach of the tide, scattered over miles, a line of drowned butterflies. caught in a void with no shelter, many perfect, some stripped bare of scales, almost transparent but equally beautiful

during the systematic examination and categorisation of the natural world grew a penchant for curious common naming. strange and otherworldly juxtapositions arose that counterbalance the dry latinisation of genera and species. in the realm of the conchologists opportunity abounded to create surreal and poetic word marriages: cabbage jewel box, lightning moon turban, asian flame volute, black tiger olive, glorious star, african berry moon, beautiful nutmeg, articulated harp, geography cone, red cloud auger, walkway babylon, nicobar spindle

it appears that within certain individuals an insistence that goes beyond everyday function may emerge. a life that becomes immersed in enquiry and exploration naturally develops, the mind’s common needs overridden. such is the nature of that call to being

molecule, filament, colony. tide beyond tide, emergence beyond emergence. lamella, tendril or pelt. the opening diversity, an inherent call to being. portals, gateways, thresholds for new existences and amongst this mass our own personal, inner knowing

it is acceptable that there are things we do not know and will never be capable of knowing, and in our not knowing of them exists our greatest release