Plato’s Groove with Aaron Dick free-styling on the keys
A little over two years ago I began to feel in a totally new direction. Ego shattered, directionless, like falling in a dream. There was nothing solid to cling to. I began to slowly try things that seemed odd to my old self. Something called me into a new way of being a me. My hair grew outside the older restrictions I had placed on it along with my Soul. In this new and strange land I began to find solid and hauntingly familiar steps to take. It was like coming home to a place I had never been. I had written this piece some years before but it had no voice. I had some vague wish that somehow my very talented children might take up my writing and give it life but that was not for them to do. I remember how nervous I was when Aaron started playing how strange it was for me to attempt it. A couple glasses of red wine helped and we created this together. I began to find my voice, even if it was timid and unsure, it was heard. Now I do this and more on a weekly basis and think very little about it. What was dangerous and new has become comfortable. What I know though is that there are new worlds I need to explore and inhabit still. I also know that moving from this horizon to the next will feel exactly like it did before I came here. And I will never figure it out before I get there. It is only in the going that I will know.
Time winds down. . . tick . . . tick . . . tick . . .
The clock ticks.
It fades in and out of my awareness.
The clock ticks.
Marking Time as It winds down to finally rest in Eternity.
The clock ticks.
Independent, without regard It plucks the very strings of the Cosmos.
The clock ticks.
Time now divided makes meter possible and cadence contingent.
The clock ticks.
The fabric of possibility is woven, lining the womb that is time.
The clock ticks.
Sacred Space emerges between the beats of past and future. Seeds can only be sown in the Now.
The clock ticks.
Slumbering Soul, never at rest, seeks completion of Its’ chord unresolved.
The clock ticks.
All existence is in motion, potential, moving toward harmony or dissonance, creativity or chaos, Life or death.
The clock ticks.
The metronome beats out the call to choose or not to choose. Both require a choice.
The clock ticks.
Whether background or fore, whether conscious or dreaming, It makes possible the awareness of Plato’s Groove.
The clock ticks.
Out of the shadows Life calls to life. There is underlying order within the chaos. The pilgrim seeks that which has always been hidden within view.
The clock ticks.
The artist’s heart does not create ex nihilo but rather chooses one and not the other, manifesting particular harmonies that resonate and call them into Being.
The clock ticks.
To act or refrain from motion is the artist’s prerogative. Variation ads pigment, or not, to the evolving tapestry.
The clock ticks.
Soul becomes more harmonious; at rest in the body, powerful its resonance with the Real. Dissonance no longer a mystery to be feared but rather consciously strummed to accentuate and more clearly articulate the Soul’s growing chorus.
The clock ticks.
Oh, Traveler strain through the dissonance to hear the notes which resonate with the pattern of your soul. Choose it at the cost of all others.
The clock ticks.
The clock ticks.
The clock ticks.
Each Soul’s resolution is to cultivate and balance It’s own polytonic sound in preparation for joining the romp with all other pure souls in harmony, dance, in art, in mathematics, and all other lenses through which we glimpse the mystery of the Eternal celebration that is Life.
Consonance. Congruity. Harmonious. Original. Authentic.
