not all spiritual beings fly. some are grounded, really rooted with their feet heavy like rocks and hands colored with earth, because they need to see the planet and its inhabitants from close-up, not from the sky. with open eyes, beaming like rays of sunlight through glass, coloring inner vision, lines, shades of red and yellow. the poetry of forms in matter, in the imperfections. with heart radiating the rhythm and pulsations of blood… they need to be so close that the exhalations of divine breath create fog on the window that looks out to the field where animals live according to their instincts, fog on the camera lens, on the contact lenses, on the skin in contact. bodhisattva, welcome to our world. the wind of your breath – slow as the ocean – brings messages, sighing together with the waves of human events, small and pretty like stones, rounded and carried by the river to the ocean with the water always in movement, nuances of eternal blue.
for Piovra Caffè, written in the Esalen Art Barn, September 2013
gli esseri spirituali non volano tutti. alcuni sono atterrati, ben fondati, con i piedi come rocce e le mani colorati di terra… Continue reading →
blue light color of the goddess, dissolving all resistance, indicating the way out, toward victory.
the blue of the sky saturated with imaginative stories, a cultivated frequency nourishing the flight of the birds, flying in spirals and chasing the sun in a synchronized flock. moving together is an instinct faster than thought.
the color of the sphere that illuminates the path, along it, you find the answer, not the one written in words so simple to decode, but those sung by the imprints in the sand, in the memories that align in a synchronized dance. the nocturnal light growing from the deep of night toward the dawn in imperceptible increments, the moon, the stars from asleep to awakening.
Gargano. your waters have a special vibration of some kind, an almost audible melody. I can feel it when I wade into the gentle waves, sand dispersing in an underwater cloud with every step, and I know that it’s not just the purifying effect of the sea, but something invisible, a history to be told, sweet, subtle, feminine magic. floating free without destination, I look around and gaze at a heavenly sky with Pangolinesque clouds, Orango diving from the rocks, Civetta Bianca close to the water’s edge chatting with Pellicano, Goral searching for a lost child’s slipper, a strategically positioned sandcastle constructed by the kids. and in the distance, blurry without my glasses, the green tent with the yellow flag and the pink one, transforming a summer scene into a territory time-space, one that is ours, conquering it with intention, directed thought, the will to return – in this synchronic squad with tribal numbers – to a kind of purity. enchantment. enthusiasm. a living people, creative, ignited by love, sun, life.