Absurdity

Of all animals, only human beings can be absurd. Other animals can act playfully, but not go beyond that into absurdity.

Absurdity is the parallel of rational thought, inverted. For instance, rational thought dictates being careful against self-injury while handling a gun. Absurdity is when an artist, in this case Chris Burden (born in Boston, Massachusetts in 1946), creates an art performance where he shoots himself in the arm. Rational thought says that when we wait for a person to arrive and they do not, we get up and leave. In the famous play by Samuel Beckett (13 April 1906 – 22 December 1989), called Waiting for Godot, two men wait endlessly and in vain for a vague person named Godot to arrive, and from the beginning it seems absurd. Yet, this play was voted "the most significant English language play of the 20th century".

There is use for the absurd. It can jog our minds to question our reality, and so keep us from falling into dogma. Comics use absurdity to make us laugh at life. We assume that we must take everything seriously, especially our selves, but absurdity says laugh at yourself!

In fact, people who take themselves too seriously risk becoming an absurd cartoon. Witness some of the tyrannical rulers in the middle east, who hold on to power at all cost and erect monuments to themselves, thinking themselves as gods worthy of universal admiration. They only see what they want to see, and when someone says, as in the Hans Christian Anderson (Danish, April 2, 1805 – August 4, 1875) story, The Emperors New Clothes, “but you are wearing no clothes”, the person is sent to jail or killed. So, this "absurdity" is only found among human beings, and it is like living in illusion. So many people live in illusion—and not another species of animal does that.

Artists can poke fun at absurdity and in fact that is part of their job. They work with materials to create realities that are mere illusion. The Mona Lisa, by Leonardo DaVinci (Italian, April 15, 1452 – May 2, 1519) is a painting, but her smile is so real. Pablo Picasso (Spanish, 5 October 1881 – 8 April 1973) makes a portrait and the woman has both eyes on one side of her head . . . this is absurd, but makes us think, what is real? Could a woman in a dream have two eyes on one side of her head? After all, dreams can be real too, since this is where we reside for about a third of our lives.

Some years ago I made a series of paintings called Hangups. The idea came to me as a funny vision from out of the blue that occurred while I was driving home one day. I saw a face hanging on a clothesline, just like it were laundry. Amused, I could have dismissed the thought, but I am an artist and the vision was so original I knew I had to make a painting of it. Eventually, I made over thirty, and published a book too (view here). People either love them or hate them, and there is no middle ground. This is the way good art is . . .  it has effect, for if it only inspires ambivalence, then it it is more suited to go in the trashcan.

My Hangups are outwardly absurd, but reflect the absurdity that is parallel to reality. For instance, often people think they are immune to life’s disorders and especially, want immunity to death. But mortality has a way of chasing us like a shadow. When we get sick, or feel heartache, or see death, then we are shocked out of our illusion of safety. In my painting called “Pecking Order”, seen below, I push this to an absurd extreme.

If a person is too serious, these paintings are frightful and insulting, but on the other hand, look closely at “reality” and we can see the absurdity that runs so closely alongside of it.

The Fast

This is the last day of my annual period of fasting. The discipline requires that I give up food and water between sunrise and sunset from March 2-20. It is a requirement of Bahai’s, with exclusion allowed for sick people, travelers of long distances, nursing mothers, those under 15 or over 70 years of age. I have followed the prescription for decades, and always been true, except once—the year my dear Naomi died and then, the most precious of my life had gone away and I did not have strength.

Fasting has been practiced for thousands of years, and is especially common as a spiritual exercise in many religions. Scientific studies have shown that there are also physical benefits that include reducing risk of diabetes, heart disease, and cancer. Fasting also promotes weight loss, reduces immune disorders, and slows the aging process—increasing life span. It will produce favorable change in cholesterol.

Each year, as the time of fasting approaches, I begin to eagerly anticipate it. I am happy, and also feel slight trepidation, knowing I will be tested. I wake before dawn and eat . . . my body still drowsy and not ready for food—so I must assert command to change for the sake of devotion. As the day progresses I experience weakness and loss of concentration, and this is because of lack of glucose and protein. Tasks become more difficult and I realize I am multi-tasking because I am simultaneously active with my affairs and also fasting. I get moody and perhaps even cranky as time goes on, and must adopt a sense of equanimity, a virtue useful to all rational thought. When my hunger and thirst press upon me and I know how easy it is to eat or drink and relieve my suffering, instead, I practice will power and patience. Nineteen days is a hefty duration and this deepens all the positive lessons.

These are some of the virtues found in fasting: patience, moderation, temperance, fortitude, will power, devotion, ability to sacrifice, forbearance, bravery, commitment, creativity, detachment, discretion, enthusiasm, flexibility, love, grace, tolerance, honor, integrity, loyalty, perseverance, resourcefulness, simplicity, sincerity, trust. Add to the spiritual virtues the physical benefits of better health and longer life and we can see why fasting is an ancient and common global practice.
Here is a wonderful and in-depth article on fasting: The Ultimate Guide to Intermittent Fasting

Kaleidoscope World

Do you ever ponder infinity, or do you just think, why bother, it is impossible to comprehend. Human beings like to measure. They create units for everything. Time and space is broken down into discernable increments in order that we may manage our environment. Society is based on common assumptions of the physical world. When we make an appointment, we are agreed when the both of us will arrive. When we figure how far to drive from here to there, we can gather how long it will take.
I am not entirely comfortable living within these man-made articles. Rather, I like to lose boundaries and flow in the infinite.

The other day, my girlfriend and I had a deep conversation about our relationship and she confided that she worried that in my traveling I could forget her. I know what she means because I have confided that when I go on trips, I like to “disappear into the matrix”. I lose a sense of self, flowing and melding with my immediate universe. It is difficult to describe the freedom and élan I sense. Barriers fall so that I am not “the other”, but have become “disappeared”. Then, I am not of a particular race, creed, economic position, nationality, or anything separate, but more like a pulse from the sun or moon or from the middle of the earth. It is a meditation of sorts and a forgetting of past, and an exquisite openness to the miraculous present, while trusting that the future will take care of itself. Heidi of the Mountains demands that I always remember her and not lose track for even a minute. The closer we become, the more I realize my wandering days might become circumscribed. Fortunately, she is as adventurous as me, so we can explore together. Yet, the wind has no partner, and I like to be the wind over the earth; unconstrained and even capricious. I like surprise to the extent that I am a surprise to myself.

When I observe fashion, style, business, the structures of society, I can see the inventive usefulness that is purported, and yet I do not want to be embroiled in temporal intrigues. I can appreciate the adventures, and understand that I take my part, but my philosophy is that it is all part of what I call THE DREAM. Civilization and the external cosmos are like a grand kaleidoscope. A kaleidoscope is a circle of mirrors containing loose, colored objects such as beads or pebbles and bits of glass. As the viewer looks into one end, light entering the other end creates a colorful pattern, due to the reflection off the mirrors. Turning the object mixes the ingredients and causes an almost endless display of effects. It is a bit of a dream. And this is how I see the events of life unfolding. Endless, surprising pictures unfold from the bits of life colliding, shaping, destroying and reformulating to become new phenomenon. And do you think there is an observer? In a sense, we are all observers, but can see so little of the miraculous, breathtaking pictures that unfold. We partake of an infinitesimal fraction of the spectrum. Of course, the less we think of the infinite, the bigger even small things become, and people can have heated arguments over mundane trivia.

The kaleidoscope turns moment by moment, always changing, producing new arrangements for us to ponder and explore. This earthly consciousness and viewing  is what Buddhist’s call Saṃsāra. The word has its origin in ancient India, to refer to the physical world, or family, or the universe. In modern parlance, saṃsāra refers to a place, set of objects and possessions, but originally, the word referred to a process of continuous pursuit or flow of life. In accordance with the literal meaning, the word should either refer to a continuous stream of consciousness, or the continuous but random drift of passions, desires, emotions, and experiences. This turning of a wheel, producing new and different effects, is like the kaleidoscope. I see it as dream. The great unchanging reality is the core, the axis upon which everything revolves. The axis is reality; everything else is but a dream.

Love

What is the essence of love? It must be attraction, a desire to mingle and share with another. If that does not exist, then love does not. In the human realm, there are famous romantic love stories of intense attraction, e.g. Romeo and Juliet, Cleopatra and Mark Antony, Orpheus and Eurydice, Layla and Majnun. In all these tales, one lover is willing to offer everything for the other.

Love can also be for truth, or for an ideal. It can be so strong as to cause great sacrifice. A scientist on the trail of discovery can face scathing ridicule, a solider on the battlefield will give his life, and an innocent bystander will jump in front of an onrushing train to save a stranger. We know love when it inspires sacrifice.

Sacrifice is the vital expression of love. If there is a relationship without sacrifice, it is shallow. We know parental love because the mother and father offer themselves in sacrifice to their children until the child can stand on his own.

The Taj Mahal is a love monument, built by Shah Jahan in India in honor of his deceased wife Mumtaz. It took great effort over twenty years to complete. Using white marble and precious inlay, 20,000 workers and 1000 elephants labored twenty years to bring the architecture to fruition. It is among the wonders of the world, and shares with them a foundation in love.

Everyone enjoys being loved. Especially since we know we are valued when we receive a sacrificial offering. For a lover to receive flowers, or a child to receive the gift of time and wisdom from a volunteer tutor; the essence is attraction, thoughtfulness and offering. When I travel in Asia, small shrines laden with gifts are a ubiquitous sight in homes and businesses. Usually, a small Buddha sculpture or Hindu deity is surrounded by flowers, incense, and fruit, and sometimes even soda pop and cigarettes . . . all tokens of sacrifice.


At present, many Baha’i’s, myself included, are fasting, and this is a show of love. From sunrise to sunset we abstain from food or water for nineteen days, between March 2-20 annually. It is difficult and painful to go without sustenance, but sacrifice is easy when one is in love. For true lovers, pain is sweet. And really, God cares not for material things, but He wants what our hearts can give and blesses us in the giving.

Protection

“Oh God, protect that child.” I said this to myself as I left a coffee shop I frequent. It is a friendly place and serves coffee that is roasted in-house and served strong. A man had been in line ahead of me with his two young boys and ordered a cup for himself and to my surprise, one for his boy, who barely was as tall as my waist and could only have been six years old. As I was leaving, I smiled at the child in his baseball cap, holding his coffee in both hands. “You like coffee?” A slight, shy, smile crossed his face as he looked up at me and then he quickly looked down without a word.  His father smiled and said, “Yeah, he likes it.” I knew the father loved his boy, and I thought of the strong black brew I held in my hand, and then for some reason I had the thought of protection for the child’s innocence. As I walked to my truck, I thought, “And God, protect other people; like the protestors in Libya who are fighting for their freedom and getting shot.” And then I wondered, does prayer matter? I remembered an incident I wrote about in my book, A Heart Traced In Sand. In Kentucky, a group of young women had arrived early to gather for Christian prayers at their high school. As they stood close, praying, a deranged boy approached, pulled a gun and began firing, leaving three of them dead. The episode is stunning and received national news coverage. See: Heath High School shooting. I have reflected and thought, “God was listening to their prayers, but He also knew what was in the heart of the boy and could see what was coming. What protection did He offer?”

People pray for all manner of help. Prayers are said for healing, assistance, prosperity, salvation, justice, and freedom—the list goes on and on.

I pray frequently during the day. It is communion, and a way to offer my thoughts up in consecration. I sense that my thoughts go into the universe and are received. Furthermore, I sense that higher beings record the impulses and confirm them. If I think positively, positive confirmation comes back.

Maybe, in the end, there is very little protection in the world. As my dear daughter Naomi said while she struggled with cancer, “Life is not fair.” During her lengthy ordeal, the only other complaint I remember her saying was, "I do not want to die a slow, painful death." Despite continual prayers from all sides, fate handed Naomi a slow, agonizing death. In the end, with her bones breaking, and suffering slow suffocation, some of her last words were, "I love my body, it has been so good to me."

And it is true, life is not fair, it is really about struggle.

Lost In Adventure

"The poet is a madman lost in adventure." Paul Verlaine

Invariably, lunatics are on some grand adventure or another, and the trail is one that few choose to follow. On February 6, I set out from Santa Fe to drive 1662 miles to Miami, Florida, with my van full of artwork.  After a harrowing day of battling blizzards, iced highways and then rain, my first stop was in Dallas, Texas, where my two cousins, Ben and David live. They are both orthopedic surgeons and bachelors. I am particularly close with David and stay with him when I am in Dallas. For a man who does serious surgery on people, chopping out bones and replacing them with prosthetics, David is very low key, and likes to joke. We easily make each other laugh. He has my paintings on his walls and since they are signed Boone, he can tease people that he did them himself, showing that not only is he a brilliant surgeon but also has a sensitive side. Years ago I made a painting of his two Irish Setter dogs and he loves it. His girlfriend’s daughter recently asked if I could do a painting of her dog, and we discussed a small price. He commissioned me, and gave me a photo to work from.

After Dallas, I arrived in Houston where a collector had made arrangements for me to stop and show her my art. I arrived at her house as scheduled and took my artwork in her home. She showed me her art collection, which was extensive. Then she said, “As you can see, I have no wall space left.” So I packed up, said good-bye, and hit the road, glad that I gave her some worthy entertainment.

I have reached Orlando, Florida where my first art festival is underway. About 200 artists have set up tents on a college campus. Many of them are on a “festival circuit” leaving cold climates to do art shows under palm trees. Except that it has been cold in Orlando and only a few hardy souls go about in shorts. The show has been a flop and all the artists are dismayed. When they hear that next weekend I am doing the Coconut Grove show in Miami, they all breathe a sigh of relief and say, “It is great. You will do so much better.”

Anyway, I take it in stride because THE DREAM never fails to entertain me. Across the street from my motel is a carnival, and every night I wander in it, watching the flying contraptions with their flashing lights, studying the crowds and observing the circus people. Time flies, as they say.

Infinite Worlds

What we know with our mind is but a drop in the ocean, for vast realms exist outside our experience. We struggle to understand ourselves, and nature, and make feeble efforts to go further into the universe, but alas, the finite mind cannot comprehend the infinite. We live within vast mystery. One of our biggest puzzles is the world of Spirit. Since birth, we have come to understanding through physical imprints. For instance, we learn numbers by counting objects, and we learn speech by associating sounds with actions and things that can be seen or touched. We learn the laws of nature by falling, or burning our fingers, and experiencing the revolving days and nights. Yet, the Spirit world exists beyond the confines of the physical realm, and for this our understanding is limited—which leads to speculation, and arguments of faith. I, for one, believe there are infinite worlds and that just as there are elemental kingdoms, so too, there are Spiritual Kingdoms that are even vaster since they are not bound by time and space.

Many years ago I had a dream: I stood alone at night on a grassy knoll and gazed up at the starry sky. A little cluster of bright lights caught my eye and I recognized the Pleiades, also known as the “seven sisters” in the constellation Taurus, (my sign). I pondered the light reaching my eyes and realized the immense space between me and the stars. Light from stars can take billions of years to reach us. I thought, “How could God be in me and at the same moment be so far away in the farthest reaches of the universe?” I was confused that He could be so intimately in my life and intimately in life throughout the cosmos, even billions of light years away. No sooner had I had the thought when a voice spoke from behind my shoulder, “He is closer to you than your own life vein!” At that instant, space collapsed to nothing and I realized the oneness of The Creator.

The Spirit world permeates all of our physical existence and furthermore, informs and comprehends everything. If we watch closely, we can be in touch with angels. This requires that we get outside the confines of rigid thinking. Then, we can see signs from Spirit in dreaming, through nature, especially plants and animals, and even in numbers.

After my beloved daughter Naomi died, signs appeared that lifted me from grief. I will just relate a few: A peach tree we planted on our property was always but a stick, with a paltry plumage of leaves and no fruit. A nearby peach tree did fine, but not this one. After Naomi died, almost like a miracle, this thin, withered tree made  a basketful of delicious peaches. This happened one year only—immediately after Naomi had gone into the Spirit world. I took this as a sign that she had gone into a place of abundance and fruitfulness, and was giving us confirmation through the plant kingdom that all was well and not to be sad, but rather, glad. Another time, on the first anniversary of her passing, a group of us gathered in my back yard to pray and remember her great and gentle spirit. We all had written prayer wishes and wrapped them into small pouches, then tied them to a long cord. Standing in a circle, holding the cord between us, we each spoke from our hearts, remembering Naomi. A gentle mist fell, and suddenly a rainbow appeared. When the last words were spoken we stood silently, when out of the blue, two doves appeared directly above our circle and began an incredible dance that astonished and mesmerized us. The birds plunged down in a tight spiral, their wings almost touching, then paused and spiraled upward only to plunge in a spiral down again. Then they disappeared as quickly as they had arrived. It was a once in a lifetime sight. We were all breathless, and not word was spoken until a woman shouted, “Thank you Naomi!” And a child chimed in, “I hope she keeps sending us messages like that, showing us that everything is okay!”

I have further observations about how Spirit world speaks to us in numbers, but I will save that for another time.



To read more about Naomi, see: A Heart Traced In Sand

Everyone Is Colored

Whenever I hear the term “people of color”, there is a deafening silence that ensues. The silence is my own, since I object so much to the term and have to swallow it quietly. Certainly, this particular saying is the offspring of America’s troubled racial history—when it was necessary to separate people by skin color. I have traveled the world and know firsthand that to describe someone as “colored” in a country like say, Egypt, would bring laughter and bewilderment. It is so obvious that everyone is colored.

To say “people of color” is like saying “apples of the trees” or “horses of four legs” and yet, people continue to make use of this phrase and it is often heard in otherwise serious conversation. I have written on this subject before, see: People Of Color.

Recently, I have been working on a series of images using photos I took several years ago. At the time, I arranged to work with a very light skinned young woman, and asked her if she would model with a male. She told me her roommate would probably agree, and that he was black. Immediately, I welcomed this arrangement and soon, we were in my studio to work together. The entire session was delightful, especially since the two young people were perfectly at ease with each other and uninhibited enough to be naked and close and without tension. They were like little children—innocent, free, and untainted by guilt from notions of original sin.

I have been re-visiting the images from those sessions. With my wide-format printer, I can print on paper or canvas, up to almost four feet wide. Then I stretch the canvas on to stretcher bars, as I normally do with paintings. After that, I can paint them, making them into more than simple photographs. They become mixed-media art.

While I work, I love the contrast between her pale skin tones and his rich, chocolate color. In places, I intentionally blur areas that separate them, so that they are melding together.

See more Steven Boone Artwork

Elements

The cold days of winter have wrapped their icy fingers around me. To step outside is to shiver against the elements. My girlfriend, Heidi of the Mountains, has escaped to a secluded beach in Costa Rica where she writes me love letters and describes long walks on beaches, swims in the sea, relaxing hours spent observing monkeys in the trees surrounding her deck, and adventures with her girlfriend exploring the surroundings.

Meanwhile, my daughter and ex-wife are in Hawaii, swimming in the ocean, snorkeling among sea turtles and hiking among wild orchids.

This is the time of my oldest daughter’s birthday. Naomi was born January 11, 1980 and since she died in 1999, I have always come a bit undone when her birthday comes around. In some ways, I lose my bearings and free-fall into a state of bewilderment. One year on her anniversary, I was in a car accident (my fault) and in 2008 while I was in New Zealand, on her birthday I slipped and fell down an embankment near a river, crashing down with my camera, hitting my head on a rock and briefly going unconscious. My camera lens smashed and I had to find a hospital to stitch me up.

In my last letter to Lori, (Heidi of the Mountains), I told her to have fun and bring me back good stories. I am not jealous because each moment life knocks on my door and offers surprise and revelation . . .  wherever I am, I do not need to be somewhere else. Yesterday, I was selling some imported things at an indoor flea market and met a man who had chiseled good looks—like an older Anthony Quinn. He tried on several sheepskin hats I was selling, and looked good in anything he tried. We spoke, and shared warmth between us. He bought the hat, and invited me to come visit his workplace. He is a hair stylist and artist. I said maybe I would see him. He turned and looked earnestly in my face and asked, “Just say yes or no. Are you going to come or not?” I was taken aback but realized the value of his directness. “I like to be positive” he said. I told him I would definitely come visit. After he left, other fascinating people arrived, and all this is to say, life is full and wonderful, whether in the cold of winter or a sunny tropical paradise.

In a couple weeks I will be driving with my art to Orlando, Florida for an exhibit, then on to Miami for the Coconut Grove Art Festival. I will be in warm, sunny Florida for almost three weeks.

Muse

What is a muse? Muse in Greek mythology, is one of the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, goddess of memory. Muses inspired and presided over the different creative arts. Sometimes artists are well aware that something bigger than themselves has taken over their creativity. In these moments they become like a hollow reed upon which a mysterious wind blows a sublime and fathomless melody. Afterwards, the startled artist steps back and says, Wow! Where did that come from?

As William Blake so eloquently wrote, the muse allows us
To see a World in a Grain of Sand, 
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower, 
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand 
And Eternity in an hour.


Thomas Edison was a great inventor, but I take issue with his statement, “Genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration.” I believe that when Michelangelo, at the age of twenty-four, produced his colossal sculpture, David, he was completely inspired by a force greater than himself that blew through his every fiber, giving him strength. Certainly he was a unique channel and his talents begged for inspiration that attracted Spirit.

One of the greatest minds of all time acknowledges as much. Albert Einstein said: “One of the most beautiful things we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed. Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we now know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world, and all there ever will be to know and understand. 
” And he said, “To know is nothing at all; to imagine is everything.”

Imagination is the ability to dream while awake and in that heavenly state, be surprised by the “sirens songs,” blowing from across eternity. Walt Whitman knew this. The great American poet wrote:

As for me, I know nothing else but miracles,

Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,

Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,

Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,

Or stand under the trees in the woods,

Or talk by day with any one I love,

Or sleep in bed at night with any one I love,

Or watch honeybees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon...

Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, 

Or of stars shining so quiet and bright,

Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring...

What stranger miracles are there?

The greatest artists, writers, inventors, et al. know that to truly be fulfilled is to actually lose oneself and wander in mystery . . . to be guided by strangeness and trust that a wild ride is towards the mystical ocean that is the beginning and end; both.

“I have no fear of making changes, destroying the image, etc., because the painting has a life of its own.” Jackson Pollock

When I was but a twenty-two year old art student, my homework was to do a self-portrait. Every night I stood in front of a mirror and painted. The task was arduous for I stared at myself for hours on end, trying to faithfully represent myself in oil paint on canvas. But something took over so that I became inspired to continue. In the end I produced a painting that went beyond myself and once I stepped outside of the creative reverie and brought my painting to class, I thought did I do that?  Well, I did, but my muse stood next to me, singing her siren songs.

Magical Territory

"Is not life a hundred times too short for us to bore ourselves?" Friedrich Nietzsche

“There is no end. There is no beginning. There is only the passion of life.” Fredrico Fellini

I live on a hillside in a home nestled among a cluster of dwellings. When Santa Fe had it’s big snowstorm last week, my vehicle was buried in snow and ice, so I decided to just wait until conditions improved before trying to drive. But I am not the type who can stay at home for long. While the snow came down one afternoon, I went for a walk and took my camera. Everything was a blur of white, and I had to be careful not to fall on the steep terrain. In the silence I walked, carefully choosing my steps. Soon, the poetry of nature was casting a spell and I became entranced by familiar surroundings that had drastically changed their countenance. Colors were subdued to tones of white, broken by objects not completely concealed in snow. Soon, I was covered with snow as well. I made my way to the small creek at the foot of the hill and though my feet were cold and fingers inside my gloves were chilled, I plunged down the snowy embankment to explore. I have written previously about this area, and you can read how only recently, it was ablaze in fall color: Stopped In My Tracks.  Now, whiteness prevailed. The beauty took me by storm, and I walked, stopping to take pictures.

There are times for artists during creative moments when an inner contentment is reached. Their passion is heightened and happiness is found—so that nothing else matters except being in the “zone”. Think of Michelangelo, working on his back for hours high upon scaffolding in the Sistine Chapel. Sometimes paint would drip in his face and his body ached, but he was ecstatic, oblivious to the outside. When he reached home, bone tired, the spell was still upon him and he slept in his clothes with his shoes on, only to go back again the next day.

How often the siren song of the creative muse drowns out everything else . . . so that time vanishes and hours fly away in moments. I have missed appointments because of being in the zone.

During the snowstorm, as I became more excited by the magical aspects of my surroundings, I entered the magical territory. Nothing else mattered . . . the cold or even the oddness of stepping in the creek while taking pictures. My muse stood by my side and I was happy as a lover with his beloved.

“Reverie is not a mind vacuum. It is rather the gift of an hour which knows the plenitude of the soul.”   Gaston Bachelard