My Chiboogamoo requested that he and I write an exquisite corpse poem to commemorate the 50th year of his successful gestation. For those of you unfamiliar with the format of an exquisite corpse, let me explain. A topic is nominated and then each participant takes turns writing an imaginative line without reading the preceding line. This act of creation requires cooperation and trust in the imaginative process. Often magic happens without concentrated effort. The poem is completed when both writers agree no more is left to be said. Please read the efforts of Hallelujah Truth and her little 50-year-old Chiboogamoo writing on the topic of “time.” See if you can guess which is the authorship of a paleontologist and that of a spiritual pilgrim!
Absolute ages are relative stages.
The origin of infinity cannot be answered geologically.
As days become weeks, and seconds become millennia,
Cosmically, TIME moves and stops simultaneously.
Actualism, when applied to the past, is factualism.
Humans prefer measurements oddly incrementing the immeasurable passing of LIFE.
Sand turns to stone, shells, leaves, and bones….
I am not the Buddha.
I am not the rock.
I am not the body—
But ALL THREE
Infinite and ephemeral.
Hallelujah SURRENDERS to time and the imagination. THE JOURNEY is NOW. THE JOURNEY was YESTERDAY. Certainly, until we die, THE JOURNEY will be TOMORROW. Creative acts are teachng me this. Drawing is teaching me this.
Drawing daily as part of my spiritual pilgrimage is teaching me about seeing patterns in my emotions, intellect, and spirit. These patterns are the same until they are different. Over and over again, I draw the “wannabe” wallaby, the Wandjina, the ghost like figures, and always and inevitably the feminine figure. My mandalas are crowded and repetitious.
Then as you can see in the images here, change occurs. A singular form emerges. I plunge into a new world. You see me here plunging into the WORLD of MY HEART. In the image I painted on April 17th, I am poised in mid-HEART. My eyes are closed. Am I dreaming? Am I afraid? Am I dying? Am I flying? Am I arriving? I am white with fright, but growth is already emerging, sprouting from my head!
Yesterday, on April 18th, I open my eyes. TIME. WEEKS. SECONDS. MILLENNIA. I have landed in the CENTER of my HEART. What will I discover tomorrow? SWEET LIFE, coursing with BLOOD. Tick-Tock. Tick-Tock. Stone, shells, leaves, and bones.
Dear Fellow Pilgrims speak to Hallelujah Truth, SOJOURNER OF THE HEART. I am the Budhha, the rock, and the body--all simultaneously—infinite and ephemeral. Tell me about your journeys, your heart patterns, your truths and hallelujahs!