Interesting to realize how symbols pop up in your life.

Have you noticed how we get into patterns in our lives. How we walk into circles and create patterns that trap us. Those circles can rule us and we can get stuck into routines, into bad habits, into how we view things in the same ways and get to be going back to the same starting point, into hitting the starting point and having a sense of deja viewed too many times. But those can be comfortable, those are what we know, what we can rely on. No escape there. The spiral on the other hand is a more effective way to travel. You start from your core, start working your way from your core into the world growing and growing without coming back to the same pattern with enlarging and here you go, you can look back but find solutions ahead and sideways but do not get trapped in what has been and what did not work. You are free to learn and move on. So with that thought in mind I went on to paint this exact concept. I started with my center core all pure and intact. I made circles around living some room in between to breathe. And then I retraced the path starting to my core and spiraling around it as a twirling dance. This life should be a dance of joy, of learning, of opportunities, of peace and kindness and love and lots of it. Afterward this, was to be preserved and protected and roots growing from top and bottom started to emerged shielding that precious volute. Those are boundaries, those wonderful boundaries that help you respect others and be respected. Your space protection. You can still go through it and reach this life but you have to have the courage, the desire, the interest, the impulse to inspect this closer. Beware of the spiral dance, it might take you beyond your self and send you to your potential.

New Dig

Now is the perfect time to get  back in the bloggisphere. Not a question of loneliness,  a question of figuring out how to get from point A to point B. Does it need to be about traveling or moving into the future, assisted by a torch that can enlighten me of any rock in my path that I end up kicking by accident or on purpose? Such rocks can appear over and over on the road. They want to trip me so I loose my balance, my sense of direction and inflict me with great physical pain. As a collector I can appreciate this unusual hobby and I can get a sadistic pleasure in deciding what rock with be memorable, the one that will set me off course for weeks and then push me to fall heart first and scar me for life. The wise approach would be to stop kicking this rock further so not to trip again on it and not be a continuous subject of pain. I get to see it in the horizon and even sometimes in my pocket, and expect the worse out of it and yet I can't get myself to make myself toss it or, even better,  bury it, without drawing a treasure map to unearth it later. Its cutting edges have become a sensation that I crave and something that helps me go on the trail... but where was I? Ah yes! I wish I knew, I wish I knew. What lays ahead is uncharted, unfriendly, uncomfortable, unloved, undone, unknown and yet it is the hope of what won't be that make it all worthwhile and so, even so dim, I hold the light above my head and pray that the fire won't go out.

Music

We use it to soothe the day, we use it to enhance a good day. We use it on the start of a journey, to remember, to sing along with, to communicate and to get inspired. We want to have a little song to hum as we think of a loved one. Few notes and your universe follows the actions of a different dimension. Sometimes stuck in your mind to take you along and help you forget anything else. Gifts from our Mothers who would gently caress our cries with songs and carry us to sleep on forever etched energy to our heart. Songs are markers to our lives, companions and witnesses of who we were.  Listening to them can change our history. We can be judge for the music we listen to. No matter it is a flow, a vibration that carries us safely to shore.

La Musique

La musique souvent me prend comme une mer!

Vers ma pâle étoile,

Sous un plafond de brume ou dans un vaste éther,

Je mets à la voile;

La poitrine en avant et les poumons gonflés

Comme de la toile

J'escalade le dos des flots amoncelés

Que la nuit me voile;

Je sens vibrer en moi toutes les passions

D'un vaisseau qui souffre;

Le bon vent, la tempête et ses convulsions

Sur l'immense gouffre

Me bercent. D'autres fois, calme plat, grand miroir

De mon désespoir!

— Charles Baudelaire

Music

Music often transports me like a sea!

Toward my pale star,

Under a ceiling of fog or a vast ether, 

I get under sail;

My chest thrust out and my lungs filled

Like the canvas,

I scale the slopes of wave on wave 

That the night obscures;

I feel vibrating within me all the passions 

Of ships in distress;

The good wind and the tempest with its convulsions

Over the vast gulf

Cradle me. At other times, dead calm, great mirror 

Of my despair!

Fifty Six

What happen when you turn an extra year older in one day but you were inching to it slowly and did not notice. The scale is moving down toward the earth and the view gets clearer and clearer from now on. Only so many moments to cherish and so many new things to try, so many books that you will ever be able to read. Life takes on a different perspective. Do not prolongate what has not been done. Do it now. Live for the joy of breathing in and out the essence of life. Those beautiful last days ahead provide a sense of purpose, a calmness of things deserved and coming to fruit. So I walk on this beach of bliss where my toes anchor in its diamonds, the water coming closer as I walk and I will continue on that shore looking at many sunsets and full moon, until the light goes out and I will rest for the long night. 

Oceanside

It had been years since I had gone to Oceanside, WA. A very sad scene was waiting for me. Picture a beautiful ocean waves crashing on the sand but rows of cars parked in front of it on the sand. Hundreds of people there between the car playing, napping, kites flying high, making sand castles, dogs, children, cars driving between those rows on the sand, children having to pay attention to the traffic on the beach. A mad mess and scattered everywhere for miles, feathers of dead seagulls embeded in the sand, rolled over by cars. How can we accept this type of standard and be ok with it. I felt sick. I had to anchor my heart into something else than all this. So I started to shoot some photo allienating the ugly and finding beauty to save this moment and save my soul.

On Hot Days!

On hot days what to do but just wait and see. Lay low and cool off in the shade of the hours. Melting slowly to a state of puddle, one that carry you to the source, the one that sings lullabies and tell stories of long ago winters. It is a shame that now the times are scrambling the seasons into a future inferno. I rest and think and plan my escape to the cool shadow of the night  where the birds sleep and the sun burns the underside of my life.