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Every Day Acts of Peace

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Monday, October 25, 2010

London 2006: I Am, The Thread That Is Common. I Am, The Thread That Is Uncommon.

There is a time travelling elephant 
showering a giant puppet girl,
as I walk to work today.

I photograph them, 
for no other reason than 
I like the water streaming through her hair.

She landed in a Space capsule 
on Lower Regent Street, sometime this week,
I noticed the Space capsule yesterday, 
but assumed that there were no occupants.

It starts to rain, 
the flowers bend, 
their purple petals fall 
mixing with the green grass.

A yellow tulip splits open, 
I can see inside, 
all its reproductive organs 
are exposed.

My feet are wet, 
I feel the dampness 
between my toes, 
my socks are heavy.

A black swan swims 
up to me, 
it opens its mouth 
wanting to be fed.

The only thing in my pocket 
is my hand, 
but I do not consider 
my fingers food.

The swan does without 
it swims away 
in search of breakfast 
from some other stranger.

I look over my shoulder, 
the giant time travelling elephant 
whispers something 
into puppet girl’s ear.

She is incapable of smiling, 
her mouth is 
a single painted black curve 
on a wooden face -
her mouth is 
wooden on a painted face.

The sun comes out, 
and a man walks by in his underwear,
he is carrying most of his clothes 
in a paper bag.
No one seems to notice, 
or at least they politely pretend not to, 
out of stiff upper lip courtesy.

I ask a man what time it is.
I wonder if I am late for where I am going to next.
I arrive, to the place I am destined to be.
It feels right then wrong, then right again,
and I wonder if I am early 
for where I am going to next.

I look at my new taken photographs 
of the elephant, puppet girl, 
flowers and birds.
They are alive inside 
the archive of my machinery.
I change the color of the sky, 
crop the borders of the scenery,
enlarge the girl’s head, 
and shrink the elephant’s memory.

I close my eyes 
and think Romanian thoughts, 
dream Moroccan dreams,
and breath deep the air 
of a few too many flights away 
from a few too many sights.

I open my eyes and look down, 
from the height of judgment it is a steep fall.

When I hit the ground will I land on my feet,
or will I need to roll to protect myself
by tucking myself into a spherical 
steam punked streamlined ball?

If the energy directed at me 
cannot pass through me,
then at least it can pass over me.

I am a walking meditation 
for the energy to clear from me.

I go outside again in search of food.
I buy a carrot juice,
a sweet dangling illusion 

that might quench my thirst.
I dangle the dream of my life 
in front of my face.
I detangle the web of my past 

by weaving forward into the present.

I walk by the newspaper headlines 
screaming warnings of another bomb attack to come.
I remember how the train station blast smelled,
filled my neighbourhood with smoke and debris.
You could hear the cries for blocks,
moving ghosts sweeping grief 
quickly from one neighbourhood, 
to the next, to another, to no end in sight -
to no end of insight.

Where is Sherlock Homes when you need him?

Nothing is what it seems after all these years.
You might think that it would all make sense.
Life does not make sense,
there is nothing common about sense,
or sensory perception of experienced events -
but there is a common thread in each story being told.


I am the thread that is common, 

for my life is my story.
I listen carefully for the story 

threads that are uncommon.

I witness my Self create 

my participation in my events,
as creator of my universal truth,
I do not need protection from life -

I need more consciousness 
of my intentions and desires.

So I bring my awareness to my insights.


My insights I bring within, 

to disrupt my discomfort.

The unease within me 

is the common energy 
of each experience.
The ease within me 
is my uncommon presence 
creating more events.

Creating more Self-insight 

within me, 
is manifesting the dream 
of my truth alive.

Dreaming alive my Soul's presence 
into my heart 
is me envisioning 
my core's life creations.

I am existing, 
alive, simple, 
simply alive 
in existence.
I am, the thread that is uncommon.
I am, the thread that is common.

~~ Other People's Fingerprints ~~
Sometime after 1908 Abraham Harold Maslow wrote;
“You will either step forward into growth
or you will step back into safety.”




Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Vietnam 1992: Play Out Gentle Notes Of Forgiveness

Only women selling sex wear shorts in this part of the world -
my legs expose me to his desire for me.
He wants me, to climb on top of his motorcycle, for a ride to his home.
We are in the midst of jungle, on the border of Vietnam and Cambodia.
I hear gunshots, from combative people, not so far away.
I look into the eyes, of this man, staring me down.
I see the boy, who took up a gun,
to defend his home, and village, from invasive offenders.
The boy studied the science of killing, until he graduated into manhood,
this boy grew up learning to kill, so he became a man who only knew death.
This man standing before me is dead to this world -
we occupy space on the same Earth, but his reality is from another planet.

There are no grounds for mutual concept, of normal, or common sense.
Women sell themselves cheap, when they allow their children, to kill their children.
It is a crime against humanity to bomb our children.
Even though I recognize the original essence in this man,
he no longer recognizes himself, the child in the boy, nor the boy in the man.
He toys with the pistol in his pants, the barrel tucked down against his groin,
his hand grips the metal framework of what is left of the handle.

Behind me the aquarium tank heaves, full of live snakes, slivering to be free.
On my forehead beads of sweat form.
The sweat trickles down like tears into my eyes.
The salt stings, I feel the stickiness of diplomacy.

I am searching for common ground, grounds for mutual consent.
In my heart I bridge the distance between us by visualizing 
the boy of no threat to see me as a girl not threatening.
As my mind stills, the energy of the man standing close to me calms.
I envision that he now imagines me as neither victim, nor aggressor.
The look in his eyes changes from lust of violence, to desire for peace.

Our stand off does not mount, he climbs onto his motorcycle alone.
He leaves, touching me only with the vulnerability of his humanity.
I leave, touching him only by embracing his childhood not his manhood.
We part without any words passing between us.

Compassion is a weird sticky form of harmony –
a dance with a stranger’s Soul to the silent stillness of the music hidden within.
Communicating passion for peace is a extraordinary form of Self-governance,
heartbeats must unify to orchestrate and play out the gentle notes of forgiveness.


~ Other People's Fingerprints ~
Sometime after 1872 Bertrand Russell said;
“Our world has sprouted a weird concept of security
and a warped sense of morality.
Weapons are sheltered like treasures 
while children are exposed to incineration.”












Vietnam 1993: Spirit Manifest In The Material World

The darkness smells
are lovely seventy-two percent cocoa
strong, bittersweet, tasty, 
mouth watering experience.

In the water puppet theater in Hanoi
humanity is experienced 
in the vortex of timelessness.

My friends and I watch 
the actors carry themselves
and the wooden puppets 
out of the water.

Soaked from the performance 
their wooden bodies,
cut off at the feet, 
move slow motion 
dripping water 
onto the ground -
forming ancient carved puddles 
of theatrical leftovers.

An artist who has taken a shine to me 
gifts me a drawing of puppets 
grinning multicoloured smiles.

He hands it to me 
declaring his endearing love for me,
by referring to the beauty 
timelessly captured 
in the mirror of my soul.

He urges me to look at myself from his eyes, 
to look at us all now in this moment, 
dripping on the edge of being the future.

He says.

"The trouble with the world today, 
in this period of history,
is that we have problems -
in all realms material and non-material.

People live lives defined by their problems. 

Defined by modernization
which they feel requires denial 
of past lives and traditions.

Do citizens need to denounce 
their existence in all realms,
and deny their potential unification 
with all their bodies of power, 
in the realms of reality
in all worlds."

He explains;

"Some people fulfill themselves 
through living in worlds 
built on material fantasies -
unstructured ideological platforms 
not integrated with past wisdom ...
... so people spin off center, 
spin out of balance, 
spin ungrounded in the present -
persistent spinners 
reflecting only a blurred partial existence 
of a fleeting reality ..."

Humans base life expectancy
on occupying their own space,
leading their own life,
making life real through awareness -
creating a real life through awareness,
being conscious of their own presence.
Self-awareness to create, 
to lead your own life
and be present in it.

These unmanned platforms 

from which people build their lives 
need roots -
a unified system of integrities, 
that will strengthen 
not weaken their senses.

Without well developed Self-definition 
there is no sense of responsibility -
unaccountable humans,
a species rendered un-relatable
unable to interact and commit to anything real.

This undefinable 
finite sensory perception 
results in a psychic limbo -
everyone in their own way, 
making up their own worlds -
an effort to be present,
worlds which lack presence,
but suck up enough power 
to create feelings of powerlessness.

A chaotic partnerless spin, 
a formless dance 
revealing nothing of our truth -
unveiling nothing 
of who we authentically are ...
only projecting illusions 
of who we appear to be -
inauthentic watery representations 
of disparate elements of nature.

Modern citizens 
might appear to future generations 
as antiquated puppets -
propped up and supported by 
the lure of potential reality ...
Self-identity linked 
to material accomplishment.

People dripping 
and dangling 
with material desire, 
which over time 
builds a sense of intention 
without any sense of fulfillment.

A truthful Self-fulfillment 
based on who they are, 
what they are creating, 
and how they want 
their spirit to manifest 
in their physical form ...
Self-directorship 
powering up Self-leadership ...
knowing 
of how they want 
their spirit to manifest 
in the material world.


~ Other People's Fingerprints ~
The mother of all spies takes the guns away from the boys by saying;
“Now be careful these guns they are not toys
these are not meant to be handled
without the proper supervision
of an experienced humanitarian.”










Beijing 1990: Difference Between A Stem And Thorn

Games of the dead.
The festival of the dead
seems special this spring in Beijing.

On the streets I see and hear
people wailing broken grief.

Men weeping 
so drunk full of memories
of friends and family 
whose lives ceased to exist.

Leaves freeze 
dried from winter
blow in the streets -
and tears fall,
until those who were once full,
empty -
until their memories cease,
to exist.

We are all now one, 
mixed with shadow -
people and memories 
the same.

As existences 
we roam the streets 
day and night,
in search of touch 
and a cradle to sleep.

We roam seeking caretakers 
who care not 
who they take in 
to care for.

We seek those who care 
for all equally 
knowing we are all equal 
in death, life and beyond.

I know we strive 
for equality in life -
some seek to recreate while living.

I know equality exists in death, 
yet sometimes eludes us in life.

I know equality exists 
as a pre-death humour -
laughing and choking equally hard.

The wind blows
and I see the stardust twinkle, 
to remind me of life.
We are electrical shadows 
of light's eternity.
I see the falling stars fall 
to remind me of living life.

We are life.
We are dust 
dust which each day 
passes into the night.
We are dust in the night 
that must not 
absentmindedly 
be brushed off 
our faces.

To preserve my sanity,
I eat cured fruit 
and preserved vegetables.
I hydrate using heated water,
hot beyond the human body temperature.

In my pocket I carry 
a small packet of hot pepper -
to spice life with sentience,
to preserve the beauty of humanity, 
and ensure that life can be shaken alive.

I know human beings 
desire to be remembered,
make a mark, be remarkable.

I know human beings desire 
to leave a trace of their existence.

I know it is not the hands of humans 
that write our archives.
Our existence scribes its own journey - 
destiny's path is carved by our deeds.

Actions and words speak loud as intentions -
impressions considered as accomplishments, 
memories remembered, 
by bodies larger in scope 
than one moment's breath.

Our human substance travels Space -
recording, memorizing, sensing ...
that life is an eternity -
larger than our egos 
can imagine post-birth, pre-death 
plus everything in between and beyond -
beyond our imagination.

Silently I spin 
in the thresholds 
of mental image pictures,
and beyond. 
I am, encased within,
an immense multiversal heart.

A seed blows by in perfect time.
The root of all existence,
the root and heart of all growth,
lies simply in the intelligence 
within a single seed.
The seed, a rose petal’s difference 
between a stem and a thorn.

~~ Other People's Fingerprints ~~

During the Zhou Dynasty, Laozi (Li Er 李耳)wrote,
"Do the difficult things while they are easy
and do the great things while they are small.
A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step."

Sometime after 1838, Henry Brooks Adams wrote;
“Chaos often breeds life, when order breeds habit.”




1st International Kite Festival,  Beijing China 1990












Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Beijing 1989: Were We Ever Enough To Deserve Life

It has been one year of very wet Martial Law
with sudden winter snowfalls and spring rains.
Most of my artist friends do not paint their usual colourful landscapes -
instead they apply Self-control to paint black ink on paper,
lined groups of single characters, 
ancient words that heal new wounds.
The clouds and rains are a solemn reminder to me,
that these are times that strain through change,
and so I search for memories of sunnier times.

At the end of the nineteenth century, Marcel Proust said,
“… a cathedral, a wave of a storm, a dancer’s leap,
never turn out to be as high as we hoped …”

It is an artist’s prerogative to change his or her time.
Artists share their discoveries
and artists explore the unexplored potential in humanity,
by creating art to bring forth the point of dance with evolution.
Artists are by definition passion ignited, ready to consume, 
exercising their power through displays of physical and emotional prowess.

Our world is a fire that burns bright in our hearts,
fueling our passion, feeding our inspiration,
lighting our ambition to create our today and tomorrow.
Flames of inspiration lick our internal life,
renewing us with ambition to channel passionate presence,
revealing inspiration to creatively accept life in the present.

At the end of the twentieth century, I thought, I heard,
“Art does not cover, it reveals – under the cover of art,
one can work for anything under every kind of cover.”

Accepting releases us
from the shell encasing our heart and soul,
and all shells eventually release
to exit the ghost of the life no longer present.
The dead past, life stilled, a still life, a life still held tightly in place
by fear of the ghosts in our shell singing soft songs inside our head,
whispering to us secret beliefs of who we once were.
Secrets of what we presently believe to be our limitations –
who we can and cannot be, what we can and cannot have.
Ghosts whisper were we ever enough to deserve life.


~~ Other People's Fingerprints ~~
During the Zhou Dynasty, Laozi (Li Er 李耳)wrote,
"Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes.
Don't resist them - that only creates sorrow.
Let reality be reality.
Let things flow naturally
forward in whatever way they like."

During the Zhou Dynasty, Laozi (Li Er 李耳)wrote,
"A leader is best
when people barely know he exists,
when his work is done,
his aimed fulfilled,
they will say;
We did it ourselves."

Sometime after 1877, Lloyd C. Douglas said;
“If a man harbors any sort of fear,
it percolates through all his thinking,
damages his personality, makes him a landlord to a ghost.”




Beijing, China 1990