http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wDaqigctC6g&feature=fvsr

Things Exist By Virtue of their Effects

We create what we resist. Resistance comes with the symptom of indirectly studying and ideologically manifesting what it is we previously only suspected we’d feared. The more we yield to the condition of resistance, the more we create, empower, and bolster the characteristics which we resist. For example, children are born without certain fears and only through socialization, language, education, and externally inspired inward recollection are given the tools to “embody, describe, and express” and so IT is created…and whether real or not, it’s “perceived” existence is enough to change the course of history….

things exist by virtue of their effects.

I cannot trust a truth that has a purpose more important than itself. When we are through with the pounding pursuit of objectives, and the chisels of tactics are worn down to nothing but pitted dull stumps, we will find we have created a tall berm of talus and dust between us and the truth, but there stands the “fruits” of our labor nonetheless. A true artist can look at a block of marble and know the true form within it before the chisel is ever set and struck.

I cannot trust a truth that has a purpose more important than itself. When we are through with the pounding pursuit of objectives, and the chisels of tactics are worn down to nothing but pitted dull stumps, we will find we have created a tall berm of talus and dust between us and the truth, but there stands the “fruits” of our labor nonetheless. A true artist can look at a block of marble and know the true form within it before the chisel is ever set and struck.
Art at LDF

My gift at mid-life, (which is defined by the fulcrum that shifts continually to the right over the course of a lifetime) was received when I dropped a palette of gold that I pulled from the earth to catch a single white feather that fell toward me from the sky. The gold was intended to pave the trail from whence I came, the feather, to show me the direction I should go.

My gift at mid-life, (which is defined by the fulcrum that shifts continually to the right over the course of a lifetime) was received when I dropped a palette of gold that I pulled from the earth to catch a single white feather that fell toward me from the sky. The gold was intended to pave the trail from whence I came, the feather, to show me the direction I should go.
Art at LDF

Arthur - on the art of Living

Our lives, each of us, are like perfectly tuned instruments…objects of intrigue in our stillness, but exquisitely beautiful when played among the symphony of life. When I go, the strings may snap and wood may warp…but the music is indelible. Go ahead and make a beautiful sound.

Love is Fierce -

Love is Fierce - if you stand in it’s way, it will not swerve.

I have learned in life that sometimes truth (even our own) is largely a function of how well we calibrate and hone the instruments of self observation. I suppose it’s “how” we look at ourselves, more than “what” we see.

Happiness - Water water everywhere, but not a drop to drink.

I hear so many exchanges about “happiness” here in the amphitheater of social media. It is everywhere spoken – so much, that we fail to take a breath as we speak of it – it fills space with an abundance like oxygen, yet we suffocate as if it is absent altogether. Ironic. Herman Hesse wrote, “…happiness is a how, not a what; a talent, not an object…” I subscribe that happiness is the cause, not the effect; and still the “best” flavor of happiness seems to finish with a taste of gratitude on it. I find it odd that we know ourselves least, when we are confounded by why we are so happy and to whom we should be thankful. Ah, it is “I” that am the cause of happiness…so “I” am the effect! Take time to listen to what is inside, least spoken.

One evening, I came upon a Lovely Dreaming Fox - I paused and spoke, “Fox, imagine if water were happiness and you were a fish…would you sooner die drowning, than from thirst?” The fox stirred and thought for a moment… “Clearly, in either case, I would be miserable as a fish, which only reminds me of how happy I am to be a fox…”

How Parafoxical.

The Heart of the Matter

“Go away,” I hiss, as I coil in the shadows, slowly and broodingly licking my wounds.
If you are to love me, then do so forcefully to spite the resolve of my injury, but you must not love me for the well of hope that flourishes below my scars.
If you must speak to me, then squelch the pain in my voice with deafening cold volume – you cannot harmonize with the melody that I keep muted.
I will not stay with you to be loved for what you see in me, you may only love me for what I show you. So if you are of keen sight and intuition, and can feel the joy and love within me, dull your senses – and repress such imaginations.

You see, at some point, an unattended injury, an unforgiven transgression, will roost proudly within the cage of our being - doing little else but blocking sunlight – in essence, as “victim” you become the ward of will power. Enough time has passed, and you remain only a victim because you coddle the victim, spite the victim, mute the victim, hide the victim, and turn the knife in the heart of your own creativity. You have willed the victim. You are the benefactor of all you will to be.