posted on December 7, 2007 at 6:05 am

like pink lightning splintered on grey
like the black obsidian veins in the marble torso of mithras
the fingers of the waves
the geometry of the leaves that defies definition
as if one thousand masters painted a portrait
each in his style
each with the fiery caress of his creative mind
as the heart becomes inflamed with art
but nature moves in divine puzzles
suddenly you achieve the dislocation
layers of you detach and observe
in a way you never knew
what is happening to us in transition?
who wakes up to take the brush that paints the day
to imitate nature is to imitate god
the silver tree appearing superimposed on green
and white and red flowers impossibly glowing
their aura stains the rainy air and the perfect work blurs
subtlety is the key
nothing happens in bold moves
as you make your way within
others reach up through yourself to assist
oh good !
we learned to listen to them at last
we let them show us how
the graceful flight of spirit received
as small secrets are revealed
i believe in everything
i believe in everything again
but i dont believe in just anything
each small green fly has more complexity
more innovation
more aerodynamic ooomph
more self perpetuating mojo
more energy efficient
more streamlined
more speed
more strength
more resilience
the seven wonders of the world
and all the museums chucked into one big pit
oh i wonder how
oh i wonder how
how did it come to be
the incredible details
the invisible strings and magnetic forces
gravity and the moon
the desire for sexual union
the trees who breathe out oxygen
is that not a fucking miracle in of itself?
i wonder how our world spins so perfectly
and our seasons fold into each other
grapes appear on the vine
the blessed sun shines
clouds pour down sweet silver rain
the plants drink
and from the soil water and light
they pull themselves together
assembling viridians and brilliant white
and purples and yellows made from sunlight
and then like a devotee in yoga
the plants transform themselves
from tiny empty seeds
they have aspirations to be beautiful you know
they curl and unfurl themselves up through the earth
can you imagine that moment when the seedling pierces the sky
out of the nourishing but suffocating soil
the seed knows inside itself there is more to life than this darkness
the seed takes it on faith that there is freedom and light up there
the seed takes in moisture and decides to become itself
inside the tiny empty seed
is a magnificent strong silver limbed tree
with beautiful creamy flowers
whos opiating aroma
flows with gentle summer evening currents
ameloriating and softening lifes harsh glare
eventually bees arrive in the hazy morning
another cog in the mechanism
what delicious honey they must envisage
when did the first bee steal the pollen from the first flower
who saw to it that natures lines are an incredible mystery to unravel
who decided that these flowers would be velvety crimson
with a vivid yellow stamen
the bees can hover and manoevre with ballet like precision
they communicate in some honey like tongue
they carry pain onboard
just one lethal dose
the pain saves the bees life
otherwise the other creatures would over run the bees
but the bee deals in the sweet and the bitter
the bees fly down to die at the shore after such short lives
are they in a constant ecstasy which burns them out
somewhere a huge fat queen
replicates each worker
she gives them life at the moment of conception
the bee is born with knowledge
a predilection for colour and flowerscent
the bee lives off the purest of foods
dew and pollen
it vibrates at incredible speeds
did it take long
i sometimes wonder
to think up bees?
the sky lights up again eventually
revealing different aspects of the leaves
which shatters old patterns
and throws up new permutations
which will demand a subtle change of gear in your mind
if you truly wish to apprehend a way to replicate its appearance
on a piece of paper
i am doing this portraits hair
i paint it all brown
then i take various pastels and let them traverse the hair
not in the stiff hand of the neophyte artist
which moves in straight lines and blocks and squares
and in garish or unadventurous colours
nature demands all things conform to her slinky blue print
everything is just so
especially in sydney in december
the shapes of the swaying outside
moves my hand on the paper
i choose colours instinctively from my big boxes of pastels
colours call out
like words to songs call out
sometimes you listen to the wrong voices
sometimes you get on a roll
and it unfolds because that is what it is supposed to do
youve already painted it now get out the way
and let it happen
yoga is suddenly rewarding me in a thousand ways
years of hard slog and now suddenly
the flexibility is multi-levelled
not merely some fucking ligaments or muscles
the mind opens as wide as the sky temporarily
you get a glimpse
bit by bit
you build on it
day by day
you never miss a day
because you have learned to love this discipline
you say to yourself
no my boy
now you will do it
and you do it
and you gradually learn to love it
and the things you hated are the things you love
and the things you loved you love even more again
you think i put any thought at all into this blog
no no no
i did not
you would think that would be a self criticism
he didnt even think about it doris..
i know horace
he fuckin’ made it up on the spot
as fast as ‘e could fuckin ‘ well type
then wheres it coming from
how did i get this ultra fast hookup
to all the sevices i originally wanted
all those years ago?
and im loving it
getting old has become irrelevant in some ways
there is a cosmic fire
it can be kindled and cultivated
there are principles of art and life
so obvious and sublime
i knew nothing when i began
i even deterioted
i hibernated
the cocoon of a ten year drugged half life dream
then like the seedling i emerge from the earth
and my growth accelerates
as i grow and improve
and i learn to curve and undulate
my mind remembers
sometimes the future nudges me oh so gently
steven….it says
try this!

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