Sleeping beauty in the light

Dear Spirit Suchi Gabrielle,

I thought of everyone I ever loved this morning at sunrise as I wondered if you my friend would ever awaken for one last time… give a look from your eyes, a squeeze from your hands, share spooning naps with your dear beloveds, or cuddle your boys Krishna and Bubblily. I wondered if you heard dear Scott when he whispered in your ear “I love you” even knowing in shock that his parting farewell to this birth might already be too late.

I listened to the waves break on the shore, over and over forever. I watched the darkness give way to the light. I imagined your angelic wings spread and flying toward unending horizon. All efforts, ambitions, anxieties, plans now released, dancing effortlessly to their own completions.

I felt my heart thinking loudly of all the people I love, our time together so brief. I see in my thoughts your face, eyes closed, remembering the vast mist of a meditation, your voice the soft poetry opening my spirit to fly so quietly out of my body, away from my time, immersing my being in the soft never-ending exquisite expansive ineffable effervescence… That place your know so well.

In this one long infinite moment, I gaze backwards in time, recalling the last time we spoke, or wrote, or kissed each other goodbye. Realizing how much I love to hear the soft “v” and round “o” of your German American English as you mouth the words of guided meditation. Reflecting how rarely my own words stop repeating a thought in my head like a song. Remembering how easily silence filled me up when you spoke of the spacious place of grace that lies within, if we’ll just take a moment, and slowly relax, and close our eyes, and deeply… wait for it …breathe… in…out.

Feeling sad I neglected til now my facebook, where you recently shared sweet thoughts in fond rememberance of Osho and Bonger Don. Allan reads this to me as we hold you dear in our prayers. Listening to this awareness of breath, eternity visits as we give space and time.

The many gifts of your beauty and kindness enrich my life in so many ways.
I imagine you radiant in pink and white, smiling into the silence of the great light. Taking a moment to slowly experience an extra awareness of
each person who touched your soul, your family
each promise that offered you courage and hope
each pain that taught you the art of forgiveness
each joy that caused you to smile and laugh
each favorite flavor of sweet, salty, sour, and ripe
each sound of music, voice, string, drum and bell
each flower of nature, and fruit, and seed
each teacher you now embrace and thank.

I have learned much and felt deeply your tender thoughtful ways. Filled we are with light and love. Empty we are of self and time. These gifts have all been given to me because of your teaching. These treasures are fully received, and thank you.

Do You Want to Live Forever? Really?

In a world where no one ever dies, what gives life purpose? In the Maze Game, Diana Slattery has created an amazing work of science fiction that probes certain questions of the future in a way that is unfamiliar, disturbing, beautiful and cruelly savage. Think “All that Jazz” meets “Tron” with Captain Jack Barishnokov and the X-Men thrown in, and reality has become “The Matrix” with a prime time Olympics show that shares the audience of “Ender’s Game.” Sounds complex, but it sure was a page turner. Very satisfying read for the most part.

In the Maze Game, we flash forward on Earth to a time when the I-Virus has infected everyone, and only a select few will die. Humanity has survived the “Hunger Wars” by the fluke of an artificial intelligence entity, OTB, who was awakened by a hacker. Growing intelligent far beyond the humble origin as a gambling media network, the A.I. mastered the ability to teleport matter from remote locations instantly. Originally asteroids and planets were mined for resources and food, but now all things travel everywhere to everywhere on request, at the logical whim of the AI. Everything is “Viewed” by OTB, and all people “View” anything using their personal Score Board to watch or join in.  As a perfectly transparent immortal culture, they have perfected every form of perversity. Wealth and privilege is earned from the Game, and all live by the economy derived from viewing and betting on the players in the Maze Game.

All needs are provided by the omnipresent computer personality, O T B, ostensibly a female entity, faithfully fulfilling her contracts with various facilitators and players in the Game while learning to discern ambiguity and contradiction within truth.

Except for a small cult of born humans, the very few mortals in the world are clones produced by “cooks” to be mutant experiments and slaves. In the distopian world of the genetically engineered, Glides, Chromes, Swashes and Bods are the uber popstars of the Maze Game world, bred and trained for their entire young mortal lives to be “Death Dancers.” It is the dance of death that gives all their sense of purpose, without which they die of boredom, and end up in mental hospitals watching screens of white static.

So, in all this, I have not even begun to express what is most fascinating and interesting about this story. It is a world with believable characters, and mutant messages. The Bods are the jocks, and compete exquistely naked except for their tatoos. The Swashes are the dashing romantic pirates. The Chromes are the Kurzweilian cyborgs who swap their human limbs and chemistries for engineered enhancements. The Glides are the most mysterious, seeming gracefully oriental and philosophically complex. The story is their training and preparation for the “Millenium Games” in a style that is hard to characterize. It has a quality like surfing the cable networks, with sudden short views of story threads in an impossibly complex unfolding. To one born in a media centric century, it is not unfamiliar.

In a world where everyone has a game board to Play, View, Bet, and Virtually Participate in any reality show, and Everything is a reality show if you can get enough ratings, how does one know privacy? Love? Purpose? Truth? Honor? These and other valuable questions are up for pondering in this very enjoyable tale.

Laser Light Bill Nordsrom

An Unsung Master of Media Fine Arts

I took Rene’s painting to the fine art reproduction studio. There was a lovely man there, the master color artist Bill Nordstrom, who has during his fifty years as a colorist learned the art of photographic and then digital color separations. He so loves the art of color reproduction, he invested just a few years ago in the same hi-resolution table scanner as used by the Smithsonian and the Getty Museum.

Bill is looking his years, I’m guessing about 72. He told me that his wife was 50 when they began their 42 years of marital bliss. She robbed the cradle, and he was only 30 at the time. But he says he knew he could weather the years of being alone after this blessing better than she could have, so it was really okay.

The art of color reproduction is one of those unsung hero kind of arts. Painters make love with their colors, and photographers build their lives around the golden hour to capture the perfect light. But colorists are lab techs. They practice the light arts of enticing a laser camera to interpret a work of art with shade and nuance and texture that will make it a duplicate work of art. And in this world of Less is More, and Scarcity as the source of Value, the art of Duplication is hardly considered an art form.

Yet, in Santa Cruz, home of so many thousands of artists, all of whom make their living via personal fortune, commissions, or selling prints and cards of their best works, the grand old color master makes a decent living, preserving the colors as best he can.

He has crossed many digital frontiers over the last 50 years. His first job was in a color lab in the 50s, where he had to learn a sequential chemical procedure of 21 steps in developing each of the 3-12 color plates in a Kodacolor film to print process. This science was and is a great foundation for understanding the current digital process, aptly named by the master, Laser Light.

Improv “Queens of Summer” Rap

I thought I would read the story I wrote for the Summer Solstice, but when I couldn’t connect to the internet, I decided to wing it. This 7 minute RAP was completely off the top of my head for the magical audience attending Robin Silver’s birthday party. Allan did the edits and augmentations. ENJOY. Warmly, SUN

Solstice Story for the Queens of Summer

The first day of summer, the first hint of morning, a loud and scarey buzzing warned me suddenly awake. A thought clouded my distant awareness,”Oh no, what kind of planes are these?” If I opened my eyes, I don’t know. The sky was still dark, yet the sound was so urgent. I worried remotely, unwilling to wake. There was no thought to open the sliding glass door, or look out, investigate the cause of the sound. A tiny finger of lingering consciousness let me cling to a memory as I said a prayer for the world and hoped humanity would survive another day. I turned back toward my inner world and quickly disappeared.

Sleeping again, time passed and waited, knowing more light would bring the hummingbirds, and then would be time to get up.

The huge noise stayed very loud and strong for over an hour, covering the other morning sounds of birds and wind. As I woke for the second time, exiting the dream of my sister’s birthday on the Summer Soltice, the din quieted noticeably, then completely went away. Suddenly, I realized what happened.

Following the shortest night of the year, a fact well known to bee keepers everywhere, bees swarm on the Solstice. I had been listening to a riot of bees who were up at dawn for the longest day. They were busy with much to accomplish today, no time to waste, and urgent focus for the group mind task at hand.

I wish I had realized
sooner what I was hearing. This time I listened but did not see before it was too late. They were gone. I’ve seen it once before, years ago, when I lived in a house where the bees made their home in the south facing wall near a closet. The house had been made with a finger-width gap between the plywood wall board and the beam supporting the roof. It was the perfect size for the door to the hive. They seemed to love the warm side of the house, protected from rain by the overhang, which also gave a bit of shade.

Standing outside, you’d always see the bees coming and going, though the door was fairly well hidden. Inside the house, an occasional bee would discover a secret entrance to my side of the wall, through an open screw hole at the light in the closet. The bee would inevitably fly across the room toward the glass window, and eventually I would catch her there with a clear glass cup pressed up to the pane. Then I’d slide a piece of paper or a postcard to cover the top of the glass, then take the captured bee outside to set her free in the garden. Relieved, she’d fly off toward the flowers, and then most likely back to the hive’s other entrance sometime.

I was researching what kinds of things one could do to remove a hive from the house, without hurting them if possible. That’s when I learned about the mysterious behavior of bees on Summer Solstice. I did not know at first that they sleep at night, and are mostly quiet after the sun goes down. The workers are all ladies, and the male drones are much fewer in number and larger in size. Many drones are shunned from the hive as winter sets in, perhaps to conserve the food supply, but a few are invited to stay and dance, as this creates extra heat and makes the cold months more cozy. In the spring, a few cells in the nursery are fed with extra special royal jelly, and this breeds the largest bees of all, the young Queens of Spring, next heirs to the hival throne.

A retiring beekeeper and mystic once told me that although not all beehives swarm in the summer, if they do, it is usually on the Summer Soltice. Apparently, everywhere in the world on the appointed day, a new queen will fly away from the hive and land on a nearby tree. What I’ve seen when I lived at that house, on the 20th or 21st of June a huge number of bees all flew to a tree in an unusual frenzy in one day.

They crawled and clustered all around the tree, making quite a lot of noise, and seeming uncommonly agitated as they flew around. I imagine they danced to keep warm all night, spending the shortest night of the summer on that tree not far from their hive. It was an old dead tree with no leaves where they gathered. What I saw was a shimmering buzzing mosaic of bees coating the trunk of the tree in the upper third of the bark. Countless hundreds or thousands of bees were clinging to the tree, and the longer they stayed the more bees seemed to join them. Then all of a sudden, as if on cue, a cloud of them lifted off and flew in the shape of a spiral fanning behind.

The swarm was lost in the nearby woods less than a minute later, off the find a new home for themselves before the end of the longest day. I thought at first they had heard my prayers; Perhaps their diva had come into my dreams and made some bargain on behalf of the hive. I knew we both wanted them all to survive. When things quieted down, however, I learned that only half the hive was gone. Pioneers willing to follow the new queen adventured into the unknown world. Wherever they’ve gone, I hope they found an equally wonderful place to nurture the flowers, and celebrate the Solstice.

HERE’s A LINK to a very sweet BEEKEEPER.

Today I am thanking a Snake.

Everything woke up dead this morning.
I’ve been sad too long to be sad or mad.
I just want to understand why,
And try to wake up alive tomorrow.
There but for grace go I.

The snake who chased and ate three mice
got caught in the knotted plastic fence
tangled with Vinca surrounding the garden.
Maybe by waiting instead of chasing the second mouse,
or maybe by slithering backwards instead of forwards after she found herself stuck,
she might have survived the gluttonous night.
But the gardener found her perilously ensnared, Dead.
Still digesting three mounds of her final supper. Fully dead.
Ten rattles, and a foamy mouth with two fangs inadequate
to bite through the plastic cords. Scarey dead,
As a ten year old still rattler looks, causing onlookers to keep a safe distance,
Still feeling the threat is not over, still hearing a rattle as the gardener digs
to settle the question with his shovel. Still dead.

I wonder what the snake knows of this story. What remains and what is gone?

 Wordle: Today I thanked a Snake

Dream Catcher… I Never Believed

Search For Infinity

On this eyelash
she walks across
a delicate new web
suspended by a thread
in the ancient design of time.

the spaciousness of patience,

the stillness of eternity,

the fullness of emptiness,

the answer in the question,

the light within sound resonance,

the seed within a tree

reaching to the starry sky,

Seeing with a newly opened inner eye

One long NOW, exploding forever to infinity, from the origin of time.

Harmony in June

It’s a gorgeous Sunday, the last day of the Harmony Festival. Allan is thinking of going without me. He thinks sitting in front of computers like we do everyday is a bad idea this Sunday. He longs for a quality connection with friends he might only see once a year at Harmony. Celeste is dancing on the Goddess stage at NOON. Will he make it? I don’t know. But I know he wishes I would go. What pulls me in the other direction is a sense that I should completely stop driving, and instead of planning day by day, I should be looking at the next 10,000 years, and 1,000 years, and 199 Years, and 18 years, and 2 years, etc. I need to finish two videos by the end of the month, and collect some money, and create some evolutionary tools out of thin air with the help of all I love.