In the beginning. Breathe in, this is life, breathe out - "OM". "I am".
This is the word.
Now - breathe in again - and, breathing out, begin the naming of things. Begin - the sky - the water - now fill them up - day, night, the sun, the moon, the land and sea and keep naming until you fill the world with every manner of inanimate thing.
In the naming - in your breath and outward speaking your voice bring them into creation, into being.
Is this enough?
Every breath whispers, speaks, shouts, cries and conjures into creation another thing, every word uttered like a spell that summons from the void not only what was spoken, but it's opposite - the sun gave us the moon, there was no need to speak it other than to name it - for everything contains it's opposite. And you must name them in order, for there can be no fish without the sea, there can be no trees without land, and so it will go on...
Given the length of the task it would be easier to sing. Or - perhaps, have a companion whom could assist you.
"He - She"
And this is it, then, this is the word, imagination, this is the primordial act of creation.
You needed to breath in to say it. The breath was life, the word was creation.
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- Category: Love
The heart Sings.
Love is impenetrable. I can only describe it to you if you know it. And so, then, it's extraordinary this arrogance, that I should presume to tell you all about what you already know. Forgive me, but everyone wants to tell you about something, about Jesus or the Environment or about their Politics or Philosophy or their jobs , however trifling and mundane, or their relationships, their children, their sex life, their divorce, their ex, that new tv show, the weather, everyone wants to be heard. Everyone has a story.
Let me tell you about love.
Where to begin?
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- Category: Love
I have been writing this all my life. It has taken this long because I have had to learn many things.
This has been written again and again. The word count must top a million, several million, crumpled into wastebaskets, recycled, deleted, burned and stirred into the fire, stored away deep in my memory and distant lockers, lost on failed computers, always technology makes it easier to write, and yet always it gets increasingly difficult.
Words shoveled into the abyss.
Writing, now, has never been easier. Think back to when words had to be chiseled into stone, impressed into clay tablets, drawn onto papyrus scrolls. Now, open laptop and begin.
It has never been easier - or, at the same time, more difficult.
You see it in the trove of countless books, shop Amazon, more books published daily than you could read in a lifetime - none of which would you care to read. They need a distillation - days, weeks, years, decades, centuries even - the best - you can hope - will float to the top, will be judged or juried, appear on X or Y's bestseller's list, will be recommended by So & So or discussed on a favorite radio, tv show or podcast.
Now, time to add my voice to the choir, to bang my head on the wall, take the millions of words I have written, the hundreds of streams of thought I have written down, forgotten, destroyed or mislaid, written down again, and yet again forgotten, destroyed or mislaid, again to remember, chip away at it, give it shape, some substance or form, bring it to fruition.
Acknowledgements: The Vancouver & Nelson Public Libraries, which provided a quiet respite and place to concentrate.
And the rest? Well, you know who you are.
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re: The Blog: This has been a parking space for my more trivial thoughts. Not all, but most, a way to get the reflexive reactions or trite observations out of the way. But trivial thoughts are like gnats, you no sooner swat one than a thousand more appear, and so continually I'm ranting about things, observing things, talking about things that in a better frame of mind I would just ignore. And those things I have shared that I enjoy I should perhaps explain, explore a little more deeply.
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- Category: Love