Dwelling in the Midst of Murmuring

Hear the murmuring of individuals compressed in groups/ words weaving in and out of awareness/ laughter erupting through the fragments of conversations/ all sound emanating from the artificial divisions of groups somehow disconnected and disembodied/ meaning touches consciousness through the masks of anonymity/ and i think how does this touch those in singapore?/ what is the common thread that brings coherence to this chaotic presence?/ fluttering of butterfly's wings impacts the other side of the world/ what is that connection?/ the internet is the illusion of the connectedness/ it is a manifestation in tangible form of a deeper connection which we intuit but scarcely understand/ somehow those utterances on the other side of the world ...in singapore... are explosively vivid, transforming this moment and rippling through the cosmos with almost cataclysmic energy/and those sitting here are shaping the conscious presence of my awareness with equal intensity and spilling over to those in singapore/it is like discovering a tear in the tapestry of space and time/ and as i stare at the sounds inhabiting some new dimension, the realization that i am the rip in the universe ignites my awareness and i look through the haze to see Phaedrus smiling back at me...

Things that Seep into My Blood

More from the Singapore Poet:

i'm a being who needs to be inspired. i need to know passionate people and i need to read write and see things that seep into my blood and become part of me, so i can live. (Ismene, May 30, 2003)

my awakening so long ago brought about by my own frantic fling at death when i wound up in a hospital because of unrequited love... the mentor who rescued me from the oblivion of myself...giving me Robert Henri's The Art Spirit/ suddenly I knew that we were kindred spirits/ my lust for life would be my joy and my destruction through all my creative cycles/ each passionate renaissance sprang from the pain of neglect/ ultimately the art was and is life lived passionately/ but always there was hope/ the greatest expressions surged toward the future/ now its shadow shrinks into nothingness and when there is no more hope...what then? only the intense immersion into the moment...of living authentically so that the moment seeps into my blood and i am alive...

It's All in The Words

My renaissance is fueled by my Singapore Poet who reminds us that language invents and transforms the moment:

i think that reading some blogs are like reading a wonderful novel or an autobiography of someone you really find magical. some friends you see them but you'll never really know them. it's all in the words they churn out, especially those who are steep[ed] in honesty of the heart and are introspective and write about reality in a fairy tale way. there's much passion and life to be sucked from this reading... (ismene, Oct.11, 2004)

Reading this I understand that now for me life is no longer about hope...it is about intensity and truth... it is about passion and authenticity... it is about connection and interaction...

Invitation to the Dance

jungmin sent some images of Kim Myoung-Sook's new dance that premiered October 26 in Seoul Korea. i saw a rehearsal of the work when I visited Seoul in September...an inspired work where the movement emerged from the essence of Korean being and reality..i reveled in the images, playing them with sounds of Korean temple music... not the same as being there...but still enough to get a rush...
what is it about the art of movement that challenges awareness? i see new possibilties that echo in cyberspace... i see artistic sensibility maturing and seeking new paths... we are brought to the brink of new exchanges and discoveries where greatness is of the moment... in the energy of brief encounters, and ideas are born over tea and coffee and resonate in the imagination of the empty canvas of time and space... the moment disclosing itself--- a dimension to be filled with the incandescence of expressive feeling too explosive to be muted by ineloquent fear..

Driving the Palisades

today i drove through the fading leaves of autumn... along the cliffs of the Hudson... through the silence of a Saturday afternoon... gliding through the terrain like some alien creature...

listening to the leaves disturbed by puffs of wind... Phaedrus sits aloof from the moment caught in the immediacy of some distant fantasy...
images of jungmin and ismene's metaphors flutter across the frame of consciousness like birds of prey...devouring the imminent intrusion of the soulful sounds of autumn...winter slinks along the palisade cliffs like a cat with freezing breath and chilling eyes...

Phaedrus

For this is the dilemma of Phaedrus... in his isolation he created an illusion which became substantive... an illusive vision guided him as he skirted oblivion. Then in a sudden flash of awareness he saw ismene... and he wondered who she was... what was the genius of her inspiration... an adventure had begun in the renaissance of discovery... unpretentious but brilliantly disclosed

Phaedrus knew the adventure extended beyond the momentous observations of ismene... dormant fibers of being awoke to a wondrous sound somewhere in the seascape of imagination...

Finding My Way

threading through the magical fabric of the internet, i know i am in a new place where i can explore the silences, the sounds, the images, the words... never knowing where this will lead me... but moving from the inspiration of a cyber poet discovered in the serendipity of the electronic wilderness...