The Artist Soul

Artistic expression in its many forms, be it the painter, the writer and so on to the musician, the actor is an undertaking of reverence toward the soulfulness of human creativity. We create to satisfy a need to explain life and all its wonders to ourselves. And self-expression on the road to creativity is one avenue in which to tell our story of things hidden in broad daylight which will simultaneously expand and unlock its secrets to the advantage of self-knowledge and wisdom.

Indeed this taproot of creativeness can be sublime, hidden within from the masses to bathe in its own truths until one day an epiphany of ideas rush forth and for one brief moment, all seems to make sense in the universe. and as soon as it arrives it dissipates until the next flicker of lucidity.

I often wonder how Vincent felt when the epiphany arrived and it was soon followed by despair and caught up in a free fall of depression.

©jc2019-9… Image courtesy of Pixabay

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Ogleo

Ogleo peaked through the crack of his bedroom door. He heard his mother’s door to her bedroom close for the night and the faint click of the light switch turn off. He stepped out into the hall, flashlight in hand and proceeded on his nightly ritual to his father’s great library occasionally shocking himself from the static electricity he caused by his socks rubbing against the recently steamed carpet. Of course, his mother knew where he was going and he knew that she knew. It was all a part of a ritual with the finale coming at 6:30 each morning where she would find him in his fathers leather recliner fast asleep with any number of books lying about him.

Dragons Nine

What should one do, stand still in the rain, umbrella open, guarding every inch of your body against the raindrops falling asunder like water in a perpetual storm? Or, maybe one should throw the umbrella aside and splash head-on into the blissful water shouting hallelujah amidst the splashing of each puddle in defiance of the proper way of society.

Ode to Joy… cheerful again

The joyful state, the combined results all states of being bringing laughter to the soul, empathy to the heart and compassion to the mind. ‘Joy’ that comes from the mindful observation of nature and how it’s triggered by the slightest of phenomenon.. positive and negative, right and wrong, joy and sadness; for you can’t know one without its other. Such feelings can come from a variety of stimulus. For me, it’s more often than not, music. Music that captivates me and brings me deep within the confines of life, only to lift me to heights unimaginable by the confines of life.

Changes Alt One

“Oz never did give nothing to the Tin Man that he didn’t already have,” -Dewey Bunnell

A Noble Heart

I awoke one morning to the sun rising over the horizon where the tree line whispers secrets to the sky. With the aroma of coffee brewing in the air, I was thinking of this day and all it could bring. The possibilities were endless on such a morning. With a cup in hand, I went outside on the deck for my meditation. A gentle breeze brushed my face and I could hear a symphony of birds seducing my ears as streaks of the newborn sun lite the sky like a kaleidoscope.

Dreams, the River and You

Sacred River, A Meditation  
The sun settling silently on the big muddy, grandfather of all rivers as thoughts come and go and we mourn and celebrate all that life offers. My sacred river, churning and turning the secrets of all born to its code. But someone forgot to tell the river that it’s secrets were not to be entrusted with the likes of ordinary men. So the Mississippi flows south on the compass of life, an open oyster for all the world to behold the failures and successes of untold thousands waiting to be witnessed… all in good time… all in good time.

A Magic Window (2nd view)

“God writes the Gospel not in the Bible alone, but also on trees, and in the flowers and clouds and stars.” -Martin Luther

The Red Scarf

It was the red scarf that begged for my attention. She is never without as she sways back and forth during interpretation, never without. She is an image in my mind I see during the fall of a dream, an image walking toward the door; swaying, enticing, holding a red scarf around her seamless neck with the fingers of her delicate hands,  it is within the confines of a soft summer storm,  gulls off course in the distance, I see her  in the wind effortlessly just she and the wind. I gaze directly at her vanishing silhouette in the darkening room and suddenly, she is gone…

The Mystic is Nine

“Let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic” -Van Morrison

Find something, anything, which is so encompassing that in a given block of time it enthralls you to get lost together in unconsciousness. Such things are beyond space and time, it is bliss and one only questions the indignities of why when not doing this transcendent work. Indeed others drown in the waters the mystic swims in.

*Image by Pixabay

©jc2019-9 Happy New Year, ask and the numbers shall guide you.