The Diamond

 

Amy gave me a special potion and offhandedly said, “This will give you sweet dreams.” It is YIang Ylang and comes from flowers that grow on an exotic tree in Madagascar, the island off the eastern coast of Africa. I dabbed a little on my wrists and under my chin and went to sleep. Sure enough, I had a sweet dream. Like everyone else, I probably dream 3-6 times each night in segments lasting 5-20 minutes. Ninety five percent of dreams are not remembered, but with me, it is closer to 100%.

It was not always so. Earlier in my life I dreamed and remembered frequently. I kept a journal that quickly filled a binder with pages of handwritten recollections. Then in mid-life my entries tapered off. For a couple of decades now, I might recall a dream only a few times a year. I explain it away by rationalizing that my waking life is so full of creativity that I need a rest from the fantastic during my conscious hours.

The morning after I sprinkled Ylang Ylang on myself I woke with a dream lingering in my mind. I recalled that I was outdoors in a tiny clearing in a forest. I was seated and looking down at the earth under me. A gleaming stone half covered by dirt caught my attention. It was a diamond about the size of a golf ball. Wow, what a dazzling gem! I picked it up and felt its impenetrable facets and gazed at its magical capture of light. I knew I had something of great value and immediately began wondering if I could keep it safely, and thought it may be taken away. Shortly afterwards I awoke.

Dreams can foretell events in real life and this one did.

Two days later, a man came into my gallery. I was at my easel working. We greeted and he went and stood in front of my biggest painting—a sunset that is easily seen through the gallery window. Many people have admired it and wished they could buy it but the price is high. The man and I talked a bit about my painting process and the way I use thick layers of paint, called “impasto” effects. He asked how the colors were so brilliant and I explained that I use only the finest oils. He then left but came back with his wife. I liked the the couple very much. They began discussing where the painting might go in their home and decided another piece of art would have to come down and be replaced by the sunset. They left but said they might come back.

I went back to work and about an hour later turned from my painting to find the man standing behind me. We smiled and gazed in each others eyes, then met with his wife again in front of the sunset painting. They bought it. As I was writing up the big sale, he said “Hold on a minute . . . my wife is looking at something else as well.” She was entranced with two other landscape paintings and instead of picking one or the other, the couple bought both.

The experience was entirely magical and I could not help but think of the dream—and the diamond delivered into my hands.

 

Everything Is Part Of Everything

Life cannot be held, only experienced. To try and hold it is when we realize it is but a dream. When we believe we are in possession of something, in fact, this is illusion too, for nothing can truly be possessed, everything is part of everything else and is continually transforming and subject to external forces beyond personality.

When I lost my eldest daughter at age nineteen, after watching her suffer for two years while receiving the most skilled treatments and care, is when I truly became detached from holding on to anything of this world. Nobody can hold on to their most precious possession—their mortal frame, and I saw how much she loved hers and tried to keep it.

Certainly since her passing, from her vantage point of pure spirit in divine love within illimitable space, she has guided me to experience the world fully without fear, knowing it is a dream unfolding.

The traveling I am doing is full of dream sequences, beginning this year in September, living in Venice, Italy. My apartment was above a little stone bridge that spanned a canal that gondolas passed beneath each day. Nearby was a campo over a thousand years old. I like to paint, take photographs and write each day. After six weeks in Venice, THE DREAM took me to Cinqueterra on the Mediterranean coast, with its five magical villages hugging the steep, rocky shore, almost falling into the sea. From there, Florence, the birthplace of the Renaissance and high art, where my apartment sat steps away from Michelangelo’s marble sculpture masterpiece, David. Each day, the DREAM wind blew me through the fabled streets, until one day it took me to Rome—the eternal city where it is said all roads lead. I have been there many times before and it reawakened an awe of human ingenuity and achievement, with its vast architectural wonders from the time of empire. I heard through the ages the echo of horses hooves as they pulled gladiator carts, and listened to stringed instruments play in markets bustling with commerce just outside marbled churches filled with masterpieces of art. In Rome I relished a stunning art exhibition by a contemporary artist who filled me with inspiration to carry into my own work.

From Rome, into the sky again to land six hours later in New Delhi, India and then to arrive in Varanasi, one of the oldest living cities on earth. Cows roam the streets amid the crush of people, with bodies arriving every day from all parts of the globe to be burned on cremation pyres that are always blazing. The ashes thrown into the sacred Ganges River mean that salvation is assured for the believers. I floated on the Ganges in a boat to watch candles lit and placed in baskets to drift on the water, and experienced the thunder of explosions marking the Diwali Festival. THE DREAM introduced bacteria into my body and intestinal illness, as it happened before when I visited India. I continued painting, but spent more time with photography, taking some powerful images, especially with an American friend who modeled in flowing cloth on temple steps overlooking the Ganges.

Almost in a daze of altered perception, a train ride of twenty hours brought me to the heart of the continent, to Pushkar, the home of the only Brahma temple in India, where I arrived at the beginning of a famous once yearly festival. Thousands of camels were brought there to be traded and sold, with gorgeous horses, tents, festivities and excitement. THE DREAM introduced a young boy to my side one morning to take me to his family who live in tents on a hilltop. The man is a maker of folk instruments, and he and his wife sang and made music for me. We become friends, and THE DREAM brought money to them through one my friends on Facebook who took compassion on their difficult life of extreme poverty.
I am in other worlds, and far from the events of America and other places where news of violence and political intrigue comes to me in bits and pieces.

Now I am in northern Thailand, and do not see camels but plenty of monks in flowing saffron robes amid ornate Buddhist temples with soaring spires above intricate gabled roofs and dragons guarding the doors. My stomach ailments have mostly gone away, and each day is exploration, photography, and either painting or writing. THE DREAM has brought me together after seven years with Thai friends from the past. Our lives are woven in DREAM.

As THE DREAM continues unfolding, I wonder where it goes and where it leads. Soon it will lead to Cambodia but after that, I do not have a clear picture of what lays ahead. Perhaps the misty mountaintop needs time for the the wind to blow away the shrouding haze—and reveal itself entirely in glory.

Alive In A Fantastic Dream

Sometimes, when we are hiking in challenging terrain, we stumble, but get up to keep going. We are thrilled to be traveling, exploring and expanding.

I am on a train heading toward Corniglia, a little village in the region of Cinqueterra, a group of tiny towns that hug the steep cliffs of northeastern Italy and look out to the Mediterranean Sea. I just spent a month in Venice and it cast its spell as usual with plenty to sway the senses, and for an artist like me, inspire with subject matter worthy of my paintings and photography. Venice—the aristocratic and storied European city with deep history that is unique for its absence of cars or street traffic. To go anywhere requires walking or a boat ride, and this way everything is seen leisurely, not just a blur. In the end, I found myself particularly captivated by the ephemeral flickering and trembling reflections of the city that were cast upon the water in the canals. It is like an emblem of the dream that Venice represents.

A week ago a friend from America visited and we went to a concert together. She was ill, and I paid no heed since I have always had the attitude that I don't get sick under any circumstances. I got sick. For a week now, I have had a cough with upper respiratory discomfort. Last night I barely slept for all the coughing. I had to wake early to catch an early train. My alarm did not go off but I woke at the last minute and managed to get my considerable luggage to the train station on time. And here is the kick: I dozed off and at Florence missed getting off to switch trains for La Spezia, so had to travel all the way to Rome. I am now heading back north to Pisa, La Spezia and then Corniglia. All while sick and at more cost. I managed to notify the people who are expecting me.

Somehow something has shifted in my mind that allows me to stumble without it ruining my outlook. I am sick, so what? I missed my train? So what . . . I am a smiling being alive in a fantastic DREAM.

Free To Wander

Piazza San Marco on a Sunday—with empty tables because of slight flooding.

To be free to wander is a ravishing pleasure that feeds my artist soul. And in Venice, to wander is extra pleasurable since there are no cars to threaten a person who is dreamy and in an altered state of consciousness. Altered states occur since it is a “floating world,” much like a dream. Accordions play, church bells ring, boats drift by on the labyrinth of canals and one cannot walk far without coming to one of 400 bridges that span the city.

Reflections—Piazza San Marco, Venice, Italy

 I have had a remarkable 24 hours. A friend from the United States arrived yesterday and we met at my apartment to have dinner and catch up with each other before leaving to meet with two Venetian ladies. My American friend, Neely, speaks Italian and immediately was conversing with her Italian counterparts as we walked together to a free baroque concert in a 700 year old church—Chiesa della Madonnadell'Orto. The concert was a fundraiser for ebola victims in Africa, and consisted of recitals from Antonio Lotti (5 January 1667 – 5 January 1740) an Italian Baroque composer. The massive church with soaring architecture and paintings by famous Venetian painter- Tintoretto, (Italian, October, 1518– May 31, 1594) soon filled up and we sat together in pews as the conductor and musicians came forth and stood facing us. The music and singing was sublime and as I closed my eyes I was transported through the ages to other times.

Stevie, self-portrait in Venice

Today, I have been walking with Cristiana for two hours, and amazingly we chatted most of the time, while she occasionally waited patiently while my muse stopped me to photograph something or other.

I realize that when I am in the artistic zone, it is an altered state where I am not really seeing people as personalities and buildings as shops or homes. Rather I am responding to light and reflection, texture and space, intriguing positions of humans in interaction or alone within the environment.

Cristiana recognizes me as an artist and says that anyone who is to be in relationship with me must understand this is who I am. I agree totally.

Venice . . . double exposure

Witnessing

Kapaa Rooster, oil on linen, 24 x 20 inches

“I know that thoughts are not always 100 percent good, but I sure do hate it when they are negative.” My daughter Naomi wrote these words in her journal as she struggled to survive the cancer that eventually killed her while still a teenager. During my recent difficulties—finding myself single and bereft, I have often taken inspiration from Naomi's example of making effort to replace bad circumstances with something good instead. Her task was monumental and she achieved remarkable victory over negativity. She shaped her mind to be her ally. She also wrote, “Hardships can make us stronger . . . every situation has some good in it.”

My circumstances and efforts to shape my mind have brought me to remember a notable dream I had many years ago. Dreams are mostly fluff and reworking of days events, but sometimes a dream will act as a sign to higher levels of consciousness. This was such a dream: I was buried in the earth, upright with arms and legs spread, but only my head above ground. I felt fine, even happy and content. At the same time, I could also see myself from outside, as if witnessing. I was in a clearing in some woods, the sun was shining, air balmy. Two people arrived to stand in front of me. They were spiritual beings and stood in front of my head as if the situation were completely normal. They even chatted together. Just then, from behind a nearby bush, a chicken came running to peck at my face. He would peck, run back behind the bush, and come running to peck at my head again. I was completely defenseless except to wiggle my face side to side and try and close my eyes tight to protect them against the bird's beak. The two onlookers watched calmly as if nothing were out of the ordinary. I awoke.

Now upon reflection, I see that I am at one with the earth, and all is well. But thoughts coming from the ego or false imaginations can be like the pesky chicken upsetting the peace. My spirit guides are with me, bearing witness, but also informing me that in reality, I am in a safe embrace of essential elements and in oneness that is expansive. Not to worry about the pecking, which will pass.

Destiny

Destiny is turning me in the direction of home. A steady hand guides me as the compass turns west, from London, England to Santa Fe, New Mexico, Unites States of America.

Looking back to when I left on my journey, five weeks ago, I realize there are many layers of experience that have been added to the pages that make up the volume of memory that archives my life. It is because of living intensely that the annals of one month can fill the pages of a book.

A magic carpet ride whisked me to Egypt, settling me at the foot of the Great Sphinx next to the pyramids. I touched the stones that were carried to the tombs of Pharaohs five thousand years ago. The teeming, dirty streets nearby are crowded with restless men, struggling with a poor economy amid political unrest. Nevertheless, I found friendship and cordiality that took me into homes.

Further south, in Luxor the Nile River calmed and refreshed my spirit, even as the sweltering heat limited my daytime activity. New friendships were struck, and old friends emerged. The simple life dazzled me like a poem from the hands of a great writer—Rumi comes to mind. I floated on the timeless river and broke bread with the best of humble company, while seated on nothing but earth and straw.

The wings of flight took me onward, east across Northern Africa, to Morocco, where French is spoken as companion tongue to Arabic. I speak neither, so maintained my silence amid the changing episodes and kaleidoscope, flickering pictures that continued to beguile my senses. I rented a car, and drove across the north of the country, from Atlantic Ocean, over mountains and plains, through towns large and small, to the border of the Mediterranean Sea, and back to Casablanca. Always the readily available cup of tea, fresh orange juice, olives, spiced foods—and bottled water, except when I felt assured of drinking from taps that would not make me sick—like in Chefchahouen, the mountain city of ancient narrow passages and blue walls and gates.

Along the Atlantic coast, I dove headfirst with joy into the onslaught of unending waves, clearing my pores, flesh, and bones of the weary effects of travel. 

When I could, I painted, and always photographed, using my camera as a third eye. 

At the end, my wife arrived in Casablanca and we continued as a couple for five days. I had someone to talk to again, and hold. We flew to London, a major outpost of world civilization, and found entrancement in the well organized bustling streets and attractions. We visited art museums, and became full of ideas and possibilities to take home. And so we will arrive from where we began, in the course of this one day, traveling eastward with the sun.

A Greater Reality

What is distance? It is a system of measurement determined by space and time. Arbitrary units are devised, e.g. minutes, hours, inches, feet, miles, meters etc., to allow for a common agreement and understanding among human beings. These units of thought govern our physical lives and are the basis of our cooperation and communication.

But what about dreams? Dreams exist in other worlds beyond time and space. Cultures that value dream consciousness are most often dominated by those that place greater value with “facts.”

I love the realm of art, because “facts” can be blurred, twisted, or re-arranged. A blue sky can turn pink, a wristwatch can melt, a person can sport both eyes on one side of a face . . . anything can happen. In poetry too, a tree can grow from inside of a heart, birds can flutter forth from thought, an elephant can appear in a living room . . . limitations are obliterated.

Once I was on a trip with friends. We were going to visit a Navajo man who lived on a reservation in New Mexico. We stopped along the way to visit other friends at their home in a town called Gallup. As I sat in a chair, relaxed and at ease, I fell into a dream state, and suddenly arrived at the Navajo man's home. He was outdoors, building a house, brick by brick, trowel in hand. I awoke from this vision, and a couple hours later, we drove up a long dirt road and when I saw the same Navajo man, it was exactly as I had seen him earlier, in my vision. How was it that in dreaming, I escaped the bounds of time and space and arrived at a greater reality?

June Writings, with Pictures

The Zone

June 10, 2012

Deep Into Love

June 26, 2011

People Of Color

June 13, 201

Not Burned By Fire

June 21, 2009

Muy Tranquilo

June 29, 2008

This Is Paris

June 04, 2007

Mysterious Circumstance

North coast of Sicily, and the Tyrrhenian Sea

This time five years ago, while on the island of Sicily, I experienced a luxurious solitude. (see my earlier blog) Abandoning the rigid dictates that my mind commanded I “should” be doing and the path I "must" stay upon, instead I wandered freely, letting mysterious circumstance unfold and lead me into surprise. I enjoyed being lost and feeling life without boundary. I had a car, a little house in Bonagia, a fishing village on the west coast, my art supplies, laptop, camera, and a change of clothes.

The little fishing village of San Maria

Mt. Corfanu on the northwest coast. The view is from where I lived.

After I adjusted to the time change and recovered from jet-lag, I eagerly breathed in the Mediterranean air, soaked up the sunlight, felt the rocky earth under my feet, listened to the birds and sound of bells tied to the sheep that wandered grazing along the hills nearby, and enjoyed quietude. If I wanted to paint, I took my easel out and discovered a view to my liking, then stood still, observing and working in silence. Some days I awoke with a plan, but if the day beckoned me in a different direction, then I might simply follow spirit into the unknown. Over the course of a month I explored the entire Sicilian coast, traveling in all directions, and into the interior, finding ancient Roman temples, and climbing Mt. Etna, a volcano.

Ancient Roman temple, standing at Segesta.

I began to sense what it is to live in THE DREAM. Now, years later, I often experience living in THE DREAM. It is a practice.

At the Roman amphitheater at Segesta.

Mysterious Sea

My dear daughter Naomi, who I regard as an elevated teacher, even now that she has abandoned the physical form, said, “Everything is important and nothing is important; everything is illusion back to God.” Albert Einstein, an acknowledged genius of the highest rank, said, "Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one."

In my life, I believe in THE DREAM, where definitions are mysterious, because, as the Greek philosopher Heraclitus ( Greek, c. 535 – c. 475 BCE) said, “Everything flows, nothing stands still.” And he also said, “Eternity is a child playing, playing checkers; the kingdom belongs to the child”.
THE DREAM is always in motion and resists boundaries, and everything is changing. I am aware of reality/illusion, a tiny consciousness adrift in a limitless, mysterious sea.

Here are some selected July blog posts from previous years:

Circle In The Water,  Sunday, July 29, 2007

Astonishing Artwork, Sunday, July 13, 2008

Mister, What Are You Looking For?   Sunday, July 26, 2009

Live Life Fully, Sunday, July 04, 2010

A Grand Play

 

When I was a young man, I had an aversion to wearing a tie. My father would have to stand behind me and while facing a mirror, help me put one on, and tie the loop. I did not like the feeling of a knot around my throat. I could not even wear a turtleneck sweater—it felt tight around my neck. Perhaps this discomfort had to do with a terrible dream I had when I was a child. In the dream, I was in a bed, resting peacefully at the top of a house, under a pitched roof in an attic. An open window with lace curtains was by my bed, and as I lay on my back, I could feel a soft breeze. Then, a woman appeared beside me and gently leaned over to stroke my head. She was soft, and her dress fluttered slightly from the breeze coming through the window. As I rested, peaceful and still, observing the woman, she leaned closer and with utter calmness, began choking me with her hands. I awoke terrified, and my body was paralyzed so that I could not move a finger. My throat would not utter a cry. After what seemed an eternity, I screamed and ran to my parent’s bedroom, where my mother calmed me from my nightmare.

Now, decades later, I can wear a tie, and sometimes I wear a scarf. I have come to see that all of life is a dream. I do not react negatively to this dreaming, but rather, embrace it. I am an actor in THE DREAM. The script is written, and as my lion-hearted daughter Naomi said before she died, I must, “show up and be lovingly present, no matter what it looks like out there or inside yourself.”

We all play a part in THE DREAM, acting our part in a grand play, written by the genius Creator. He has given us ability to make the script into an improvisation, and in some ways, choose our own endings. We are all adding our lines and performing our unique roles to create the grandest drama.
When a person enters the stage, I do not judge, but rather concentrate on my part, which is to be loving and full of life, to add vigor and grace to the scene. Everybody’s part is important. If the stage held only one or two grand actors, it would be boring indeed.

Villains are a part of any great drama . . . and if mankind advances sufficiently that there are no longer human villains, then there will be other darkness to face. It will always be this way. This is how the show goes on.

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.

Shifting Sands Of Time

FRIDAY, May 4
People who know Venice understand that it is beautiful and grand, a place of joy, and also sad. Bells ring, violins play, and there is laughter in the streets and from the café’s. Lovely footbridges arch over innumerable canals. Walking in the narrow passageways, the little common plazas called campos offer meeting places throughout the city. Shops offer art, finery, delicious food and drink, as well as everything else needed for comfort and convenience. To feel deeply all this, is also to understand that Venice is a castle made of sand, always crumbling bit by bit. It is ephemeral, like a dream. Everything creaks and sways, and the walls crumble. A feeling exists that it could all simply disappear.
Somehow, I relate mystically, and understand that beauty, comfort, and fortune are likewise fleeting and even as a dream. Everything enjoyable is also disintegrating. The grand sand castle that is our earthly life today is gone tomorrow. So now, I live the dream, and understand that in the end, all is endless transformation and beingness, ultimately gathered up in eternal spirit. All we can claim is spirit, and we must be conscious of how it is eternal, beyond the shifting sands of time.