Pequeño Paso

 “The more you want, the more you lack.” Five decades after hearing the sentence in my freshman college philosophy class, the words have stayed with me. 

And so it is with all my expectations of living in our home in Mexico. They are desires that simply frustrate me. Amy and I are resigned to make progress, “pequeño paso a pequeño paso” —by little steps.

The Mexican government is not processing visa applications because of covid. 

At least our application will be near the top of the pile of requests. We have made our downpayment and the realtor awaits us in Oaxaca to finish the deal. The house is well cared for. We have plenty of time to pack, and make arrangements for moving. 

We took a sojourn last week, driving south in our wonderful state of New Mexico—visiting places I wanted to return to after many years. Amy had never been to Bosque Del Apache National Wildlife Refuge, or further south to White Sands National Monument. 

Since the city of Las Cruces is close to White Sands, we went and stayed there with dear art collectors of Amy’s—and took time to wander the campus of New Mexico State University where I spent my first two years of college—some fifty years ago when 18 years old. That’s when I took the philosophy course.

On the way back north, we stopped in a town called Truth Or Consequences, then returned to the Bosque where we witnessed at dawn the mass ascension of migrating snow geese from their nighttime roost on water into surrounding fields to forage.

At one point, while taking deep, wonderful breaths at White Sands, I thought, “how can I leave all this beauty?”

Like the snow geese . . . I will go. 

And return again someday.

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.

Best of August

 

 

Summer's Fare

August 11, 2013

 

Endlessly Changing

 August 19, 2012

A Leap Of Faith

August 07, 2011

A Gathering Of Men

August 01, 2010

Monsters

August 30, 2009

Travel Along The River Of Life

August 31, 2008

Nothing Stays The Same

August 05, 2007

Fascination In Life

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My first blog post was seven years ago . . . on October 7. Since then, I have posted 384 times, almost every week without fail. It surprises me to have been consistent . . . since I have posted throughout the seasons and from over twenty different countries.

At times, the challenge has been to find a topic to write about. When traveling, this is not a problem, but through the years, occasionally nothing comes up during the week, and then, I must be philosophical, or simply observe nature, the elements, and emotions.

I find fascination in life, and in my own life which has had it's share of ups and downs. I came from a big, complicated family, lived like a hippie early, became religious, went to art school, had a mental breakdown, traveled across the USA, settled in the southwest, started businesses, married three times, had children, been successful as an artist, had a child die, written books and magazine articles, sojourned around the world and taken 50,000 photographs . . . and kept a weekly blog going for seven years now . . . and counting. 

The archive is on this page.

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

Wanderlust

A bedouin on his camel. at the Great Pyramids of Egypt.

“One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.” – Henry Miller (American, December 26, 1891 – June 7, 1980)

In some profound ways, I have not adjusted to the ending of my year of travel, in 2008. Then, I was single, unencumbered by material things, free to move in any direction, was full of wanderlust, and leisurely moved across the face of the earth, living in exotic and fascinating places, making new friends and acquaintances. Since I arrived back in the USA, I have not felt the urge to own a home or settle down in any fundamental way, even though I have married. My lovely wife owns a home and I also rent a separate home, studio, and art gallery—but I am not attached to any of these places. Since 2008, I have been to Brazil, Argentina, Uruguay, and lastly, with my wife, Morocco. Now, I wonder if my dancing vagabond days are over for me.

During the early days of my traveling, I carried two suitcases—one for clothing, laptop, camera and supplies, and one for my painting gear, i.e. paints and easel, canvas and brushes. I made paintings along the way, occasionally sending them back to my assistant in the US and my gallery. Midway through the journey, I sent the cumbersome painting suitcase home, since I had evolved into a passionate street photographer. Each day, camera in hand, I would saunter forth to find the unexpected and seek to capture ephemeral moments of sublimity.

A field of poppies amid olive trees, in the Puglia region of Italy

The task of landscape painting is different than photography. To paint, a subject must be found, and then the easel set up and as the day goes by and the sun moves across the sky, I stand in one spot, studying and recording until a finished work is completed. For example, see: Flux Of The Street.
Photography is simply having the camera at hand, with a heightened sense of awareness, ready to click the shutter at an opportune time . . . and then go forth again for more. For example, see: Ducking.

Chicken seller in a market in Hoi An, Vietnam

Generally, paintings are far more valuable on the market, since they are made entirely by the artist’s hand are unique, whereas photos become prints that are massed produced.

 “To awaken quite alone in a strange town is one of the pleasantest sensations in the world.” – Freya Stark (born 31 January 1893 in Paris, France; died 9 May 1993 in Asolo, Italy)

Nothing Is Lost

At the temple of Karnak, Luxor, Egypt

Today’s blog is number 347. That is about 6 ½ years of writing. In the beginning, I wrote to bring attention to my artwork, but quickly, the writing became fuller—to encompass life and death, philosophy, religion, art and travel, and more. As I think of it now, I became disciplined and rarely missed a beat, even while living out of a suitcase, traveling constantly. The written recording, augmented with photographs, is useful and has led me to ponder how experience is never lost, but is computed in the mind of God.

I love the term Akashic Record. It is described as containing all knowledge of human experience and the history of the cosmos. Many people who have died and reached the portal of the next world, when by fate have returned to a resuscitated body, describe seeing their entire life pass in front of them. "Nothing is lost of either piety or sin that is committed by creatures. On days of the full moon and the new moon, those acts are conveyed to the Sun where they rest. When a mortal goes into the region of the dead, the deity of the Sun bears witness to all his acts. He that is righteous acquires the fruits of his righteousness there." (Mahabharata, Anusasana Parva, Section 130, Ganguli trans.)

Ancient Egyptian Afterlife Ceremony


We all will do well to ponder our lives, and reflect on our doings. While I was in Egypt, I saw artwork that copied ancient hieroglyph’s depicting the journey into the next world, and the chain of events that marked that transition. A person’s deeds are recorded, and a panel of 14 judges makes an accounting for judgment. If all is well, the personality continues to meet the higher beings. If not, Ammut the god with the crocodile head and hippopotamus legs will devour the heart, condemning the deceased to oblivion for eternity.
For more about Ammut: .http://egypt.mrdonn.org/weighingheart.html
For more about Ancient Egyptian Afterlife Ceremony.

Destiny is Always Unfolding

Path into the Himalaya mountains.

“The future will take care of itself.”

This became my motto while traveling, and even now that I travel less, I believe it. Essentially, this thought promotes a feeling that destiny is always unfolding inexorably, so go with the flow without fear—when the future arrives, trust that it is meant to happen and be thankful.

My wife does not quite get this attitude, and she objects to my fearless living, especially when my savings plummet because I withdraw money to live fully according to my inspirations.

In fact, most people are afraid of “not having enough.” This means constantly struggling to keep assets to survive comfortably . . . especially in case money stops. Enough must exist to insure survival in emergencies.

Something strange happened to me after my oldest daughter, Naomi died. I gave up trying to hold on, and instead practiced letting go. I even stopped trying to hold onto my own life, and instead abandoned myself to what I call “the matrix.” This is the place where life and death is always shifting and dancing together. My marriage fell apart, my ex-wife bought my half of our home and I became “homeless,” leaving the USA to go around the world. For one year I lived in a state of flux, journeying through nineteen countries until I had gone completely around the earth. I occasionally found myself in places where people from my background would never tread—e.g. the slums of Cairo, Egypt, the ghettos of Nairobi, Kenya, a houseboat on a lake in Kashmir . . . but then, I always felt safe in “the matrix.”

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

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.

Places Unimagined

“What difference does it make how much you have? What you do not have amounts to much more.” Seneca, (5 BC - 65 AD) Roman dramatist, philosopher, & politician

When death comes, it is most important to have loved well, experienced much and gained wisdom. Possessions, no matter how great, will account for nothing, except as they are given away to others. Our bodies will return to dust and be gathered into mother earth again. So why do people obsess over things?

I have found that in the last few years of my life, especially as I have become a vagabond world traveler, I do not care to be in relationship with physical ownership. Rather, what I crave is freedom of movement. If the wind calls me, I must move with it and go where it blows. For some, this might be reason to say Steven Boone is irresponsible. He does not want to take charge of things and be “responsible”. But that is not entirely true, for it is because of philosophy that I am this way. I think that everything material is ephemeral and transient—only Spirit is eternal and breaks every barrier, including death.

These days, when I need to be in one place for any length of time, I find a furnished dwelling that I can inhabit and then easily leave. I wonder, will there come a time when I will want ownership and have a house with a garden, and collect things? Then I will make my surroundings my own. For now, I do not want title because it requires caretaking. In short, to be like the wind is to travel without care over the wide terrain and go places unimagined.

“The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit.”
The Bible, John (ch. III, v. 8)

Soon my six month lease at my casita in Santa Fe will be finished. I can either stay or move, and because I am an artist, I can move anywhere I want and continue working. I feel a surprise is close at hand, and might take me somewhere remote. For now, the next few weeks will be the most colorful of the year and this artist has plenty of inspiration close at hand to keep him busy.

A Marvel

During my years of University study I took a course in philosophy, and I remember a day in class when the professor became quite animated during a treatise on whether God exists or not. He held up a diagram of the human eye and explained that such a complex invention begged certainty that only God could create such a marvel. I agree.

The human eye is enormously complicated and efficient in receiving raw data. About 40 components make up the system, including retina, pupil, iris, cornea, lens and optic nerve. The retina for instance, has approximately 137 million special cells that respond to light and send messages to the brain. The light impressions are translated into electric impulses and sent to the brain via the optic nerve. Then, the visual cortex interprets the pulses to color, contrast, depth, etc., which allows us to see “pictures” of our world. The eye captures so much information that the brain can interpret up to 1.5 million pulse messages a milli-second. No computer even comes close.

If anything were to go even slightly wrong in the creation of eyes, they would fail. Yet time and again, since the beginning of human life, mankind has been given the incredible gift of sight. It does not happen by accident, but rather by plan. If we think fairly about this one aspect of the human creation, we must admit that a Creator devised and implements it. Furthermore, all the best minds of humanity could not replace a single eye . . . the most we have been able to do in an empty eye socket is put in a glass orb that has no power of sight whatsoever. No, only God can create eyes. It cannot be “accidental” or by “chance”.

“To suppose that the eye, with all its inimitable contrivances for adjusting the focus to different distances, for admitting different amounts of light, and for the correction of spherical and chromatic aberration, could have formed by natural selection, seems, I freely confess, absurd in the highest degree possible.” Charles Darwin, Origin of Species

The Great Scheme Of Things

Some people believe in God and others do not, and those in between are called agnostics. It is understandable that there is great difficulty attaining 100% consensus of belief in God, for the finite mind cannot grasp the infinite nor can a cup contain an ocean; and many of us have to grasp something in order to believe in it. Furthermore, this world is beautiful but also violent, with merciless atrocities that occur naturally and by the hand of man. This further confuses people who cannot stomach the thought of a beneficent Creator making such a mess and watching his creatures struggle in it for the sake of progress to a better life later.

When I was growing up, our household was without religion. My parents never spoke of God, and religion was something my friends knew about but not me. In some cases they endured the religion that was foisted upon them. Our household was liberal and a place for free thought. As the years went by, many of my friends came to enjoy our house as a haven of sociability. As I entered my teen years and my mind expanded, I asked my parents about their belief in God. My father said he did not believe, and since he was a passionate social activist, went so far as to quote Karl Marx, who said, “Religion is the opiate of the masses.” My mother said, “I am an agnostic.” Since I did not know what that meant, she went on to inform me that God may exist, but we cannot know for sure, so we allow that He might be present.

My youthful spirit searched for the truth independently during the beginning of my college years. Of course, I wondered more deeply what life was about and how I came to exist, and what my purpose might be. The first holy book I read, the Bhagavad-Gita, I found by chance while browsing in the university library. Glancing through the pages, something drew me, and I read it in entirety. Soon thereafter, I began a three-day fast, and pondered deeply whether God existed. The main question that excited my imagination and soul: “How did intelligent life and ordered existence throughout the universe come to be?” I could only conclude that a higher intelligence, God, made creation, of which I am part. Funny, but the next question that plagued my youthful mind for the next couple days was, “Can there be more than one God?” Perhaps I wrestled with the thought of one Being, dominant over all. But finally, I arrived at closure when I realized that God must be All-Powerful, and if there were two Gods then neither would be All-Powerful. There can only be one God. Shortly thereafter, I found the Baha’i Faith, and joined.

Over the years, my parents have changed. My father does not mention God or religion, but I suspect he has gone from being atheist to agnostic. My mother has developed a deeply personal relationship with God. She does not belong to a church, but in almost all her conversations she praises God, the Creator. Every day she speaks of “the wonderful world we live in.” I went to live with them in the spring, to help them with aging issues, and slept in a small anteroom near their own bedrooms. They would retire about the same time each night, my father closing his bedroom door and turning on his white-noise sound machine, and my mother would arrive in her bed, then promptly begin speaking out loud, (I could hear her), having a personal conversation with God. Typically, she praises His creation: the beautiful green grass, flowers, magnificent trees, the order in nature, sunlight, air and temperature, earth, soil, micro-organisms . . . and she thanks Him for her body and holding her place in the great scheme of things.

Woven Of Many Threads

 A human being is woven of many threads. Each thread is given at birth and has come from afar, through generations, to arrive in the special place of a unique person. Some people are woven of strong threads throughout, and others include threads that will break. Our environment and personality are responsible for weaving the strands together into the design that becomes the semblance of our life. It is dazzling to behold all the patterns and complexity of the human race.

We must always know that diversity is good and not to judge too harshly if one weaving is of gold and silver threads, and another is of plain cotton. Rather, it is good to celebrate the splendor of the world and that it is varied. Never complain that we have been given a bad deal and our threads are not good enough. It is best to use what we have been given and then be imaginative. If we weave love, justice, charity, kindness and wisdom into our design, a marvelous outcome is assured, even if the threads are not all of the highest quality; they can be made into something pleasing and fine. Likewise, even though the threads be of excellent quality, yet if hatred, greed, or falsehood be woven into an otherwise beautiful design, the result will be worthless.

Lately, I have continued with my new direction in art. It is as if I am sailing my boat in uncharted waters and do not know where the journey will take me. But I am simply sailing and learning the waters. The voyage is wonderful enough. I am the captain, so I can go in any direction. I just need the wind of inspiration to fill my sails.

See some new work at http://stevenboone.com

Consciousness Is A Gift

Consciousness is a gift given to each human. We could never plan something so complex, nor, given our limitations, would we want to try. Look how awkward are the attempts we make inventing robots. Even in a thousand years, I do not think a robot will ever exist that could cry watching a sunrise, or at the sight of a whale breaking the ocean surface as it leaps into the air. Furthermore, a robot will never have curiosity, a main feature of human consciousness. Humans are driven to know, and ask themselves, “What is crying?” and then they proceed to study this phenomenon. Research tells us that crying is a production of tears that result from emotional states that trigger the brain to send signals to the tear ducts. A build up of stress hormones is released through the tears and emotional tears are different in composition than say, the tears from being in a cold wind, or from smelling chopped onions. It is thought that other animals do not cry emotional tears. On average, men cry once a month and women cry five times a month, except during menstruation when they cry much more easily. After my daughter Naomi died at the age of nineteen, I cried every day for six years. (See my book about Naomi, death and dying.)
The gift of consciousness is greatest when we use it to discover truth, for then we become strong and approach the freedom of the divine. The lower realms are slavish and blind, but the higher spheres are where true happiness is found. Aristotle said, “Happiness is an activity, and the highest activity is in accordance with virtue, the result of contemplation.” This is why he remained a philosopher all his life.
I only have two weeks to move from my home, put my things in storage and begin my wandering. I love the bittersweet feeling of letting go.

See all my blogs at My Fairy-Tale Life

The Madness Of Muses

"Men have called me mad, but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence--whether much that is glorious--whether all that is profound--does not spring from disease of thought--from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect. Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night"- Edgar Allen Poe (1809 - 1849)

"Imagination is more important than knowledge" 
- Albert Einstein (1879 - 1955)

For many years, I struggled with my eccentricity and regarded myself with suspicion, fearing that perhaps I was not “normal”, and would not fit in society. This suspicion against myself killed my creativity, diminished life and even forced me into a mental institution for brief time when I was twenty-three.
Now, I do not even try to “fit in.” I thrive on surprise and élan. The more I have been able to embrace the fullness of my being—including the fact that I am off-center, whacky, exuberant, and mysterious—the more I have been able to embrace life and bring my artistic gifts to the stage.

Now that I am an adult with years of experience and wisdom gained, I often think of the words of Jesus, “Unless ye become as little children, ye shall not know the kingdom of heaven.” This saying brings back my earliest memories of life. My family was poor and lived on the south side of Chicago, in a brownstone tenement building on a crowded street. In the winter, coal was shoveled into a furnace in the basement and heated the apartments. Outwardly, our life was one of poverty; my mother stayed home to rear the growing brood of children and my father worked three jobs to support the family. But for me, in the earliest stages of my life, I could not compare my existence to any other, and only loved being alive without prejudice. I remember my first school experience was a neighborhood day school that equally served all the local children and their families. In the concrete playground was a stagecoach, and every day, during recess the children ran about, playing with gleeful shouts and full hearts. My very first friend that I loved was a boy named Darnell. We laughed and played together with all our might, running everywhere within the boundaries of the schoolyard. I noticed that Darnell was black, and it made no difference to me because I had no judgment about color. I only knew that I loved to play with him and he loved me too—we were attracted in Spirit. I think that this was what Jesus meant when he spoke of knowing heaven. Because in heaven, only Spirit and the truth of Spirit matters.

"If a man comes to the door of poetry untouched by the madness of the muses, believing that technique alone will make him a good poet, he and his sane compositions never reach perfection, but are utterly eclipsed by the inspired madman". Socrates 469 BC - 399 BC

Ownership Is An Illusion

“Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.”
Leonard Cohen, from Anthem

I went to a party last night. It was in honor of Zara Kriegstein, a beautiful and very talented artist, originally from Germany, who died from too much drinking of alcohol—and a failed liver. The party was at the home of a wealthy physician and local patron of the arts. As I arrived with a friend and pulled up to the palatial home, I had brief nostalgia for prestige and pleasure that comes with ownership of a home. Inside, a mariachi band played in front of a sweeping view to the west, and a gorgeous sunset. Artists and art lovers mingled, talked, ate delicious food, and admired Zara’s artwork that was displayed prominently for the occasion. A curator, her son, and her sister gave eloquent testimonies to her extraordinary life.

In the end, I think ownership is an illusion. All of life is contingent and we cannot change physical laws. Animals that we think we “own” get sick and die despite our ownership. The land we think is ours existed before us and endures after us. Our cars and bank accounts vanish and so do homes. Even our bodies are given to us, but only for a short time. Moreover, I do not want to get tangled up in forming relationships with physical objects that then make a demand on me. It seems material things need attention, and the more objects, the more demand for attention. I like being connected to the earth and nature, but in a way that I can enjoy it freely, like the wind that roams across the planet. Death teaches us that everything physical comes to dust. My philosophy is that it is better to be alive in Spirit that permeates and animates every atom in the universe and is independent, than be attached to the outward appearances that are doomed by mortality.

Thank You

I am in the habit of giving thanks, and at bedtime, always speak out loud before sleeping so that I hear the words, “thank you.” I think of the day I have just experienced, and then say, “I have no complaints.” Of course, I am speaking to God. I have a dearly beloved friend who is atheist who told me “you are thanking yourself, because of what you give to yourself.” There is truth in what she says, because I choose how to think and therefore experience accordingly. But in giving thanks, I am acknowledging the great gift of life, and I know that I have not given life to myself. No, everything has been given to me—the world of nature which is safe within regulated laws, my body that exists in nature and time, and the doors of perception through which I understand . . . these have been given to me and I could not have invented this. I am an infinitesimal part of an infinite universe which is beyond the grasp of humankind. Maybe that is why some throw up their hands and say God does not exist. What they are saying is it is impossible to know, so why even try? But I surmise that this is lazy thinking and that a simple solution is to acknowledge that the cosmos we live in is a creation and a creation must have a creator; a priori.
In my studio I have been spending my hours working on printing some of my 30,000 photographs. I am choosing portraits of people from around the world and then printing them on canvas; larger than life size. They are then mounted on board and I have been using an old painting method to cover them with encaustic; a hot wax and resin combination that fuses colors as it hardens. It is experimental, and I have no income from this now, but this year, I hardly have income anyway. I do not complain, but give thanks for the excitement and adventure of having opportunities to explore each day, and especially consciousness.