Amongst the "Thin Places".
The last week and a half has been a time of deep thinking, creating and living in the "thin places" (places on earth where the Presence is so strong that they serve as portals between this world and another.)
The last week and a half has been a time of deep thinking, creating and living in the "thin places" (places on earth where the Presence is so strong that they serve as portals between this world and another.) There are specific things that make my soul complete, things that I have seemed to move away from over the last few years. My moments of "movement" as I have been calling them in Ethiopia and now Zimbabwe have taken me back into those “thin places” that I find while painting in my studio, writing in a small cafe, or spending time in creation. Here are a few poems from those moments in the last week, accompanied by the places and people that have inspired my soul here in Africa. Time has once again stood still,
here on the other side of the waters,
my thoughts are moving like the wind
in memory through the trees,
it feels like floating,
symbolic yet mysterious,
as it was once said,
“Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters”,
I disappear in thoughts of the beginning,
my eyes focused, follow the fog,
as it slowly walks amidst the reeds and grass with
no where to go but away,
I think of eternity being here, now,
I exhale…
The clouds rest misty over the Ethiopian skies,
miles of green run wild through the vast open air,
the great wild exists beyond the hills,
what are the stories that have gone before me?
where are the souls that have left to early, my thoughts flow with the breeze,
I want to stay, I want to learn,
I want to read the faces and put pen to paper,
so that you can feel the beauty and the weight…
Grew up with freedom and never knew a struggle,
other than mental or spiritual,
we truly are a reflection of everyone,
Yet circumstance and culture seem to change the colors and dreams,
we are skin, bone and water,
we breath by miracles and magic,
the wind still feels the same and tears still feel as wet,
our faces tell story or hide it, and I wonder,
I observe and I ask,
when is my time? how can I be? a
s the wings of the seraphim hold me,
my lungs show dust and my hands feel clay,
this is now, this is today, this is forever...
The walls are cracked and peeling,
feet worn down and hands full of story,
I feel the sun from the corner,
bringing warmth and color into space that breaths life,
this is perfection, a beauty rarely seen,
there is movement here,
a presence of the divine,
and my soul sways,
my heart gives,
my eternity echoes,
I feel, I know, I see...
In Flight Thoughts on Movement, Writing and Family.
My greatest moments in writing have always come while flying. I can’t really put my finger on why. Maybe my soul falls into the the spell of the many different forms of movement involved physically and mentally that it is stirred to make words. I have written 3 books and countless prose over the 5 continents and 17 countries that I have spent time in. Flight amazes me, the same way a pencil moving across paper caused my soul to stir. The ability to watch my thoughts come together in form and meaning is miraculous in it’s action.....I ramble.
Today I leave for 3 countries that I have never set foot upon. Today my heart pounds in anticipation and my soul feels true movement. My senses are awake in the way they were created to be. While “Sleeping at Lasts” Atlas EP’s plays in my headphones, my cells collide as if the world were being created…I begin to dream as Ryan sings…
“I’ll keep you safe,
try hard to concentrate,
hold out your hand,
can you feel the weight of it,
the whole world at your fingertips,
don’t be…don’t be afraid.”
I can feel the weight of it, the whole world at my fingertips. I try not to be afraid at the weight of it, but I am an artist and I understand that the whole world is meant to be seen. This is my role to play in this life and possibly the next. I think of my family, the story behind generations, the webs and lines that connect every side, the years of love and loss, future and past. I think ahead to where my feet are taking me. Taking me to visit, love and listen to 150 families who may lose their children, 150 children who may lose their family, who may lose a son or daughter, a brother or sister, who would lose those stories that I hold so dear. Just like the millions around this sphere made out of water and dirt that we inhabit and take for greatness every minute of the day. I pray that my eyes can see the story to paint, to share, to give to you so that you may care, may see, may feel the things that I do. I pray I can show you in a way that you may not have seen or felt before.
As my favorite writer of all time once wrote:
“There is no denying that the artist is someone who is full of questions, who cries them out in great angst, who discovers the rainbow answers in darkness, and then rushes to canvas or paper. An artist is someone who cannot rest, who can never rest as long as there is one suffering person in this world. Along with Plato's divine madness there is also divine discontent, a longing to find the melody in the discords of chaos, the rhyme in the cacophony, the surprised smile in time of stress or strain.
It is not that what is not enough, for it is; it is that what is had been disarranged, and is crying out to be in place. Perhaps the artist longs to sleep well every night; to eat anything without indigestion; to feel no moral qualms; to turn off the television news and make a sandwich after seeing the devastation and death caused by famine and drought and earthquake and flood. But the artist cannot manage this normalcy. Vision keeps breaking through, and must find means of expression.” Madeline L’Engle
(If you want to be a part of the story with me, please visit http://bit.ly/love_hope to see how you can help us support 150 kids so that they do not become orphans and are able to build a story with their families.)
Tuesday. 10:38. AM. Road. Weary.
Moments in the AM pondering the world with words.
Morning. Coffee.
Sigur Ros.
Headphones.
Light Wind.
Sky.
Watered Down Blue.
Hills.
Rolling.
Colorless.
Words.
Ancient.
Written.
Stamped.
Thoughts.
Arguing.
Trying.
Pondering.
Reminding.
Pursuing.
"is this not the kind of fasting i have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the chords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter-when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?”
Tears.
Whispers.
Memories.
Continents.
Poverty.
Children.
Fatherless.
Motherless.
Bones.
Dirt.
Hope.
Love.
Passion.
Create.
Live.
Burden.
Do.
