What have I learned as muddy wet earth became sun-baked became leaf-covered became snow-buried became muddy wet earth?  What have I learned by paying attention to Nature (not learning the names of things because they are just names) and in my mind separating out its cycles from the implicit order of Man?

I learned nothing, but there are a million Somethings in the onion of Nothing.  There’s the fluid character of Change Inexorable.  There’s how Time swells collapses constructs deconstructs reconstructs, how it breathes outside of the bubble containing everything available to our senses, beyond the burdensome clanking chains of reason.  Like Art or a poem or a sad old folk song, there is so much more to it.  (You see more out of the corner of your eye than when you look directly at it.  The corner is less critical.)  There’s all the vast open possible space existing in the soul, but due to the limitations of human language and the interference of emotions produced by the brain like radio signals, the only open road to communicating about that space is paved with Music and marked with Art.

So: may we become creative heroes crusading for Art, and master the recipes for carrying on through non-filtered eyes with mountain-goat determination and armadillo grit.  Through the gates of all worlds steps the Creative Hero – sometimes a saint among his people, sometimes crucified, sometimes both.  May we feel called upon.  May we know it is our time.  May the great Deja Vu of mythical purpose swallow us into its belly and digest our dreams.  May we splatter the world around us with paint music language and the million Somethings.  Might as well.  When the great silence comes, maybe it’ll make it easier to let go.

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