More than Can Be Read In Books

 

I more clearly see an ending to this journey, with each day bringing me closer to a final scene. I want whatever time is left to be meaningful for myself and others. After seven decades on earth with myriad experiences, all inscribed in God´s cosmic records and my memory, I yearn for more wisdom, understanding and insight into life.

At times in the last few months I have had the feeling, What am I doing with my life? What am I to do with my time?  I have been an artist, writer, photographer, traveler, husband, father and friend. All has helped define me. Now, what more? Of course moving with Amy to a little village in Mexico flipped our lives. My art changed and I ask , Where am I? Who am I?

An excerpt from the writings of Bahaú´llah has been as a lantern in the darkness for me for many years: “O My friend, listen with heart and soul to the songs of the spirit, and treasure them as thine own eyes.” – Baha’u’llah, The Seven Valleys.

An urge recently  took hold to go alone on a vision quest, forsaking food and routine in order to get spiritual clarity. There is a a nature reserve called Cuatro Venados, or Four Deer, about 45 minutes from our house and the road there is paved, with little traffic.

We drove and Amy left me alone, agreeing to return on the third day. An old man took my 500 pesos ( about 25.00 USD) for two nights, then showed me uphill to a cabin made of adobe mud bricks and timber. It could sleep 6 people and had a fireplace. Basically a big room with bathroom attached. Windows with curtains on three sides. Other cabins were nearby on the hillside but I was the only one staying there. Very quiet and I soon felt alone. 

Nearby, a short walk down a dusty road and into the woods is a waterfall that is fabulous. It is part of the attraction of the eco-resort. Also on the property are little trails I explored. A creek runs through on its way to the waterfall. Especially I thrilled at the pine trees and greenery all around. At home, everything is dusty and brown from four months of dry season and no rain. 

Curiously, I had no hunger, and if a small craving came I enjoyed quashing it. My energy stayed good, but eventually I tired more easily during walks. The last night I woke and felt very strange including my heart. If I spiraled into something dangerous I was stuck without help. So I ate a bowl of granola and coconut water.

Everything around was speaking to me: the pine trees, birds, temperatures that went from hot to cold, stars in the night sky, silence and nature. I wrote in my journal: Just being, no agenda—The sound of a gurgling brook. Inhaling pine sap that has been warmed by sunlight. Water flowing over land and through the woods, meandering serpentine until a cliff interrupts its course, causing it to cascade through air, splashing on rock, falling more in spray and thunder until collecting in pools⏤only to resume an inexorable journey. I sit on a hillside that is covered deep in pine needles, under pine trees, while listening to the waterfall. The forest is dappled in light. Air is cool and balmy with gentle breezes wafting all around.  

“Nothing do I perceive, but I perceive God within it, God before it and God after it.” – Baha’u’llah

“Sometimes a tree can tell you more than can be read in books.”  ⏤C G Jung

Power In A Picture

The expression, “One picture is worth a thousand words”, has special meaning to me as an artist—most of my life is visually inspired. I have stood painting in silence for countless hours. No words transpire but the pictures that arrive speak volumes.

In silent wonderment I have experienced the earth in its many mysterious expressions. In my archives are tens of thousands of photographs from many travels around our globe. Occasionally I come upon one that warrants a closer look. The photo from Agra, India, included here, is an example of a picture that can elicit a story:

It does not matter who the figure in the foreground is, she is everywoman. Standing on a balcony, dressed in a simple and elegant white sari, her flowing robe disappears into the dark shadows surrounding her. Her hands rest on a protecting barrier that offers safety from accident. If she were to fall she might die. She is wrapped in thought and reverie, pondering her life on the threshold of a dream. The place she stands is remarkable, at a ledge—as if at the prow of a grand ocean vessel, taking her forward into a vast unknown. She is above the fray, at the level of the treetops where birds sing and monkeys play among the limbs. How has she arrived at this moment in time? Where will she advance next? Maybe she is simply breathing in the moment with no care to the past or future; exhilarated being on the edge of something bigger than her.


Behind her head are many rooms. Each is connected, has its own vantage and holds its own integrity. All are part of a greater whole, yet are independent. They could be storehouses of her mind. And when she has passed through each of them, she will arrive at a tower that is not limited. It is above all, and offers a viewing point that is not circumscribed. It is a place of clarity and peace. But it is not easy to arrive at.  Many doors lead to it.

Our woman is in her process. She stands in shadow but is robed in white. She is on a journey of many levels in a place of wonder.

These are the words that come to my mind as I ponder the image. The story can extend to a thousand words . . . this is the power in the picture.

Be Surprised

A Tale of Love, Mixed Media, 34 x 24 x 4 inches

I like to be surprised by my creations. That is, to be so involved while creating, I “disappear” in the work.  When I re-emerge to take a look, I might be amazed.

I can be astonished by other peoples reactions as well. This happened recently. I have a new art gallery in a mall off the main plaza in Santa Fe. It has big windows so pedestrians can see inside and view the art hanging directly in front of them. When I first opened, I hung my new work of mixed-media pieces in front of the windows. I hoped that they would make an impression. Later, friends came by and suggested I put my better known landscape paintings in the windows. I obliged. 

After I made the change, a fellow came in and introduced himself as a partner in a business down the hall. “I am glad you made the change,” he said. “There was a piece in the window that was creepy. Where is it?” Then he walked to the backside of the panels and said, “Here it is! Ugh This really creeps me out!” His skin crawled as he pointed to the dolls. I had to laugh, because it never was “creepy” to me.  (I am laughing to myself now, as I write, just recalling this.) 

The next day a woman came in and went right to the same piece and spent considerable time studying and admiring it. 

So why the different reactions?

I claim a piece a success in as much as it gets strong reactions. Weak or badly done art does not warrant reactions worth talking about.

Four Hangups, oil on linen, 28 x 30 inches,

Some years ago I made a series of paintings called HangUps. They always elicited responses—some highly positive and some negative, but always a reaction. One of those paintings is now in a museum in France. 

VanGogh All Hung Up, oil on linen, 22 x 24 inches,
In the collection of Foundation Van Gogh, Arles, France

And that is art.

Diana's Song, Oil on canvas, 24 x 20 inches

For more on the mixed-media pieces, see my previous post: Walk A New Path

The Pristine Moment

The Red Pancho, Oil on linen, 16 x 12 inches

Awakened experiences and new perceptions are occurring regularly and I am thankful for all. My inner child is thriving, along with active imagination, and I have been producing a new series of artwork. 

All I can say is that it must be equanimity. I had a perception the other day—a visualization of looking through a thick sheet of glass. The glass was flawless and absolutely clear, allowing me to see with perfect clarity the world of beautiful nature. I think this showed my inner life is in a calm and peaceful place that allows me to experience the outer world with clear perception. Like a child looking through eyes of wonder, and years of experience offer some wisdom too.

In fact, my energy has been good and I am doing things easily and without resistance. I drove to California for sixteen hours straight. This surprised me. Usually I get dreadfully tired after 500 miles or six or seven hours of driving, and have to drag to a stop. Same on the way back—sixteen hours no problem. My mental state is alert, calm, and reflective. 

If I feel a complaint, I can easily overcome it by absorbing into the “pristine moment.” What is this? It is where love exists in nature and can overcome troublesome mind with great curative effects. 

Daydream, Mixed Media, 16.5 x 12.5 x 3 inches

These days I am busy opening a new art gallery in Santa Fe. It is a temporary affair in the same location on the plaza that I had a gallery last summer for two months. This time I will go three months, taking advantage of the busiest part of the tourist season. I do not know what to expect and I am paying a higher rent than normal for the privilege of not signing a one year lease. Last year it worked nicely, but I am hearing from business people that retail is down from last year. They say it is probably because of the uncertainty of the upcoming election. The whole world is watching as our national spectacle unfolds.

Anyway, I am taking the jump—the same way I did while in New Zealand last January and jumped from a suspension bridge into a deep stream of glacial water far below me. I crossed my arms over my chest and as I hurled myself forward I cried, “Thank You God for everything!”

Blue Pools, Glacier stream, New Zealand

Place Of Not Knowing

A person dear to me and I have had many conversations about dreams, symbols, imagination, spiritual paths, esoteric thought, psychology and perception. We both easily jump into the same deep pool. We share books and are both in similar soul searching processes, seeking higher truths that lead to rebirth in spirit. She dreams and remembers them. I do not remember my dreaming. When she shares her dreams that are so full of rich symbols and extraordinary happenings, I sometimes am breathless.

I often think that life is a big DREAM. Fantastic surprises come and go frequently. We are often in wonder and awe. Mystery surrounds us and permeates every atom of our existence. It is the realm that poets, visionaries and seers draw from. It is why I call this blog My Fairy-tale Life.

Rather than be suspect of mystery, I relish the place of not knowing. It is full of potential. It calls me to be creative.

I tire quickly when I am bound to pragmatism and dogma. Thank God I can be an artist and make use of dreams, symbols, flights of fancy, flesh, blue skies, storms, crumbling earth, crashing ocean waves—all impermanent.

Life in THE DREAM.

Magic Into Perception

In just two weeks I will be out of the United States and free of constraint. Life will flow with surprise and call me to respond in new ways that test my resilience. My home will be Spirit itself—not a place but a path with no beginning or ending that travels eternally free and unencumbered. Where might my address be? Perhaps in the heart of creation.

I will go back to beginnings, to being a boy once again . . . moments magical, since everything is new and never before seen. With no reference, spirit will weave magic into perception . . . because I am willing to die and be born again. Over and over until my last breath when the gates to eternity open and I step through.

Minimalism

If there is any doubt that art shapes our way of seeing the world, a recent experience of mine will shed light. Yesterday, my home and studio were open for the Artists Studio Tour, an annual event where artists open there studio to the public for one weekend. This year, the studios are open for two weekends consecutively.

A woman came by and liked my art, but she focused on only a section of a couple paintings. She wanted a vertical piece of art for a particular place in her home and she already had in mind a concept. My landscape paintings attracted her for the colors and nuance of tones, but in a limited way. And this is what she wanted—an abstract painting with only a few colors. This is called minimalism. I told her I could do what she envisions, and have sent her samples.

Before the twentieth century, nobody would dare imagine such paintings. It would have seemed insane to consider it art. But modern art changed all that.

A patron viewing a large color field abstract painting by Mark Rothko, (September 25, 1903 – February 25, 1970),

DREAM Perception

I called it THE DREAM; a year of astonishing travel around the world. The DREAM perception began in Belize, when I arrived to live among black folk in the town of Dangriga, on the Caribbean Sea. (Entering THE DREAM) Each day, I painted, wrote, and made photos, venturing forth into the unknown. My mind shifted from analysis and planning to complete acceptance of the moment. I began having total trust in what was being presented to me, seeing the gift of life everywhere and in everything. Opportunities arose and I had no fear because I did not live with feelings of opposition or separateness. My surroundings and I were one, and as events unfolded and I met people, the experiences were more profound because I was open to them—even expecting them. Events and consciousness seemed continuous and woven together, full of wonder and surprise—as if in a dream. I was the dreamer bearing witness. 

With Windell, in Belize

 When I wrote my blogs from nineteen countries, I often described living in THE DREAM. It took care of me and informed my life.

Now I am newly single again. Once, during a therapy session while I was married, I was told “You may never be able to travel like that again Steven.” But I think I might.

Erg Chebbi, Morocco

Lately, during the pain of losing my mate and the aftermath, I have wondered about the random thoughts that effect my thinking and emotions. Thoughts and emotions are not permanent. I have been looking to a higher reality to gain perspective—to find immutable truth. Everything depends on it or else falls apart. My life has come undone so I have been ardently going to the place of truth, longing only to stay in that sacred temple. The more I am there, the more I see that THE DREAM is not only the fleeting occurrences all around me, but the terrain of my mind as well. Truth is independent of mind, beyond time and space. I am not talking about relative truth but rather the absolute: God, the uncreated Creator Who dwells in all, and is first recognized by our souls. 

Temple, Danang, Vietnam

The Whole Picture

Self-Portrait, Berlin 2008. Oil on linen, 24x18 inches.

Lately, I have spent time meditating on my life. It is amazing that our minds hold so much information . . . and we are only able to access bits of it through memory. Why do some episodes stand out more clearly than others? I am depending on long-term memory when I look back at the beginning of my life. The complexity is unfathomable. I imagine that every smell, touch, sound or even ray of light is encoded in my brain, yet I only access a fraction. Before I learned language, I was gathering information from my mother and father and surroundings. Has this formed me into who I am? Of course, my unique biology, what I am genetically, influences the way in which I perceive. I am of a sensitive nature, and learn especially through sensory experience.
So far, I have gone through my memories from birth to the beginning of college. I am trying to see who I am by looking at the movie of my life . . . and watching myself from the beginning. I don't want to censor anything either . . . but see the whole picture as it has emerged. I am an artist, and as I see the artwork that has been created thus far, I can take my brush in hand, and then more confidently paint the future as it is meant to be.

Visual Vocabulary

How often does it happen that after visiting an art museum, we walk back out onto the same streets, but with different eyes.  After spending hours looking closely at art, we have begun to see differently, because the artwork has given us a new visual vocabulary.

Many times, I have stepped out of a museum, and suddenly I am aware of even the cracks in sidewalks seeming to speak to me . . . informing me of their unique lines and the shapes they carve into a picture.
Since the twentieth century, there have been two main themes in visual art: abstraction and realism. Common thought is that the two do not meet, but are opposed. I do not think the contrast is so stark. How often is it that we look up into an abstract sky that is constantly in flux, and notice how the clouds have taken a “realistic” shape. Someone points a finger upward and says, “Look, it is a horse!”  Likewise, looking at large, realist paintings, if we bring our eyes close to the work, it becomes abstract, so that we need to step back in order to get the full picture and read the story. 

Yesterday, a woman bought a painting from The Steven Boone Gallery. She bought a small, square shaped oil painting of mine, called “The Pleasant Path.” She may or may not realize it, but she has many paintings in one—both realistic, and abstract. Hopefully, the painting is broadening her visual vocabulary, and doing what artwork does for us, enhancing life.

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.

A Fairy Tale

It is interesting how sometimes when we are looking for one thing, we find another that is more important. In Bavaria recently, Erki Eichenseer, a cultural curator, was looking through some old, forgotten archives searching for original texts in an old castle and discovered a treasure trove of over 500 unpublished fairytales from past ages.  (See BBC article)There is a word for such an occurrence: serendipity.

I call this blog, My Fairy-Tale Life, because I view my conscious existence through the prism of dream thought, mystery and spirit. I call our world, THE DREAM. The essence of this perception came to me when my oldest daughter and I were in a doctor’s office, waiting the results of an exam and when he came into the room his face was ashen. He looked at us, and spoke, saying to Naomi, “You have cancer, and the tumor in your hip is very large.” He then held his hands together to make a circle the shape of a grapefruit. In that instant it was as if an arrow pierced my heart, opening for one second a door of perception that then just as suddenly, shut. I felt we must be dreaming, that this sudden turn off of a cliff could not be reality. Life changed drastically in just a few moments and I knew the world is made of sand. Yet, there we sat together, numb and wondering what to do next. The experience has stayed with me as a seminal event that has permanently altered my consciousness.

What is a fairy-tale? “A fairy tale, or wonder tale, is a kind of folktale or fable. In these stories we meet witches and queens, giants and elves, princes, dragons, talking animals, ogres, princesses, and sometimes even fairies. Marvelous and magical things happen to characters in fairy tales. A boy may become a bird. A princess may sleep for a hundred years. A seal may become a girl. Objects too can be enchanted — mirrors talk, pumpkins become carriages, and a lamp may be home to a genie.” (See: Fairytales ) Usually, a fairy tale has a plot with twists and turns, shades of light and dark, and there is an object to the story.

Inner Eye

All creatures have eyes, to navigate the physical realm, and these eyes are miracles of creation. How is it then that while we humans sleep with our eyes closed, we see fantastic places, and witness events unfold? For this, an inner eye must exist and be open. Many a time, a person has awakened from sleep, and opening their eyes to familiar surroundings, also recalled fantastic visions that remain fresh in the mind and spirit. How often has it come to pass that later, a person has appeared exactly as seen in a dream. This is the clairvoyant power of the inner eye. The word “clairvoyant" has its origin in 17th century French, from clair ‘clear’ + voyant ‘seeing’—clear seeing. Clairvoyance is deemed supernatural, meaning beyond natural law.

The thing is, we struggle for our physical existence, but not our inner life. So the physical needs are much more pressing and seemingly, urgent. Therefore, we elevate the senses to the top, and let our inner eyes languish. Furthermore, people become suspicious of what they cannot physically see and even reject life beyond the senses. The seventeenth century German writer Jacob Boehme, (probably April 24, 1575 – November 17, 1624) wrote, “for he who sees nothing says nothing is there; what he sees, that he knows, and further he knows of nothing but that which is before his eyes.”  The Confessions of Jacob Boehme, by Jacob Boehme.

My belief is that what our senses perceive is infinitesimal, and that our inner eye can perceive far more, if we open them to our conscious mind. Recently, I read in the Baha’i writings:

“Man is in the highest degree of materiality, and at the beginning of spirituality—that is to say, he is the end of imperfection and the beginning of perfection. He is at the last degree of darkness, and at the beginning of light; that is why it has been said that the condition of man is the end of the night and the beginning of day, meaning that he is the sum of all the degrees of imperfection, and that he possesses the degrees of perfection. He has the animal side as well as the angelic side, and the aim of an educator is to so train human souls that their angelic aspect may overcome their animal side. Then if the divine power in man, which is his essential perfection, overcomes the satanic power, which is absolute imperfection, he becomes the most excellent among the creatures; but if the satanic power overcomes the divine power, he becomes the lowest of the creatures. That is why he is the end of imperfection and the beginning of perfection. Not in any other of the species in the world of existence is there such a difference, contrast, contradiction and opposition as in the species of man. Thus the reflection of the Divine Light was in man, as in Christ, and see how loved and honored He is! At the same time we see man worshiping a stone, a clod of earth or a tree. How vile he is, in that his object of worship should be the lowest existence—that is, a stone or clay, without spirit; a mountain, a forest or a tree. What shame is greater for man than to worship the lowest existences? In the same way, knowledge is a quality of man, and so is ignorance; truthfulness is a quality of man; so is falsehood; trustworthiness and treachery, justice and injustice, are qualities of man, and so forth. Briefly, all the perfections and virtues, and all the vices, are qualities of man.” ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, (Persian, 23 May 1844 - 28 November 1921) Some Answered Questions

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.

Spies

I have never been comfortable with spies; people who secretly obtain information about other people in order to build intrigue against them. It can be childish, as in the case of teenage girls who take sides against one another and tell stories, or serious, as in the case of national espionage where whole societies are at stake. Spies give me the creeps, and this is why, for most of my life I have preferred dogs to cats. Cats seem to me to be spying. They are always watchful and seem to be sizing up what is in front of them, whereas dogs simply respond transparently. The cats I enjoy the most are like dogs.
When I was a child, one day a neighbor came to our house asking my father if he had seen his missing wrench. It was soon discovered that I had taken it from the neighbors shed. I don’t recall taking it. What became seared in my memory was my father, marching me next door to the neighbor, and in a very loud and angry voice, scolding me, much to the neighbors chagrin, for I was only a little boy who had meant no harm. This scolding had an opposite effect on me than my father had hoped. I took all this heated and direct attention into my being, and noticed how my father, who I treasured and wanted more than anything, was completely gripped by me and giving me absolute devotion. My parents had five children in eight years, so absolute one-to-one devotion was scarce to come by. Over the years, I was in trouble many times, and always I could count on complete and total attention from my object of worship—my father.
As I became a young adult, I realized that I had a double nature, both good and bad, and as I stepped out into society, I came to be at war with myself. There was a brief period, when I was nineteen, that during the course of my extensive reading, I read two important books of psychology, by the esteemed psychotherapist, Karen Horney (1885 - 1952): Our Inner Conflicts, and The Neurotic Personality Of Our Time. I understood from her theories, and this is simplification, that neurotic people are essentially at war with themselves, have self-hatred and build defenses against self discovery that causes neurosis. I was aware that possibly I was becoming divided against myself. I then experimented and took the bold step of allowing all of my feelings and thoughts to flow freely without condemnation. I felt frightened, but very alive and whole. This did not last. Eventually, the weight of my “madness” became too much to bear. I became desperate to fit safely in society.
Even after I became religious, I grappled mightily with the dark urges inside of me that seemed to come from nowhere and torment me. I attempted with all my being to shut them away and hope that they would simply disappear. If a dark thought came unexpectedly, I panicked and threw myself to scriptures and light,; to be "saved". The early problem of duality came back with a vengeance. I hated myself. It felt like a war with real espionage, because open communication between my various parts did not exist . . . only dislike. My “saintly” side spied on the darkness, and vice-versa. This went on for years.
So now, decades later, thankfully, I welcome all of myself as vital and necessary. I love mystery and surprise and call my life THE DREAM. Here, material things are not as important as experience and symbol. I live moment to moment without judgment. I do not spy on myself or anyone, but receive one and all as part of THE DREAM that informs my life and is my life. If I find myself with a drunk or robber one minute, and a holy man the next, well, I accept and honor both occasions equally in the moment. What is important is THE DREAM and where it is taking me.
I do not spy on myself but stay in wide-eyed wonder at the universe. If I think people are taking notice of me as “spies”, that is, they are gathering information about me to be opinionated, I simply think positive, close the door to intrigue and condemnation from within myself, and concentrate on the honest gifts each moment of THE DREAM is bringing.
THE DREAM, to me, is a function of consciousness and interpretation of perceptions. I prefer not to interpret and judge my experiences but rather live them entirely as to “know” them. THE DREAM goes before me and I trust it because it is myself, in dialogue with God.
“As far as the laws of mathematics refer to reality, they are not certain; and as far as they are certain, they do not refer to reality.”
Albert Einstein (1879 - 1955)

What Poets Write About

Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all. ~Stanley Horowitz

I feel fortunate to live in a place with spectacular natural beauty, light that is sharp and clear, and seasons that change dramatically. Now, in the days of autumn, I have been working in my studio, getting ready for my upcoming mixed-media photo show October 16, called The World Is One Country. Yet the outdoors is so fantastic, I often leave to go hiking and painting.
A few days ago I hiked with a friend in the mountains. We parked by a stream and followed it down the mountain. The sun shone in a blue sky while the air felt brisk and chilly until we heated up from exercise and the extraordinary beauty all around us took our minds from any discomfort. The trail wound along beside the stream, sometimes forcing us to cross over by hopping on rocks or walking over fallen trees. There were obstacles in our path but as my friend said, “This is so much better than Disneyland!” The colors took my breath away more than the exertion of the hike. The evergreens had their usual deep hues, but the plants on the forest floor were all turning into blazing flames of yellows and reds. Perhaps most awesome are the aspen trees, sometimes called “quaking aspens” for the way their small, heart-shaped leaves quiver in the breeze. Now, the leaves are the color of gold, and when they quiver in the sunlight, they sparkle like gems—whole mountainsides of incandescent celebration.
Experience of nature in its pure state is what poets write about and artists try to capture. But the Creator of the universe is far ahead of our imaginings, and His work is testimony to His greatness which is well beyond human approach.
Once the last tree is cut and the last river poisoned, you will find you cannot eat your money -American Indian Proverb

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.

Money

Last week I finished a painting and gave it the title, Hung up With Money. It seems that every human being on the planet is in relationship with money. Outwardly, money is simply paper or coins—not as attractive as nature, or useful as food or shelter, but money has perceived value that is trusted so that it can be bartered universally. In work, people provide services in exchange for money, and money can also be exchanged for gold. It has the perception of importance.
In THE DREAM, money has no importance. Experience is the only value and truth. I live in the THE DREAM, so money plays a secondary role. But I also live in society, and money is a primary component of almost all aspects of society. I feel compelled to be in relationship with money, and if not, then almost immediately, society exerts pressure to bring money to mind.
My painting represents the absurdity of money, society, human life and perceptions. The clothesline represents time and space, where everything hangs and is trapped. Flesh disintegrates and returns to dust after a century on "the timeline", but money does not. The newspaper is the Wall Street Journal, which is devoted to economics. The pen might be used for writing ideas related to money, and the half eaten apple represents feast or famine, opposite sides of one coin.
To see more of my HangUps, go to: http://www.stevenboone.com/main_pages/hangups.html

Division Bells

I imagine I know what a prisoner feels like when he is released from confinement and walks out into the big, bright planet as a free person. Suddenly, he acutely appreciates everything, and especially marvels that he is free to touch the world once again. The sun warms his flesh, colors are vivid and true, and he drinks deep the fresh air, relishing life as if he is born again. Now that the nineteen-day fast is over until next year, this is what I felt like yesterday, when I began my day and could eat or drink whenever I wanted. I had been a willing prisoner, but now my aim is accomplished and I have a fresh and vital perspective going forward.
I pulled into my driveway today just as a song came on the radio that held me so that I just sat and listened. It was Pink Floyd’s composition called High Hopes. It begins with the chiming of bells, which reminded me of Venice, Italy. The first stanza goes,
Beyond the horizon of the place we lived when we were young

In a world of magnets and miracles

Our thoughts strayed constantly and without boundary

The ringing of the division bell had begun
It made me think. Children in their innocence see the world as if dreaming. The universe to them is whole and fluid, with moments effortlessly flowing one into the other. Imagination imbues everything with possibility. Then, the bells of rationality and discriminate thinking sound, and so the perception of the world changes. Slowly, children become less magical and more grounded in opinion. The ego develops and so do feelings of separation. People develop alliances and choose labels for themselves and others, such as; nationality, color, status, profession, sexuality, and many others.
To me, THE DREAM is the same place we lived when we were children, in a world of magnets and miracles, . . . without boundary. To stay there, is to not listen to the division bells that cut and dice the world into separate and unequal parts and makes us prisoners. It is to be, as Bob Dylan says in his song of the same name, "forever young."

May God bless and keep you always,
May your wishes all come true,
May you always do for others
And let others do for you.
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung,
May you stay forever young,
Forever young, forever young,
May you stay forever young.

May you grow up to be righteous,
May you grow up to be true,
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you.
May you always be courageous,
Stand upright and be strong,
May you stay forever young,
Forever young, forever young,
May you stay forever young.

May your hands always be busy,
May your feet always be swift,
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift.
May your heart always be joyful,
May your song always be sung,
May you stay forever young,
Forever young, forever young,
May you stay forever young.