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

2.05.2014

Within a dream, adieu PSH.

Within a dream, he was real.
This old poem wont go away, so here it is in its entirety, though id like to edit it. 
(The brief sum of life forbids us the hope of enduring long - Horace)

THEY are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate:

I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.
They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.
Ernest Dowson

TO PSH,
-with a heavy heart i say good bye to another friend.
I feel heavy with the weight of life's story,
who could predict this, but one who knows.
the prison of the body can not be underestimated especially with such a finely tuned instrument.
maybe now he is free
was this his last time round the track?
His spirit, memory, voice, laughter, face follows me all over my house these few days in dreams & consciousness.
Look how much it took to take him down!
a fortress
a handsome tank
he always reminded me of a boy of 4
with his backpack, freckles, soft strawberry mop, sincere thoughtful
old soul, formidable, real, with that deep laughter, humility, warmth, perspective...you gave us the spot  we all knew in ourselves and made it human and lovable.
Can we love ourselves, our children, each other with the empathy and tenderness you gave your characters?  We could with them, wipe the mirror (a little bit), be brave and look like you did.
I remember your fairness when i was perturbed at my father, you said you are taking away his role to be a dad, let him give his advise.  You advised me to "marry" a normal guy- avoid all actors, rockstars and athletes! Mostly we talked about art, life and human nature.   His favorite painting, Quest Over is here, with new meaning.
Teacher, friend, artist, creator, father...
Your life was propelled by "the same engine", as you said, i could apply it where i chose, not in just one place. That same engine is what gave us YOU in life, and in death.
When people say,"what a waste of talent, i can not concur.  He wasted nothing, burned twice as bright, as he loved it all and gave it all.  My heart goes out to his family, wishing peace to their hearts.

RIP, Phil.  I love you and thank you for your friendship.
Fondly, forever.

"Quest Over" 



Posted by at