Thoughts on a Sufi Proverb by Hone Tuwhare
A long time ago I was an atom. A one-ness in two, superbly put together. Full of potential, I was close to my essence. I died as an atom and progressed to another form. I became a stone just off the melt. I was cooling off.
I died as a stone and became a water-plant. As a plant, I learned to trap and eat meat. I died as a plant and became a fish. As a fish I grew wings flying low over the heaving waters. Then I aspired to circle high above greening turret-lands.
When I died as a plant, another branch of me I liked grew legs and crawled out of the sea - on all fives. Or was it sixes or sevenses?
No matter, I had arms, legs, and two hands with which I learned to pick up stones, sharpen a stick.
That other flying branch of me tried to pick out my eyes. They mocked me for not choosing a flying career. I ignored the jibes, ducking out of sight to avoid danger. I learned to throw stones. And soon, with a developed accuracy I could bring down my tormentors.
I ate them feathers and all, only learning later to save the feathers to adorn myself.
I progressed from a plant, and became an animal. I died as an animal and became a man. Now… never did I grow less by dying, do you understand?
I want to become stone again, but not the kind that is as cold as the forever night - the unlit side of the moon.
For a stone is as good a shape or form as any other. Compact and smoothened to become a million whispering grains of sand just crumbling quietly away to whatever ancestral dust; and all in good time, too, precisely, and with a resigned elegance.
"i was photographing every meal i ate, every person i met, every waiter or waitress who served me, every bed i slept in, every toilet i used." stephen shore
Homage a Gauguin: Naomi Campbell by Peter Lindbergh for Harper’s Bazaar, Jamaica 1992
Two women gaze at heavy surf while lying on boulders on the coast of Nova Scotia, December 1961.Photograph by Volkmar Wentzel, National Geographic
my life as a fraud
Random bag search at LAX. My hardcover copy of DIANETICS is revealed. Discussion ensues. I give him (Mark) some application forms I happened to pick up from the Scientology Celebrity Centre. None of this is real. But for Mark, it is real. What is the point? No idea. I feel quite a bit of my life is like this interaction.
thegoldgrinch asked: great blog i like
thanks! yours is pretty cool too.