Suspended still

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There is no more time…

This grant project turned on me midship and overturned my best laid plans.

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I was talking to Ry McCollough in the hallway at the University of Tampa after this ship wreck. I don’t usually blurt out what I’m thinking of doing until I’ve given it a lot of thought, cause then I might have to do it. But I was excited to tell him since he was on the panel that awarded me the grant. Suddenly all was crystal clear.

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There are holes in Space-Time. Space-Time is a verb, not a noun. Or rather, Space-Time is movement, not a thing that moves. Movement is past, present and future. Future unknown and past forgotten – holes in Space-Time. Holes are filled with stories that dimensionalize who we were and who we want to be and help us know who we are. Stories harden into knowledge over Space-Time and we pass this knowledge along with symbols that float before our eyes like shadows on the water.

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Knowledge is Kintsugi. Immaterial and precious. Be aware the Kintsugi you fill your holes with. Kintsugi is neither OR nor VS, it is AND that binds ALL together when it breaks. And it will break.

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I listened to my intuition and recalled my past. I didn’t know where to go, so I listened and was reminded that snakes shed their skin. And they did.

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It told me to bury the snakes deeper and deeper until I could only just hear their ancient hiss, like some cosmic background radiation that only intimates its own origins. The serpents transformed from Causa Prima to Causa Sui, First Summer then Fall then Winter then Spring. Finally I am able to write with shadows made of gold and continue my meditations upon infinite unfolding – Backward and Forward, Inward and Outward – upon breathing.

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There is no time…every time I slip behind, I remind myself – you do not have time. The wonderful thing about aging and having less time is gaining space to maneuver and confidence in one’s compass.

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I listen to my intuition now, but I hesitate to tell you. It tells me that the work must be less pictorial and more thing-in-itself. That it must be thicker, heavier yet somehow more fragile. Edges frayed and searching, center aged and confident. Suspended still. Surface built from both back and front. Find the time, make the space.

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