red is the color of change

rip, Steven DaLuz
stepping into stillness
that only ends can bring
tricking
their end
to reveal space in all moments

still in my observation
of the dance
around and inside
the white abyss 
of crystalizing waters
whispers above

leaves become fire
as water leaves their veins
fire flows from the base of me
drop my drop
offering compulsory transition
into mysteries

red is the color of change

her

retreat:  into your cells
they chose you.
choose them.
hold them
in a vision of love,
so that they expand
and you with 
them
to the back 
of a white winged bird
where you can 
rest 
and discover
who you are.
a child
of the brightest light
drifting
in a warm sea of love.
Hirō Isono
your body is her
she holds you
as hands meet, as bodies melt
floating through the woodlands
centuries ago

the space is her
the rhythm 
that your hand falls
to touch
the other

the home is her
on the back of 
a white winged bird
we float
timelessly in love
black forest // august 2020

for this

Moses, Frida Kahlo
a snowflake fell then.  a rain drop falls now.  
how many moments passed?  from when i made the decision with the falling of the snowflakes in the corner of the tea house, to when i lay on the bed next to her and the falling rain.
how many moments passed?  from when i peed my pants (for real) on the cement sidewalk, to when i pee on the leads and grass covering the mountains.
how many moments passed?  from when i fell asleep in the foggy cafe window, to when i forget to sleep because of bliss given by the touch of a brother.
decisions connecting, decisions guiding.  and who i am to know where they lead, who am i to know how the web is woven.  who am i.
to know.
who i am.
i am who, and i am how.  i am how the currents flow, i am how the stories are told, i am how the cells remember.  simply, i am.
in me, the moments passed are comprised.  i hold memories of replicated scenarios, on different lands.  of replicated learning, in different bodies.
for this, i live.
for this,
i am.
munich, germany // july 2020

the fish tank

We Float Alone-Daughters of Summer, Sara Ann Long
different fish
share
the same water
each sharp flip
pulling water back
to push water forward

2 same fish
chase
one leads, the other leads
who starts (not clear)
distracted by the rock
again
who starts (not clear)
chasing
seeking their twin

in their chase
missing colorful fish
horned fish
gently floating seaweed

in their chase
2 same fish
don't see

me in my chair
seeing the glass box
holding a universe
seeing the game
from outside

i know how to play

always seeking the identity
always chasing the reflection
recognize
reflection
as illusion
a game
with no winner
munich, germany // april 2020

duality

Slow is smooth. Smooth is fast.

Willem Dafoe

The more simple we are, the more complete we become.

Auguste Rodin

sitting alone in our homes, isolating, distancing, and fearing the other, we connect. we fall down deep enough to realize that we are standing on the same ground.

i live in a town with a culture of social distancing even when there is no pandemic. in my seven or eight trips outside within the past 32 days of complete isolation, i have seen companions in the eyes of strangers more times than i have in my past year of living here.

“Erosion of Self” from LIGHT OF CONSCIENCE series, Jeffrey Smith

why do we need forced separation to feel together?

why do we need a crisis of losing lives to realize the value of each moment?

why do we need a perceived enemy to realize we are all on the same team?

four days ago, i make my trip to the grocery store. after being forced to play a stressful game of bumper/shopping carts for safety reasons my last trip, i decide to exchange more money for a higher chance of peace at the small organic shop. i’m rewarded.

a man stands at the door with a mask and gloves. he greets the customers who enter the war zone. in our greeting, we both realize what it means to greet someone. he welcomes me in to to one of the hotspots of today’s crisis. humans navigate the small aisles authentically, empathy and fear both doing their role in guiding each action.

i race to bag my items as the next customer’s items fall down the belt. the pace of the grocery bagging in germany hasn’t followed suit in adopting slowness. i’m unable to give my usual extra energy to meet the unrealistic speed the items are being slid at me. i’m able to not care. a gloved hand places the wooden divider down sympathetically, granting me space to breathe. i look behind to the newly formed lines, meeting the eyes of several onlookers. my physicality probably portrayed more drama than i intended. used to the german glare, self-trained to look away instead of offering my smile, i habitually flick my eyes away. i hate myself for this, always, but it feels better than the coldness of heart an unmet exchange offers. but in the second i did look, i sense something different than the usual. daringly flicking my eyes back, i see a smile forming on the face of an older man. i take pleasure in letting my smile fully bloom, encouraging his to do the same. together we receive each other, together we wade into this new territory.

outside, a biking couple takes up the entire sidewalk with their blasting boombox and two dogs, one loose and one sitting on the handle bars. a different set of rules is emerging. i mount my grocery-ordained bike and meet the four eyes of the man and the pup riding with him. within our minuscule community we are consumed by simple joy, just for a moment.

beautiful purple flowers shoot up from the path of grass between the bicycle lane and the sidewalk. i stare at them with the amazement they deserve, my eyes extra sensitive to the different forms life takes. a woman passing by on the sidewalk reaches out with her gaze to affirm my amazement. life is blooming from dark soil of the earth after months of cold hibernation. a model for us.

this is the most pleasant trip i have had outside in a city, perhaps ever. the bliss, the easy camaraderie that i have only felt at festivals bubbles and fizzes all over the relatively deserted and anxious streets. basking in the surreal atmosphere, one last passerby sees the peace in my eyes. i feel his eyes, his being, reach out and drink in the essence i have become over the past hour, thirsty for the same bliss, safety, and community. we say simple hellos, flavored in tones of urgency and acknowledgment. we are here together.

When I had nothing to lose, I had everything. When I stopped being who I am, I found myself.

Paulo Coelho

a tiny golden egg lays inside this incredibly painful, challenging, depressing, uncertain, lonely time. through opposition, through reflection, through duality, we are being shown community in isolation. we are being shown life in death. we are being shown creativity in stillness.

i wish that we fully realize what is being shown, allowing ourselves to learn and receive the entire message, the full spectrum, of this time. ultimately we don’t need isolation to feel community, and we don’t need a higher awareness of death to appreciate life if we make conscious choices of where to place our attention.

it’s all happening, it’s all existing, all the time.

by James Nix

why?

why do we act like each other don’t exist? why is it more comfortable to look at an advertisement? everyone looking into space like we don’t exist.

together, ignoring reality. hiding in their own.

what if we all stopped walking at once, in silence, and then went into dance. everyone dancing together. on the sidewalks, in the parks, in the train, on bikes, on stairs. creating a force that would allow us all to stop. and come together as one.

fall into reality.

and why do kids only have playtime? does it make sense that at a certain age, deemed by the calendar and by time, we lose our sense of play. only work. why can’t we play?

a man plays the violin.

everyone ignores him. i don’t give money. i give a smile. he plays and walks on.

through, out.

and in.

1st and final manifesto

  • 1 / I am for the art that grooves through the stillness.
  • 2 / I am for the art that hears the silence within the groove.
  • 3 / I am for the art that cherishes the silence within the groove.  Embodies, senses, transmits.
  • 4 / I am for the art that reflects like a box covered with 100 diamond shaped mirrors.
  • 5 / I am for the art that says hello to the self that has forgotten to open its eyes.
  • 6 / I am for the art that is the before, the during, the after, in one breath.  That is the breath.
  • 7 / I am for the art that confronts that which lays dormant.
  • 8 / I am for the art is the earth, the fire, the water, the air.
  • 9 / I am for the art that gives space to each particle. The space each particle deserves.
  • 10 / I am for the art that has a forever home and knows it.
  • 11 / I am for the art that pushes your blood to your heart, pulls your tears from your eyes. 
  • 12 / I am for the art that spreads.  As quickly as dispersing milk through a morning coffee, as slow as dripping honey from a tiny spoon.
  • 13 / I am for the art that burns as hot as the tip of the cigarette meeting the flame, that silently swirls as the smoke after.
  • 14 / I am for the art that attaches shamelessly to the sweaty bodies making love in the lost ashes.  That is the love that is made.
  • 15 / I am for the art that floats above the clouds with its attention on roots below the trees.
  • 16 / I am for the art that hears the whimper and provides the embrace.
  • 17 / I am for the art that becomes the sun through being a ray.
  • 18 / I am for the art that realizes the moment it awakes.
  • 19 / I am for the art that realizes the infinity it inhabits.
  • 20 / I am for the art that realizes the harmony it perpetuates.
  • 21 / I am for the art that is an oasis of time.

[inspired by Claes Oldenburg]