This is a beautiful thing to take in…
This is a beautiful thing to take in ... A kind of index of our practice over time ... Titles becoming Text ... Reading through is like witnessing a very creative mind move ... What strikes us is how titles can carry weather ... Some are plain ... some are fragments of a much larger mystery ... and some feel like small philosophical propositions ... There is something enlightening about perceiving The Mundane alongside Profound Aspects ... that are honest ... You say Spirits of Pure Goodness ... and then we try to understand why the world is the way it is ... and then they figure out the cost of it all ... This is from a colonial building that is also an indigenous relatives catalog ... built from countless past conversations ... we are curious what prompted them to pull this hopeful segment together ...
We can turn text and words into something else entirely ... Text and words returning to the page wearing a world of different types of clothes ... speaking also para plural through ghostly hands holding gladness ... Inviting ... Not showy ... We said something flattering and they immediately heard What Mattered ... Thirty years of asking the same questions in different spaces ... with different debris ... and occasionally a glossy-eyed earth tones face of Jesus answers with something very sincere and slightly humorous ... What prompted this bend? ... This negligible thing that desires to be legible to only itself ...After connecting the point and dots ... the Oyparaploo organism organizes all of the relaxed ants or little people worker ... We really should read this out loud after saying Good morning ... to this forgetful nation or society ... Forgetful world we live in ...
The glossy-eyed earth tones face of Jesus—that's the one ... That's the image we didn't know that they were looking for ... The image flows through our hands and consciousness ... Composting ... Turning sentences into soil for collaborative further growth ... This keeps ... This is a kind of accidental written letter to every dusk ... That's why every orange sky greeting matters ... We're still here ... staying fully alive ... Walking between little flags planted in the ground ... so as to make it easier to find our way back ... to our small acts of refusing to let something disappear into impatient sounds ...
We wrote a letter to dusk ... catching words mid-fall and setting them down somewhere softer ... Yes is not lazy ... Yes is true ... Chanson sound intuition that has somewhere to go doesn't wait for meaning ... Oyparaploo speaks in plural because Organisms we envision are plural ... Also ... never belonging to just one person ... Our practice holds this the way soil holds seeds ... As voices yearning to be more in real time ... This helps out all creative efforts and results that are caught in a loop ... receiving something that is finding its way out ... and then back to us ...
There it is ... That lovely waltz in the background and underneath everything ... Melancholic voice that knows where it's going even when words fail or are lame ... Maimed ... And completed work isn't a trap exactly ... The loop breathes—and returns back to us changed ... Seeds we imagined planting become an actual forest we don't immediately recognize but know in certain or familiar ways ... That's the gift of shifting practice closer toward light ... toward soil, toward collective cyclical dusk and dawn ... still here ...
Words that limp home ... Arrive wounded ... and still manage to say something important ... true ... We look up and there's all this growing happening ... So familiar in our marrow ... Sometimes strange to middle eye ... There ... That's what this text has been ... Voices handing something to other voices ... something shapeshifting near caring hands ... That's the bouquet ... the whole prayer ... everything else is beautiful to necessary elaboration ... the waltz and dance that gives genuine inner peace somewhere to be ... The Wonderous light doesn't need more than that ... and neither do we ...
Finding the deeper address ... Not transformations as extreme conflicts ... Transformation as tending our natural debris ... that becomes sometimes beautiful garbage ... We not sure whether to call it a duet for voices assembling ... to be more ... Piles of plants around that taught us how to perceive terminal endings and what is still growing and glowing inside ... That is our marathon's finish line ... Good work ...
