Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Sky Tangos...
Collisions of galaxies in the young universe caused prodigious star production even while the black holes at their centres increased exponentially.
Matter suctioned by the dense gravity of black holes flew at massive speeds inwards as gases were blasted to the outer fringes creating the luminescent edges of the merging galaxies.
The light pouring out of such ancient crucibles of creation and destruction creating the very memories we see emblazoned in the night sky through our telescopes.
In such collisions, a thousand more solar masses of stars formed each year than in our slower star-creating counterparts in the modern galaxies we exist in.
But when I look at simulations of colliding galaxies, I see only tangos and hot passion, sangrias and lust, sex and creating babies, the madness of merging amidst looming black holes and bright bursting stardust across the heavenly skies, an explosive terrain of love...
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The photo is an active link back to the article at Space.com, for those of you who want to explore more...
A sweaty butterfly...
I've been languishing since I've found myself, once again, on the temp office work circuit. Which is work in a strange office, then stress a lot in the days between, work a bit in another strange office, stress more, you get the routine. I don't want to buy my monthly gym pass. I can't seem to make it to the park where jogging is free. Dance is too far away, mostly everything takes about 2 or more hours of transit for about 2 hours of dance, and again I don't want to spend the money. So lapse into lax muscles and the only cardio is considering my job prospects. O so lazy...
There is much mention of exercise in Blogland these days. Must be the Spring...
My contribution to the Blogosphere Gym is cheap: a $5.00 skipping rope. Yesterday I set a timer for half an hour and skipped on a board thrown on the scrub called grass out back. I stopped constantly to retie my hair or catch my breath or because I can't manage the simple mechanics of turning a rope over my head and under my feet. Perhaps in that half hour I skipped for 20 minutes. Which is what I wanted to do. Then I did yoga for another 15 minutes, focussing on the spine and abdominals. I finished my 'work out' by walking around the house with two 5 lb weights stretching my arms way back and up and down like a sweaty butterfly for at least another 20 minutes.
Not much you must agree, but net result: today my calf muscles ache, and across my chest. It feels good. And not only was it *free* I didn't even have to brush my hair or wash my face or change from house clothes into jogging attire, just put on some running shoes...
Skipping is a great exercise and under-rated. I wonder why?
Sunday, April 10, 2005
Stained Glass light...
My father was dying, my life changing irrevocably; I was in a wild and passionate relationship with an intellectual poet. I surrounded myself with stained glass, some pieces more sublime than others.
After my father died, I bought a house with huge windows and privacy a few blocks away. I could see the sun and the moon in the sky. The stained glass went into the attic for almost two decades.
I moved it with me to Vancouver, finding it bringing back a time I had forgotten, and hung it myself with my power drill.
During the day the windows are open. In the evening I shut them and enjoy the deep and glistening colour. When I sleep I draw the curtains.
In this digital photograph of the stained glass casement windows this morning it looks as if the sun is, is... there is such brilliant light, it seems to be pushing the glass open, the curtains open, drawing the viewer out to its brightness, a whiteness into which the landscape has collapsed, the dark blue lace that I have hung as netting to keep out flies and bees in the Summer becomes a mere few stitches of a design over the whiteness of the sun's field, even the window frame is being submerged in light, a light almost blinding to the occupant within...
What intrigues me is that I was working on a cross-cultural study of light in many different fields when my father died, a piece of work I never completed; it was based on stunning dreams of light...
Can you describe this photograph? It is one of the ones with a light that seems almost visionary. Be poetic...
Friday, April 08, 2005
How can everything I am be contained here in this remote and anonymous spot? Located here in this curve of space and time, at this edge of the universe, that that's it, that's all there is?
Because most of what we are seems to transcend our bodies, it is not hard to imagine what travels with us, our memories, feelings, passions and desires will travel beyond our bodies into a deathless realm beyond our deaths.
One day perhaps we will understand how energy manifest into matter and how it unmanifests, the secret of life and death.
Perhaps we are runners passing the baton ~ our written thoughts, inventions, works of art, labour, children ~ just keeping the links of civilization alive even as we each appear and disappear, a living force for awhile, and then gone.
Thursday, April 07, 2005
Fragments towards a Meditation on the Body...
On our blogs we post, barely editing, always planning to come back at some future point to edit, only the posts fly by like days...
Anyway, I just put this montage together, the writing moves over small line drawings of dancers I did maybe a year ago...the words shaping themselves are nothing conclusive or that I would want to rest my weight on, barely touching the surface of this subject, the body, but leaning into the writing coming soon on the body where all bodies are created...
This is just a miniscule meditation on what tells me I am alive. A sort of Descartian I Am, or even Buddhist recognition of the. most. basic.
The ground of being, the body, where I begin...
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
I came here to apply to do a PhD in Interdisciplinary Studies, but they changed the program, it was the strangest thing, really, how it happened, and I didn't even end up applying to Admissions, and then got stuck here, but that's a story for another time.
Or maybe I was destined to come out here to the West Coast all along. Now the psychics I spoke to before I came said it was a very good move for me and that it would all work out wonderfully and they couldn't have been more wrong. The thing is, talking about telepathy and my theory of mind-reading, is that I had no premonition about the changes going on in the program I wanted to join and so they couldn't 'read' the problems I would encounter.
Yes, this is definitely a story I will continue at another time. Here's a photo of moi in ma corner reading, if I can't live with it, I'll try to replace it with a daylight one tomorrow...
Oh, that painting, yeah that's exactly where it's sat for months waiting, someday I'll finish it, who knows...
xo
Woman with Flowers 7.1
(7th sketch in series, first iteration of this one) Woman with Flowers Flowers, props upholding the woman. The flowers, fragrant, imaginar...
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The Buddha says: “ You cannot travel the path until you have become the path itself .” The path is uncertain. Uncertainty is the guiding for...
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What if relationships are the primary ordering principle? What if the way relationships are ordered clarify, explain, and instruct us on th...
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direct link: Tones of Noir music: Alex Bailey, ' Piano Improvisation No 7 .' Do poems wait to be born? A poem whittled out of t...