over the weekendSaturday morning.
I wake up early and begin to work.
I revel in the luxuriousness of the feeling of the weekend.
Two open days are spread before me without the pressures of the week.
I can feel, through the sounds and energy coming from outside of my apartment,
the slowed down rhythm of the city.
Somewhere in the back of my mind,
Monday menaces with its speed, obligations, worries…
I push its threat away from me, and settle comfortably into my work.
My thoughts, as I write, are spacious.
The intervals between the passing seconds are wide
offering me ample room to wander and unearth things.
Time is in my hands.
Something opens itself to me.
…crickets chirp in rhythm…
…a voice weaves through them, speaking and singing…
…melodies move in and out from various instruments…
…all somehow planted in the air…
Roots extending from my skin
dance with invisible roots laced through the air.
I feel no border between the space around my body and inside of my body.
Pulling me is a magnetic field containing pockets of intensity
that are constantly shifting.
My movements and thoughts defy linearity,
weaving in and out of each other.
Thoughts become extensions of my leg,
gestures movements of my imagination.
between the cracks
Late last summer, in the early evening,
I glanced down at the sidewalk. Bits of green were pushing through the cement –
tips of a vast realm of growth inhabiting the earth beneath the city,
innumerable persistent roots growing continually sideways, diagonally, deep downwards and upwards.
Our man-made architectures are no match for their perseverance.
The roots make their way through them and burst out of them into the air and light,
demonstrating the staggering power of nature.
Bill Viola The Reflecting Pool
Grand Palais, Paris 2014
I enter a room that emanates green light.
A man approaches a pool in a lush forest and jumps up as if to enter the water.
At the height of his leap, the image freezes. I sit down and gaze at it.
The figure slowly disintegrates and blends in with the surrounding greenness.
Other figures and abstract images gradually float into and through the image
like corporeal thoughts.
The leaping man and I inhabit the fertile world that exists
in the space between the passing moments,
in the in-between of time.