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Another day in Paradise

Big Sur

12.09.16 | 1 Comment

Big Sur—the big backwoods coastal country of California, where dead writers have written their tales, relived through memories and documents of the past—where Henry Miller and Emil White once inhabited and frequented a space so serene it’s a wonder anything was ever accomplished here. Friends in the midst of a lush and majestic landscape provided by some unknown godly and earthly presence. The smell of the redwoods, and true sounds of silence. Birds, coyotes and rain, rain, and then some more rain. At the “place where nothing happens”, to the end and on through into the beginning. Life at the foothills of a resting place so rested that time itself must pause to take in its many wondrous nothings and deepest everythings. Life with a purpose, for the purpose of living. Going home, and coming home, together alone, forever unknown.

Big Sur, a place to contemplate all that there is to contemplate. To congregate and disengage, to dream big and dream small—that taoist way of being. Being simple, and taking great pride in the smallest of contributions to this earthly existence.

Im here now, after a much celebrated month in Finland, where the sky ate the sun, stars and even the moon. Set adrift on memoirs of a memory just created. From communal living to the serene solitude of silence. Friends will visit here, and they will come and go. Over the next month or so I plan to do nothing in this world of everything. I look forward to being, just being. To breathe and to be.

And even with these sentiments said, I am inclined to create and dream of a million new artistic endeavors. But this slow pace, slow motion, readily encroaching on my present self says to slow down even a bit more, slow down to the point of the eternal breath. And a new mantra emerges… Finish a project before starting a new one.

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The Front Yard…

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The Backyard…

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Living room and bedroom…

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