Wandering holograms

Visions from this life or another reflect distort and invert perception. We may want freedom from the known but to fathom freedom is begin to remember. To remember is to grieve, then maybe see.

An exquisite corpse of impressions course through our lives, an art work entity, a ghost in the machine, driving the machine, relatively polite until analyzed. We set up shop in the impression careening into the same pattern.

To evolve is an option. As the tree is bent, so grows the branch. What glories come with pruning. A contortion becoming.

You, the one who has contemplated loss are easy to sit with. Integrated insight is exquisite life. To trust, we must become trustworthy. The inside eye reverses carefully. Where the eye sees out, it looks in.

Like an allergy, we crave what is inside of us. Crave it like a poison puzzle. Wanting to solve and expel. Everything with in us that we do not love will become an enemy to us. A loss in translation can become a shared psychosis, activating. Enactments repeat multi-generationally. Be still, slow down, nothing is real, but everything is potentially more than this.

We long to return to the garden. Where everything was magical and treacherous. To be small and dependent. How many generations of brokenness does there have to be before you ask for help with tenderness. Real adult life can be a garden that you may walk into or away from, a place of freedom, fruitful, loving. The tether pull is an old devotion that keeps us children - basked and suspended in the afterglow of melancholy. Convincing others is a reversed devotion - to ward off deep untold grief, and very oral. All themes are mutations of the same thing, until we give up the ghost. The content is old. Developmentally delayed devotions. To no longer seek paradise past, is to become paradise present. We, guilty, wear our tomb stone around our neck: "Here lies my expectation (see I was right)". Eternally repairing and repeating heartache until death. My expectation dovetails with yours so fluidly, dangerously. WHY do you think it's so exciting to meet and greet another solitude? It's not to become a martyr, but to join and transcend.

If you can partner w a friend on this road, Where you stumble, you will find your treasure.

People aren't motivated to grow w/o the growing pains in love. Confusing love with pain conflates this. Die before you die is to die to the obsession of mastering the past (all by yourself). Remember you are half-blind.

Once blinded, know you will be blind again. In order to trust, become trustworthy. Love is the intention behind the intention. Voices from the museum, recite the script. The readymade knows how to make the neptunian mirage beautiful as it hurts. Surrender, and give yourself thee love you need. The pain to receive, is to grieve, but you must. What you grieve is beyond the content. It is being bound in a body which denies.

We all hide behind something, no matter how noble. The veils and blocks are there for a reason, they don't need to be ripped off- rather dissolved. If not, they will come back or be passed on. The unworked past pushes into the present. Do you really want to be alone inside? Die before you die. Imagine. If cultivating love is the only path to enlightenment, then how many of us are lost. Love is the ultimate loss of control. None of us want to be bound, and yet.... so so bound. Listen. Loosen the tourniquet on your heart. Suck the air of XTC. Be still. Do a headstand, like the fool lets the blood of the heart fill the head. Time IS love and love is what is passing. Everything is passing. Take care of yourself. Make your house you're home before you fly away.

CLICK ON EACH BLOG ARCHIVE in the cue, as it will otherwise stop short.
i.e, 2020C'EST COMME CA, The Canyon, Green Waves and a Dot, Space, Nest...


FOR ONLY ART GO TO
ART BLOG: SISSEL KARDEL ART, ILLUSTRATION
http://sisselkardelart.blogspot.com/2012/04/painting.html

6.01.2011

SOLAR ECLIPSE JUNE 1: (One Arm)


"THE SKY IS OPEN, BY THAT WAY I WILL GO..." (thinking Ovid, James Joyce)
when the sky is the only highway left 
It is time to shed.  LOVE LETTERS SAVED AS AMULETS stand between us and the Abyss..
things from humans that at once confirm we matter and twice veil the Allness- ... SAW A TENNESSEE WILLIAMS PLAY," ONE ARM" ... adding a layer to the layers and layers that peel and saturate psychic thoughts... in it, an adonis innocent boxer loses arm, broken in spirit and cash, believes he lost his worth, subjects himself to dangers of total nihilism in new hustler career, loathing his shame, tho maimed arm magnifies his beauti 'like antiquiti'. He passes through lives of many feeling 'nothing'. Story unfolds in prison cell, hundreds of letters come in from the johns of his wanderings.  He finds he meant a great deal to they.mmmm...like many of us were a bit touched. As amends to all he abandoned, he writes left handed laboriously remembers all in detail, carries his 800 letters and replies as lone witness to the Chair where he is MADE free ...to the realm of silence...in death he stops speaking the mantras of limited identity. Judgements about why's with in ourselves and upon others can be a form of murder, killing that which is meant to flower.  There's a fine line between acceptance, and being brave with out the pendant handicaps of platitudes. SEE THE MEDICINE.  Find alignment, and look forward... death or love? we (All One Arm's) must die in love...and know the difference between being an artist transmitter and the great artificer's transmutations. One arm's create prisons while in a paradise body..If we were perfect, we would not be here.... I am reminded me of my Prisoner paintings and drawings where she is laying down by a stream but missing a leg (or two!) it looks like one is bent, but was, in part, about being trapped in fantasy.

This letter goes out to All my friends who lost Beloveds last week,'' take them tightly to your breast... you saw descending, now look at the rising... as sun sets moon rises as moon rises sun sets." Birth and death in every day we can wake surrendering to the mystery,never knowing what an affect we all have in the world while here...we alone deny or separate ourselves, and that is where the pain in living lies - love is all just happening, regurgitating.   Imagine we use more that 5% of our brains- what else we will be ready to see.  Evolution is slow, can we help it? To see with the eye of the heart is, another way to enhance frontal lobe purpose.  "Which seed fell on the earth that did not grow there?" What is will remain. All is for life and for the living, just not easy to see except maybe in a mirror.
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