2002Feb26

Ritual: A beer, cigarette, non-ball point pen, top-bound spiral notebook…. Journaling, sketch book – must have ruler and dictionary, thesaurus and light.

As the calla lily opens it turns white. I am tempted to cut it when it becomes perfect, before it begins to die in the slightest. One has already opened and the tip has begun to turn brown. The young one, or maybe another, will be perfect for just a day. If I cut one I’ll take it to art class on Friday. Either way, I can draw it. I don’t want it to die. Artificial light in a classroom is abhorrent and certain to kill the flower more quickly than natural elements.

Pot smoke reaches out to the sunlight. Music dances in the background. Ritual is like addiction except that it is good for the spirit when done right.

I see the sun, feel the wind, and hear the music. My experience pools together as thoughts do when becoming words. The spirit is happy here – that’s when you know you’re doing a ritual right!

The spirit of a lily; it’s so slow in it’s opening and so impermanent. Because of that it has more essence. It adds directly to the value of this place. We humans, with our ability to move over long distances and for long periods of time, have more difficulty in directly adding to the value of the present. Also, we like to think that there must be some amount of competition in life but fill this whole place with calla lilies and each one will still have a direct effect.

I have written much about traveling, the ocean, ever more, ever moving. It is the acceptance of constant change that becomes ritual. We rout it (our experience). Writing is a ritual. Drawing is a ritual. But what of a passive ritual? Meditating on this lily, allowing it to enlighten me? Is smoking an action? I suppose whatever becomes a part of this environment is in some way from an action. Perhaps the better question is ‘Does the calla lily have a direct effect if it is not directly noticed?’ Is it our slow movements that make us? Ritual is intentional.

The sun begins to set. My words are like a trail of shadows left behind. The DJ rambles on the radio, the lily dies, and a ritual must also have a beginning and an end…. Homework; Typing on a computer; Artificial light.

Life in a studio is like living in a van without wheels. You have to drive to it. Still, the kitchen is a little bigger and the porch is real.

Change channel on radio…. Sounds like an autoharp now. Could it be a dulcimer? Or twelve six-string guitars? Oh, 3 12-string.

Sculpture – the quest to form my life of experiences into something touchable. Maybe I need touch. But to see the past manifest into something that will last into the future is just the door that is opened when a sculptor sculpts; or that I leave something behind while I live in the present; time, in it’s relationship to any spirit, is subjective.

Trash

“Everything is freedom, that’s what they say”

A life of enjoyment –
Am I still depressed? Yes. Powerful. The pressure on my heart is relentless. It is not a hole as much as it is a pointed pressure. She makes me feel complete. I sigh when I think of her. Leticia – the source of happiness, joy, and delight. I love the sound of her name. A life of enjoyment