I dive. Into a moat of possibilities, primal soup of beginnings, where things are disjointed, undefined. A flux of moments not yet become time, flotsam on the edge of becoming, half-formed bits of genetic material seeking connections, a way to complete what is only dimmly begun. It is dark, watery, and things fly at me, scraps of detritus that perhaps I could make sense of if I knew the design. Do flowing magnetic waves draw disparate things into new configurations? In this place without rationality that I have so dangerously found myself in, how are things connected, and through connection, created?
technorati Profile: technorati tags: origins , shamanic journey , primal beginnings, manifesting, creativity, creation of life , becoming.
Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
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I'm doing an experiment - trying to write one sentence a day, and if it stretches from that, fine - until I get a small suite of pieces for a poetry reading that I'll post the url to maybe next week.
ReplyDeleteI wrote this piece at 4am! It wasn't a dream, but a place I delved into before falling asleep and then went back to when I couldn't get back to sleep in the middle of the night. The words to describe it started forming and I was sure I'd remember them in the morning, but knowing I probably wouldn't, on went the computer and the "sentence" got written and I went back to bed at 5am after letting the dog out!
The philosophical exploration that constitutes this piece wasn't a dream, didn't come out of meditation, but was what I would call a 'shamanic journey.'
Even I'm a bit astounded at the nature of the quesions I was asking in the night!