Material Things

"Visitation" original photo by Steven Boone

For some reason I lost my attraction to material things about eleven years ago. I lived in a big house on beautiful land and did not lack for anything. It was all paid off. Stuff just didn't seem important to me anymore. I craved submersion in experience. Shortly thereafter, I sold off belongings and told friends and loved ones that I intended to “disappear into the matrix of the world.” Some laughed, but this is what I did. I left the United States and traveled around the globe for a year. Along the way, I stepped into THE DREAM, a condition of consciousness where everything has meaning and purpose but nothing is permanent. I loved being in flux—open to the next surprising event that would illumine my mind. Even the mishaps had a part to play in THE DREAM.

Laundry day, Burano, Italy

I am surprised that even now, I do not have much that I crave or need to have. I rent a house, own my vehicle, have essentials for my artwork and creative pursuits and am debt free. I don't need to own anything to be happy. I keep waiting for the feeling to come into me that says, “Buy something permanent.” This spring I got some faint suggestions that it might be nice to buy a house and live by a river, giving it my own artistic touches and making it a place of peace and creativity. But its just a romantic imagination. Perhaps it will arrive and perhaps not.

I have been going back to THE DREAM, seeing my life through its prism. It is fantastic and I feel it is my real HOME.

Dock at Ipsos, Greece

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.

Life and Consciousness

Life and consciousness are interwoven with spirit. Divine spirit is the greatest force in the universe—love that binds together matter and protects creation from disintegrating into formless chaos.

More and more, I am going to that deep well of good fortune. When I feel pain, remorse, despair, or frustration, I know I need to turn my situation around and then I go back to Divine Love. It is closer to me than my life vein so that I can under all circumstances say, "thank you."

As I practice this and smile on existence, my fortunes change for the better.

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.

Time and Space

Sunset at Polihale Beach, Kauai, Hawaii

When I was a little boy, living in my childhood dreamworld of imagination and wonder, life resembled a beneficent sea surrounding me on my blissful island home. I lived in the suburbs of Chicago, Illinois, and I remember that in my contentment of the fullness of space and consciousness, the future seemed far beyond the horizon and out of sight. I did not have sufficient experience of time and space, so I could not project ahead. When I was about six years old, in 1958, I knew that the year 1960 was coming, but it seemed an eternity would have to pass before arriving there. In other words, the distance of two years seemed an eternity.
Fifty three years have passed since 1960 has come and gone, and it could be the blink of an eye. When my wife and I argue about something and perhaps the matter is blown out of proportion, she has taken to philosophy to remedy the emotions. She says, “In the grand scheme of things, this is not a big issue.” I understand the sentiment, and agree immediately that the bigger picture of life holds the solution to everything.

Constraint

I love the possibilities of living without constraint. Of course, this is impossible, and society requires that its citizens be constrained. In some cases, constraint is advantageous, e.g. when we constrain our eating to only include healthy food and limit its consumption. There are many examples of constraint acting to safeguard what is good.

Yet I have always had trouble with aspects of constraint such as reticence, guardedness, formality, self-consciousness, awkwardness, and obstruction. Deep down, I refuse to be choked off, and from an early age resisted wearing a tie—feeling uncomfortable with any constraint around my neck.

When I was in art college, I made a logo that symbolized myself. It came from my unconscious and arrived quite easily. It is a box, with two half circles bursting out and up . . . as if acknowledging the structure and support, yet being free.

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.

Breath Of Life

I am quite aware my life is not perfect. Moreover, I am not anxious about imperfection, and I have no fear of death because it is only the death of imperfection. I believe perfection exists and trust it more than I trust imperfection. Perfection exists beyond mortality . . . beyond the reach of decay and death; it must be self-sustaining, infinite and eternal. This is SPIRIT, beyond the comprehension of human thought.

That which is created and has life in physical form I call THE DREAM. This is opposite of many people’s belief that what cannot be physically experienced is but a dream. I say that what is physical is only part of THE DREAM, and not essential. That which is essential can never die or be born, but is the breath of life within everything. This life breath can never be extinguished—only transformed. So why would I fear perishing? I trust the essential BEING will continue forever. Death does not invade Essential Existence of which everything is a part.

Celebrate the Breath Of Life and realize that the hand of death is only revolution. THE DREAM has always been, and always will be.

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

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.

Whirling Streets

I traveled almost half way around the world to return home to Santa Fe, New Mexico, USA, from Vietnam. The trip took about 24 hours—Saigon to Tokyo to Salt Lake City and then to Santa Fe. I am appreciating the clean air, majestic spaces, relative quiet, and urbane modernity of home. Yet, I miss my friends in the Far East and being in the flux of Asian life.
All humanity is coexisting simultaneously on this planet. Every human activity is occurring at the same moment somewhere: sleeping, eating, working, charity, thievery, sex, birth, death, laughter, argument, et al. Humans are a family, but have great variation in customs, language and ethnicity. Wherever I go, the warmth of a smile and loving look is universally recognized and welcome.
At times I have felt lost and bewildered, almost insane in unfamiliar surroundings. But then, I choose to enjoy the mind-bending experience of seeing life as child; vulnerable, and with innocent, fresh eyes. For example, last Sunday afternoon in Saigon, I took a long walk through the whirling streets and arrived at the city zoo. It is humble by many standards, and does not have the assortment of animals or facilities of many other zoos. I paid my entrance fee, began walking along shady pathways and came to elephants. A small crowd was gathered, and occasionally an animal extended its trunk to grab a sugar cane someone had offered. I took pictures, trying to capture both human and elephant together. Slowly, I wandered around, viewing exhibits. Seeing the hippopotamus reminded me of when I saw them in the wild on Safari in Tanzania last year. I came to a bandstand area where a crowd was gathered watching circus performers. A man onstage climbed on top of an assortment of cylinders and teetered precariously, then an assistant handed him a small sword which he held in his mouth, then took a longer sword and balanced that on the tip of the small one. Next, a beautiful young woman in a tight red costume walked a tightrope, standing on her head, doing splits, and eventually placing a ladder on the rope, climbed up two rungs, then did the sword trick with two swords balanced tip to tip from her mouth. Music played, children ran around in glee, and every time someone spoke, I could not understand a word. As I left the zoo, I had the distinct feeling of being lost in another world, but not caring. The elements played on my mind like a dream and moments flowed in a stream of consciousness that left me dizzy and euphoric.