Image by Jason De Caires Taylor Remember all my walkabouts? Well, I have been stopped now for a long time, and standing at the edge of a precipice, staring down into the gaping space of the grandest canyon. Full of the ghost of a wild and torrential river, that, with unapologetic fervor, carved steep cathedral walls, with a momentum so focused and powerful, that there was not the slightest worry as to how the ridiculously wise layers of sediment would paint the canyon. Echos of a leap of faith so giant, as to invite collaboration, deep, rich seasoning in the kiln--the finishing touches that create the story of touch and vision. The mingling of storm and strata. An invitation to see and re-see. This wild ghost has been calling me from the depths of its very own memories, telling me how very very, very, worthwhile (as in all that ever really mattered when it came down to it), it was to remain steadfast to its creation as it galloped forward toward that moment w
Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I'll meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about. Ideas, language, even the phrase each other doesn't make any sense.--Rumi