Juggling worlds

Atoms trade secrets with angels by the office water-cooler.

A lion-king sits behind the desk, deciding who to cull in the next few months.

Gorillas fly spaceships past the upper floors of the skyscraper.

Zeus applies some make-up whilst looking after the reception area, awaiting the arrival of a rather late Pharaoh who may be bringing a promising deal to the table.

This time the dimensions have been opened and the rules are all mixed up.

Animation meets film meets history meets fantasy.

The gods juggle worlds in a blazing show of cosmic wonder.

What is the opposite of eclectic? Neat - partitioned - pure. Enemies of creativity, except as exceptions to punctuate a soup of symbols and scattered references.

Delicious

Delicious.

She takes a healthy bite from an apple...crisp and juicy. I feel tempted...in a good way.

For we have resurrected the apple back into bright reality from the tortured strictures of a Judeo-Christian symbol-system (along with the snake and the lamb and the goat and the dove).

Yes. The apple's back. Fully innocent...and delicious.

But back to her.

She.

She's taking a series of steps through the passage of civilisation, stopping off to stand tall on the edge of the jungle.

'Fear not the wild.' She says. 'For once all was one.' Again the split by religion has fucked up our minds. But we resurrect. We integrate. We become ONE.

She comes and sits by my side, eating the apple, with the airs and graces of a lady who allows herself to focus solely on the present moment and full enjoyment of the fruit in her hand. Not the fruits of her labour but the fruit in her hand. Since the apple was plucked from a gift-giving tree - as all trees are - as all beings are - for we are gifts - to one another - we've just forgotten - we've just fallen ASLEEP.

Fallen, fallen into religious understandings. Fallen into divided territory. If the tree of knowledge was the origin of our division then perhaps a new perception of that tree will remind us...(whisper it)...we never left the garden.

We just stopped appreciating.

Delicious.

Taste your food. Be here forever.

Points in love

Every bird that flies the sky - a point in love.

Every person that lives and dies - a point in love.

Every plant and every tree - points in love.

Each flower and each petal within each flower and each fibre within each petal and each cell within each fibre - points in love.

Faces representing unique individuations of the whole.

Nodes in the network of community, sharing a common unity.

An infinite lattice of energy - incarnating and discarnating in an exploration of being.

Every business, every enterprise, every tribe, every nation - a constellation of points of consciousness - held by collective beliefs.

Each perspective determined by their beliefs and actions in a circular feedback loop.

Points in love, connected by a relational perception. Each with their own definitions of different concepts.

Each point pulses and moves in a dance with all the others, defining themselves in relation to one another.

Points in love meet and connect - a web of interrelations - conspiring to collaborate in an endless adventure.

Freedom (part 2)

Freedom is an empty space to be filled.

Freedom is movement.

Freedom is expression.

Freedom dares.

Freedom goes beyond.

Freedom is unchartered, spontaneous, adventurous.

Freedom leaps.

Freedom transcends boundaries.

Freedom travels all roads, including secret passageways and if necessary, forges new paths.

Freedom does not fit.

Freedom is not in a box, category, label or job.

Freedom is unique, unrepeatable, fresh, alive and unrepentant.

Freedom sings.

Freedom is not a recipe.

Freedom knows.

Freedom is purposeful.

Freedom dances.

Freedom celebrates.

Freedom proclaims.

Freedom creates.

Freedom is a series of steps into a chosen uncertainty.

Physic

Physic slowly insinuates its fibres and muscles and roots up....from below.

The body of a killer, a hunter who has been split off, his stealth and poised senses repressed by many degrees of separation.

Yet the killing continues, out of sight. Taxes and extra costs cover the expense of the killing fields and slaughter houses.

The wild voices of the South, suppressed by the clipped tones of the North.

This is a global thing and we must integrate.

Tattoos, dreadlocks, drums - all the features of a tribal network reassert themselves amidst the crumbling structures of society.

This concrete reality has found its ground after a long detour to the stars.

There is nothing tender about these shoots, crude and vital, connectors to the earth, visceral communication lines to base emotions and needs - security, protection, anger, territory, hunger, family, lust.

Physic returns. Hard and foundational.

The inner orchestra

I have an orchestra within me and sometimes I play different instruments and sometimes I let myself be played.

What I hear without resonates with what I feel within. The keys of life chime in my soul - sometimes a great harmony, sometimes dischord, but always reflective in a perfect mirroring of my perception.

Love has many faces and seasons. Morphing through different relationships, yet the instinct to connect remains the interlinking thread.

We smile and a portion of those around us respond, setting off a chain of events. Wisdom circulates, like a butterfly, allowing flashes of beauty to ricochet through time and space, initiating a wondrous game of hide and seek, which once discovered is never forgotten and the obvious and occasional becomes universalised to the hidden and eternal. The butterfly being only one card in the pack of nature, which hooks people in to drink of sacred mysteries.

I have within me, something indeterminate, which allows itself to be described through an infinite range of metaphors - from instruments to animals to fantastical beings to elements. What I am is impossible to say and too wide to be contained in words but silence can say something if you listen.

She captures

She captures. The moment.

In a single frame.

She hooks in my curiosity with that one card amongst many.

We are whole yet made of many strands. The strings of life woven through our choices and attractions.

She seizes the attention of the audience.

Holding a few hundred in a field of devotion.

Her manner executes a subtle imperialism, whose captives are willing and surrendered.

Added ingredients

Why do they put the child in the pot of whirling things?

The child who arrives weeping.

The child whose eyes speak of untouched qualities. The light of nothingness.

In amongst the soup of ten thousand things.

Like a chef scatters a pinch of pristine sea salt to season the mix.

The purity is lost in the endless churning.

Yet the taste it adds is unmistakable.

And through a process of discernment can be extracted to reveal that original purity.

Why do they put the child into the pot of whirling things?

What strange game of chemical experimentation is this?

(this was inspired by a book called Aglaja Veteranyi which a friend told me about)

A second look

Not drowning but waving.

Not investing but saving.

Not walking but cruising.

Not drinking but boozing.

Not screaming but orgasmic.

Not flexible but elastic.

Not mocking but laughing.

Not crazy but barking.

Not sinking but diving.

Not successful but thriving.

What is, is not always what seems.

What seems, is not always what is.

First snap, second look, third process, fourth evaluation, fifth summarise, sixth update, seventh integrate, eighth forget it all, ninth see freshly.

One-der

One is unchanging. One is single. One is alone. One is all-knowing. One is the person.

The globe. The universe. One is the primal unity of heaven and earth. A circle. The fusion of transcendent and immanent.

One is the all-seeing eye. One is divinity. One is. One (whisper it) is God.

One is the resolution of all opposites. One is simplicity. One smiles. One is being.

One is peace and love. All in one! There is only One. One is the first and has an urge to continue, but restrains itself.

One stays put. One is the ancien regime, the status quo, the perennial philosophy. One knows no other.

One is the creator before the act of creation. One is humourless, yet is caught in an eternal punchline.

One is self-referential. One is a goal. One is fixed. One is the source. One is the heart.

One is when you realise that everything is connected, and everyone knows one another and there are no secrets. One is a one-off.

One is unique. One is the start and the end. One is where autism and pure love meet. One is complete.

One is where narcissism and extroversion join. One is the whole. There is nothing to say. One is silence.

One is white. A golden white. One-der-ful. One has won.

Take two

Two - for a start what a genius to match a T with a W. That happens very rarely. Twist, for example. Between and betwixt. It takes much wit to take those two words and turn and dance.

For two is the number of the dance of duality. Only with two can you have reaction and responsivity and communication and dialogue. Okay...only with at least two.

Two is the number of fingers to make certain gestures. Two is the number of legs, arms, hands, feet, ears, eyes, lips, buttocks, bollocks, breasts and nostrils of a human being. Where would we be without two? Hopping mad, I say. Two allows us to compare and contrast. Two has two sides. Without two, we wouldn't have the concept of a side. Two is doubt. And boundaries. And distance. Two is in time and space. Two touches.

Two is relativity. Two is all your relations. Two is a line with two ends. Two charts the course. Connects the dots.

Two - don't ask me why - is blue. Maybe it's in the rhyme. Two is rhyme and rhythm and poetry.

Two sees double. Two is a pair of cards. A pair of Aces. A King and a Queen.

Two is a couple - partners - all those modern terms to describe a relationship. Two is respectability. Two is socially approved. One less and you're single and suspect. One more and things get kinky. More than that and you're getting religious or orgiastic!

Two is a blend, an interaction, an interweaving. Two gives birth to something new, arising from the fusion of elements.

Two is perception. The seer and the seen. The hunter and the prey. Two is the chase, the search, the race, the process, the dynamic, the unconsumnated and incomplete.

Two is a conversation and a chat. The mutual exchange of information for love, for business, for gossip or for conflict.

Two is sex - the meeting of bodies in so many different ways the mind boggles. Two is licking and sucking and kissing and fucking. Two is frisson and flirtation and friction. Two thrills to the soundtrack of desire.

Two is an endless series of combinations - a kama sutra of relations - mind-boggling in their variety.

Two is opposites - on the surface conflicting but in the depths complementary. 

Two is separation - teasing apart the fabric to distinguish two distinct lines. Two travels on different paths, sometimes together, sometimes divergent, but never exactly synchronised as one.

Two is desire. Without two, without space, without longing, there would only be stasis. Two is the gap and the movement to close it. Listen to the silence of the gap which plunges between two. Two is waiting and anticipating. Hoping and fearing. Wondering and dreaming. Two is the tension between what is and what may be.

Two is split. Railway tracks. Two trees between which the hammock lies.

Two is contradiction, duplicity, hypocrisy, the pull between persona and self, social and personal, explicit and implicit, stated and desired. Two is divided - perhaps by fear, perhaps by class, perhaps by restraint. Two has a foot in both worlds, awareness in both hemispheres.

Two is trade and exchange. The flow of currency. Negotiation and barter - deals struck between canny merchants.

Two is war and conflict - clash and friction, antagonism and argument. With two comes the possibility of hierarchy, of domination, of oppression, of slavery.

Two duels in a contest between players for their own hopes of glory, romance, justice and progression. 

Two may be equal in their difference but never exactly the same, for then they would be one. Two is an equation, delicately balanced complex sums. Two hold hands, linked by relationship yet distinct in character - points of intersection and points of autonomy.

Two allows shadow aspects, a hidden dimension, a sense of perspective, a number of levels, a distance travelled, a pair of sides, a co-existence of feelings and motives. Two is the new element that displaces dominant routines and subverts ancien regimes. Two is uncertain, two is in two minds, two wavers, two is not simple.

Two is a bicycle and a pair of glasses and a set of taps. Two is the knife and fork. The lighter and cigarette. The bat and ball. The rider and horse. Start looking and two is everywhere!

Two is gender, two is difference, two is contrast, two is translation. Two is complementary and co-existing. Without two, you and I would not exist. And for that we should be happy.

Two is day and night. Hot and cold. Home and away. Heaven and hell. First and last. Here and there. Up and down. Lost and found. Two is travel, drama and adventure. Two is the journey. Two holds the space that we call the middle. Two is both. The best of both worlds. And the worst.

Two is a pair of record decks - manipulated by the DJ to mix and blend tunes, creating a sequential flow from many records.

Two is double-edged. Not easily fitted into a box. Two cuts both ways. Simultaneously different.

Two is the world. The platform for polarity to be experienced. Like ping-pong balls we humans are sent careering back and forth over the table of duality. The players occupy different ends of the spectrum at different times and the game is in the movement and variation. Never will we land at exactly the same spot but many times we cross the net to visit each side.

The concept of balance is predicated on there being two. The closest two gets is paradox and the furthest it gets is alienation but two is always in relation. The tension of two gives rise to all kinds of dreams of utopia. But two is where we are and two it is.

Teenage kicks

Passed notes around the classes. 

Crushes rush to overwhelm the emotions. 

This is not an age to strive for balance and serenity. Snatched smokes in between lessons. 

 Life is not a school, but a dangerous party to push the limits at, when you manage to break free. 

A chasm grows between generations. We are the first human beings ever to feel this way. 

Music is devoured feverously. A series of experiments with different substances knocks consciousness into previously unrealised configurations. 

The voice of rebellion and sulkiness and rashness and excitement. 

Nobody knows impatient anticipation quite like the teenager awaiting something good. 

What would be a pathology at later stages is par for the course. 

Half of the teenager is straining at the bit to launch into wild freedom, whilst the other half is tamed by controlling forces wanting to direct the child towards safety. 

This is a world of assumed immortality which seems to encourage hell-bent behaviour. 

A catalogue of firsts - the privilege of the young - first kiss, first night out, first time drunk, first drive, first exam, first trip to the psychiatrist, first sex, first vote, first time living away from home. 

The energy of the teenage years, like all ages, carries over through a person's life. Some keep the fires stoked, others try to forget its excesses. 

But the memories are there....bubbling beneath the surface with rampant glee!

Lens

My spectacles interpret the spectacle.

My glasses bring to a particular focus, what impresses itself through my senses.

Each set of eyes sees a different take on what many of us call an elephant, though there are those who deny that such a creature exists and have their own, unique, interpretation.

Nobody knows what is right.

Nobody knows.

We agree. For some time. Until we don't.

All I know is, I like you.

At least I like what I see through my lens.

Apocalypso

The four horsemen dance in a circle - souls ablaze with the possibility of a rapidly changing context.

Christ's resurrection fills the sky and the Devil bursts forth from the annals of the earth, flaring up in impotent rage.

Rainbows fill the sky, perfect visions of water and light but the prophets say 'it'll be fire next time'.

Apocalypso reveals the nature of the dancers.

The rider and the horse

The rider and the horse.

There is a conceit that the rider tames the horse.

From wilderness to a harnessed subjugation (and as with all conceits there is some truth in that).

But perhaps this is a case of animal and human synchronisation - each affects the other.

As one they course across fields.

As one the centaur moves.

As one.

Movement.