Instruments of perception both reveal and conceal at once
To focus on the one blurs the background out of which the One emerges
An illusion of seperatness captures the mind who sees seperate self
No awareness that even the mind is of the same suff as the trees and the stars

Art – Matt Chambliss

Music – Altitude Music – Oak Tree

Stepping out into a broader space

Leaving behind the familiar comforts of the rut

But, there I held sway, I was the master

Predictable, easy, except for the slow withering of my soul

Did my tricks to get my treats

But, the former was confining and I had out grown it

Like a plant in too small a pot

Roots bound, tangled, seeking new earth

But, to step out is to become weak again, to let go, to become a child

There was a brief thrill in the stepping out

Really it was a small thing made large by ego’s fear

There was really no power there

Like a spider’s web it clung inciting primal fear

No power at all to resist a decision

But, now the familiar is no more

Where once I was large, now I am small, ignorant, and inexperienced once more

Planted in new ground hoping for the water and the warmth and the worms to do their work

The plane is large, expansive, might I grow to fill that new empty space

For now tiny tender tendrils tentatively reach out into the unknown

Vulnerable and exposed

The new fringes of me not yet toughened by the sun

But, the great Oak lives inside the tiny, shiny acorn

Food for squirrels or master of the Woodland

I am the Sower and I am the seed, not the One who makes it grow

It is not the breaking through that is the challenge

It is sitting still long enough to put down roots and grow into this new larger space

You know, there are multiple buts in this

But, an article of contrast

And, perhaps that is the way of things

Art and Music – Matt Chambliss

Stillness stirs
Blackness blinks
The Universe tastes like purple
Fragrant with Blue
I hear White being broken
And the myriad songs of her children
Motion merges with spirit, Emotion Emerges
Creating the syntax of pattern
Form, word, construct, measurement
The Unthought Known arises
Aware that I awaken
I know, yet know that I do not
Separate and One at once
I am a flame ever-changing, ever the same
In the Beginning was the Word
But I am made from before the Beginning
From Whence I came and to Whence I return

Plato’s Groove

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
You are from before the beginning, chosen from before the foundations, before all the words and divisions. The Creator awaits you there.
Art – Matt Chambliss