Interestingly, what draws me to this particular drawing is the outline, which is a literal line forming itself in such a way as to circumscribe the reality contained within the (en)circle(ment). The two holes in the tree trunk-- one blue, one red-- could be the beginning and end points of this line. I am now recalling John Lennon's song, `God,' in which he says, "The dream is over." And I think, what if this is life, a line drawn, in such peculiar ways, as to form phenomena; and the drawer, of course, is Monika. Monika is the drawer of the dream: the dreamweaver. And I'm drawing my reality, too. And it's the drawing, the construction, that determines what and how that reality manifests. And, by the way, when I say all phenomena, I mean ALL, including life and death (for the existentialists in the audience) and, especially, self (for all the Buddhists in the audience). and, what's cool about this encircling line is that it flows as a stream of consciousness from (what appears as) one life to the next (karmically) forming the silliness we call the individual in conventional reality. and we move throughout our respective lives doodling away, as if playing in a bathtub like my son, Teo, and me. He splashes, I splash, he pees, I refuse, and then I pull the plug to let the water out. The dream is over. And I look up at Monika's dream, with her trunk standing right smack in the center with it's red plug, reach up and then outside this little box I'm writing in (you see, I am outside the box :), grab the string attached to that red hole (we're all attached to something!), and pull the plug. The dream is over....
And after I pulled the plug on Monika's drawing, i thought again of my son, Teo, whose little plug of a life is so delicate. Life is so delicate. One big delicate encircling illusory line.
Being a parent is scary; but, being real is scarier.
Interestingly, what draws me to this particular drawing is the outline, which is a literal line forming itself in such a way as to circumscribe the reality contained within the (en)circle(ment). The two holes in the tree trunk-- one blue, one red-- could be the beginning and end points of this line. I am now recalling John Lennon's song, `God,' in which he says, "The dream is over." And I think, what if this is life, a line drawn, in such peculiar ways, as to form phenomena; and the drawer, of course, is Monika. Monika is the drawer of the dream: the dreamweaver. And I'm drawing my reality, too. And it's the drawing, the construction, that determines what and how that reality manifests. And, by the way, when I say all phenomena, I mean ALL, including life and death (for the existentialists in the audience) and, especially, self (for all the Buddhists in the audience). and, what's cool about this encircling line is that it flows as a stream of consciousness from (what appears as) one life to the next (karmically) forming the silliness we call the individual in conventional reality. and we move throughout our respective lives doodling away, as if playing in a bathtub like my son, Teo, and me. He splashes, I splash, he pees, I refuse, and then I pull the plug to let the water out. The dream is over. And I look up at Monika's dream, with her trunk standing right smack in the center with it's red plug, reach up and then outside this little box I'm writing in (you see, I am outside the box :), grab the string attached to that red hole (we're all attached to something!), and pull the plug. The dream is over....
ReplyDeleteAnd after I pulled the plug on Monika's drawing, i thought again of my son, Teo, whose little plug of a life is so delicate. Life is so delicate. One big delicate encircling illusory line.
ReplyDeleteBeing a parent is scary; but, being real is scarier.
Only self-existing wakefulness is permanent.
ReplyDeleteand there is no more plug to pull - Amitofu :)
ReplyDelete