Insignificant, significant gestures.

   I found it so beautiful, the way that small cone and twig rested on an old steel mooring here in Golden Gate Park.
   When I first saw it, I thought that it had, amazingly, fallen and landed right there where it lay. And although that scenario is entirely possible, I reasoned afterwards that someone had probably placed it there. Perhaps I wanted to reason away the fantastic.
   Anyway, if this thing was placed there, while more intended and willful, I still find it beautiful act; the size of the gesture, insignificant.
   As a person that has for years found it a struggle to look at and produce art, I did not find it unimportant that something so phenomenally simple could produce such resonance for me. To find a medium where I can be as inactive as possible, while still producing something meaningful that could read as intentional, has not been easy.
   If I could allow myself to be comfortable with coming upon this branch and saying, "this is my art", and present is as such, would I think be quite satisfying.

Open and moving

   Yesterday, on my drive home from work, I didn't not put any music on in my car. The reason for doing so was a conscious choice on my part to think about how I might visually enact some of my desire to be more open to the world. I was also interested to see what feelings might surface in the process. I usually find that music, often sounds of any kind, distract me from my deeper thoughts.
   Nearing the end of my approximately fifteen minute drive, I experienced the incredible feeling that I was wide open to my surroundings, safely hurdling through the world. It felt as if my car could have been split down the middle, in the shape of the letter V.
    Interestingly, I didn't feel that I was particularly in the world at all. It was more like myself, and my surroundings, were both here and there. If it wasn't so unreal, it may have been more frightening.

The possibilities in darkness

   I have been thinking a lot about vision, or rather, lack of the clear variety lately, engendered mainly by the regular walks that I take among the trees and animals in the early morning hours. At these times, I tend to hear sounds without seeing where they are coming from, and visualize things that don't seem to be there at all.
   I find these dark spaces to often be exhilarating and inspiring, and have begun thinking about how they might be experienced in other contexts. It's not that I have a strong wish to produce visual art, but I do desire finding other avenues, besides my writing, where I might activate the freedom I can feel in the low, quiet light of the early day.
   It is in these spaces, when things seem so still, that I seem able to be most free in my thinking.

Seeing clearly