Tuesday, November 10, 2015

When I Look Outside

Have you ever put some much effort, identified so much with an idea, thing or person, that you lose your identity in them? This was written to explore our attachments to what and who we are, especially when life takes away all that we've given ourselves to.
When I Look Outside

When I look out at the land
I actually see myself.
But I tell myself:
That’s not me.
It’s only the land I have poured
my life into time and time again.

I come home to this moment.
I turn my head and look into a mirror.
The face of a man looks back.
I see the image of one
overwrought and tired.
But I tell myself:
That’s not me.
It’s only the sweet field of clover
I have tended for so many years.

I know it will soon be
time to leave all images.
All the pourings and containments
cannot control the surging flood
of the river bound for the sea.

Time, the turbulent
riverbed of dreams will end soon.
The mirror will fall.
The field will be filled with
the soft shiny stars of the ocean.
Then who will I be?

Burrows Island Channel
Bless You Today as You Look Deeply Into the Mirrors of Your Particular Life.


(c) Copyright Words and Photos, Richard Sievers, November 2015, All Rights Reserved

Tuesday, November 3, 2015

There is This and There is More

The Following is a musing on Space-Time and Manifestation: 
This morning I was sitting at the window writing about what I saw: The green field heavy with rain, the Cooper's Hawk watching for voles, the garden still growing in November. And a realization hit me that I only perceive a limited spectrum of light. Maybe I only experience a micro section of what the universe has to offer. 

I thought "I'm aware of this moment only. What if there were infinite possibilities in this moment?"  I thought about the magic of prosperity and love I've experienced in this life. What I realized is that experiencing new ways of being and seeing came mostly from which part of the moment, which possibility, I CHOOSE to Attend to. I wondered "Could manifestation of our dreams and fears come down to simply attending to the possibility we want?" 

Then my mind went even further out. I thought about our current societal myths and dreams. Two societal myths in particular came forward: 

  • That this perceived earth, full of tribulation and exaltation, a swirl with the mess of war and love, is all we have.
  • That we are separated from other civilizations, beings and technologies by nearly infinite distances in space and time.

What if these myths were really built on incomplete or false assumptions? Perhaps most people have lived a life feeling constrained and stuck in a life where fate and limitations of space-time rule. But what if that feeling of smallness is Not True? 

I thought about our little planet, supposedly alone with life in the great void of space. How our current myth is that if we just push and try and develop technologies we can reach the stars someday. Just think about the popularity of Star Trek. But isn't there also a personal myth akin to Star Trek that many of us have too? If we just try harder and hone our skills we will evolve and be better than we were before. Then we'll be whole.

Are we really alone and separate in our universe? 

Let's consider our society's current seemingly unsuccessful focus on contacting other intelligent life in the cosmos. We try and try and still no signals are detected (yet). We spend vast sums and still only make it to the edge of our insignificant solar system. Along the way we search for other life. We search for the solutions to our feeling separate and alone. 

A possible reason we’ve had rare or no interaction with alien spacecraft is that the idea of traveling three dimensional space is antiquated, primitive and ultimately not practical. Contained craft and thrusters? These are like Clovis points compared to the nuclear laser created by others in other realms. In fact space is probably not even close to how most people perceive it. 

The real frontier is a change of perception of dimensional shifts and time, i.e. an expanded way of experiencing moment and place. The real manipulation is of matter we have hardly even considered and never seen, yet. 

Shamans call this “place” the spirit world. They call the movement of the new-dimensional matter “magic”. It's science, really. And this science calls for awareness beyond three dimensions. Yet it’s contained within dimensions. The new perceptions "there" would tweak our puny ideas of space travel, time, tools and life. And it’s all so close, a whole universe we have yet to know. We’re like fish in the sea that cannot fathom or even see the water in which we swim.

So my mind comes back to witnessing what I see outside the window. The hawk still waits. The grasses still bow. And yet, I wonder. What If I could see all the possibilities all around me?  Would I feel alone anymore? Would I be filled with wonder instead of the nagging that there must be more out there? Would my imagination strike out and create something so new that I could never ever live my life like I once did?

Thanks for following along with me on this path of musing. I hope that maybe next time you look out through the frame of your window you might muse too....
There is this and there is more...


(c) Copyright Words and Image, Richard Sievers, November 2, 2015,

Thursday, September 17, 2015

Going to the Source

Look, Ink is Bleeding Through My Fingers!
The farm season is winding down. The season to expand inward, the season to create and write is here. For four hot months the characters in the new book have waited patiently. They have been pulled with the weeds and sowed with seed. They have been given away through the sweat of a summer's tilling and harvests. They are patient, but time moves on... at least in this realm.

Sitting at the writing desk A blank mind blinks in the blue cursor of a white screen How do we begin again? My fingers hover and hesitate over the keyboard. I feel shy, like a besotted lover who has been on a long singular journey, one who finally is arriving home to his sweetheart. Who moves first? What do we say? How do the words become loving actions from a clarified Autumnal heart?

Many questions. Analysis about writer's block won't help with answers. Figuring how to arrange the schedule and desk and the files of electrons in the mainframe won't help. Go directly to the sources, the characters of the soon to be book or canvas. What do you say patient ones? How do we begin?

And the pen begins a long arc. Messy words tumble and splash all over my hands and onto the page. The meanings are inarticulate, clumsy at first. But I will write anyway. I just keep at it. And soon the lover will become familiar again. Soon the characters will be more than projections; they begin live in my dreams again. Soon their words are sowed upon the willing page.

A poem comes through the conversation as so many poems do:

Talking With Two Characters While Writing the New Book
                                   It’s Time: Just Write the Damned Book
I’m helping you come alive.
Sure, I know you are both me.
Finding your voice is finding my voice.
You are bringing me to light too.

So, why is it so hard to co-create you here?

“It’s difficult, being born.” you say.
“It’s difficult facing death.” you say.
“It’s wonderful being seen by bringing light to the darkness.” I reply.

Yep, we can trade platitudes all day, Spirit and me.
That becomes a day divided against itself,
a transport of circularities.

“Just commit to yourself.” you say.
“I don’t know that self.” I reply.

“So make yourself up.
Write it.
Write us.
Write yourself.”
Whatever your endeavor, from within a heart of love and devotion take solace. It is in the beginning again and again that miracles occur. It is in the willing efforts of the spirit and hand that new life is born.

If you dream it, then begin it. And see where the words and colors lead you.

Blessings to you dear readers. May your characters and colors and living ink splash upon the canvas of your lives.


(c) Copyright on Image and Words, Richard Sievers, September 2015

Sunday, August 16, 2015

Hollowed by the Flame

In the gloaming on Sunset Beach, Anacortes, WA.
I found this poem I wrote crumpled in the sheaves of my journal:
Walking in the gloaming garden,
my skin gliding through the silken quiet,
orange, mauve light surrounding every being,
this body both vessel of the journey and the stillness,
this body my home, container and confinement.

Glass walls surround my vision.
I am like a lightning bug spinning in a jar.

It is sunset soon.
Soon the lid will be undone,
the confinement shattered.
The glass will fall and
the light that is me will fly
into the dark.
Across the top of the page I wrote
I can only burn so much ecstasy
without becoming hollowed out by the flame.

Creator, make me a clear and resonant instrument for your songs.

Reader, may you discover the light that is within you and may you find freedom in that light.


(c) Copyright Richard Sievers, August 2015