My new little life - TLC 69

Whew, what a first week it was for my little existence, my little humanoid adventure. I began a new strange scary awkward weird and transforming evolutionary experience in two big human’s lives.

I begin at the beginning. It’s a start.

I fell out of my mom a female production company last week. Talk about letting go. She was big and fat and released me after pushing and pushing and she exhaled an infantile projection of freedom feeling her painful release and my pleasure with shock and awe as I came slathering, slipping through some universal ectoplasm fluid, like a gusher, whoosh, into millions of bright shining suns.

A crescendo of angels, luminous spirits, formless forms and shapes swirled like whirling Sufi dervishes in light waves and particles. Such splendor. My last nine months did little to prepare me or allow me to know anything.

I was born dead and slowly came to life.

My tiny black eyes welcomed light energy into my being. I am a galaxy.

Mesmerizing.

I am an Eagle nebula, a gathering of space dust melding, morphing into a solid state, a unified field theory. I am beside myself with wonder and delight. I joined seven billion in the stream of life.

Did you know that the world is made up of 98% helium and hydrogen?

The remaining atom particles are life and inside these atoms a very small part of that is intelligence.

The rest of the pyramid is garbage. Existence precedes essence.

What was your original face before your parents were born?

The Language Company

Dance Now. Think Later.

My life dance is ambiguity, acceptance, independent detachment and creative imagination.

Dance is isolated yet cooperating and independent. I believe in the magic of dance.

When you dance for a fleeting moment you feel alive.

What do I see? I see a circle of movement, a connected unity, language in space. There are five rhythms in dance.

You start with a circle. It’s a circular movement from the feminine container. She is earth.

Then you have a line from the hips moving out. This is the masculine action with direction. He is fire.

Chaos is next, a combination of a circle and line where male and female energies interact. This istransformation.

After chaos is the lyrical. A leap. A release. This is air.

The last element of dance is stillness. Out of stillness is born the next movement.

I’ll dance until I die.

What is life?

Dance.

life is a palimpsest

I acknowledged kairos - the shuttle passes through openings in warp and weft threads, making things happen, creating new forms, new fabrics inside my word loom. The shuttle voice allows me to recover, preserve and interpret tales.

I'm one of those people who’s learned through living that there is nothing and nobody in this life to cling to. An open hand holds everything.

There are no metaphors, only observations.

I feel free to move away from safe familiar places and keep moving forward to new unexplored areas of life. Drifting some said. If I had one coin for every time someone asked me when I’d settle down I could afford a world hypothesis.

Settling down was not an option.

I am a compass without a needle.

Yes, I could bid on blessings. I’d sacrifice pre-linguistic symbols and create silent metaphorical abstractions. My linguistic skills would evolve into love, into discursive logic.

26,000 year-old Paleolithic iron and copper paintings created a secret symphony of ancient stories in a Spanish cave. I was transformed there. No past, no future. Present.

No lengthy drawn out off-the-wall abstracts explains my small empty self to anybody anything by virtue off who I was, am, and will be.

Life is a palimpsest. Have ink will travel.

Fragments - TLC 36

At high noon Bursa emergency medical crews pried a suicidal man from below engines after he was electrified, illuminated and eliminated by Metro lightning. His famous last words: Goodbye cruel world. Goodbye mother.

As medical teams slid his mangled body into an ambulance Lucky explored a cemetery. Wild flowers, white headstones, names, dates and memories slept below towering pines and evergreens.

A grave-faced widow sobbing on a fresh plot pounding her breasts keened, gone…gone. Her sister drummed topsoil. A friend, mother, aunt or grandmother from Asian Steppes whispered to a child in Tamashek, “She is cleaning the spirit entry. She is drumming death, remembering.”

The child wailed to grave women, “Auntie, Auntie.”

The silent woman playing drum soil remembered her son, brother, father, husband, uncle and grandfather with love. Her tears watered red, yellow and white roses. I brought you into the world. I give you back to Earth. The circle of life is complete.

A sharp rose thorn pushed a white haired woman in a wheelchair through a humid rain forest covering 6% of Earth. Smoke from burning coconut and banana leaves circled through heart’s four clamoring chambers. Love echoing from the Forest Floor to Zeynep’s Understory rose to the Canopy before emerging through the Emergent where Bird of Paradise, Screaming Eagles and Winter Hawk flew free.

He passed chiseled Arabic script stones. Explosive metal shattered rock. A man pounding a sledgehammer disseminated graven memory shards. Pausing, he removed exculpatory evidence before slamming hammer’s voice, “I love the fragments.”

Sun sought asylum. Rose petals rained. Musical drum soil melodies echoed from a woman’s fingers.

 

BB King 1925-2015

The chairman of the board has passed.

If you want to play the blues you have to pay your dues.

He paid his dues. 

Rolling Stone

The Guardian

The Thrill is Gone