Category Archives: become
But, we each have a responsibility to pick our ship and to sail forth on the winds of our fears, our uncertainties and our joys.
As Tomas Tranströmer beautifully expresses, there is always another way but we can’t know them all and so we must choose to love the ship we are on. The one we choose while sailing past whatever else might have been.
The Blue House:
It is night with glaring sunshine. I stand in the woods and look towards my house with its misty blue walls. As though I were recently dead and saw the house from a new angle.
It has stood for more than eighty summers. Its timber has been impregnated, four times with joy and three times with sorrow. When someone who has lived in the house dies it is repainted. The dead person paints it himself, without a brush, from the inside.
On the other side is open terrain. Formerly a garden, now wilderness. A still surf of weed, pagodas of weed, an unfurling body of text, Upanishades of weed, a Viking fleet of weed, dragon heads, lances, an empire of weed.
Above the overgrown garden flutters the shadow of a boomerang, thrown again and again. It is related to someone who lived in the house long before my time. Almost a child. An impulse issues from him, a thought, a thought of will: “create. . .draw. ..” In order to escape his destiny in time.
The house resembles a child’s drawing. A deputizing childishness which grew forth because someone prematurely renounced the charge of being a child. Open the doors, enter! Inside unrest dwells in the ceiling and peace in the walls. Above the bed there hangs an amateur painting representing a ship with seventeen sails, rough sea and a wind which the gilded frame cannot subdue.
It is always so early in here, it is before the crossroads, before the irrevocable choices. I am grateful for this life! And yet I miss the alternatives. All sketches wish to be real.
A motor far out on the water extends the horizon of the summer night. Both joy and sorrow swell in the magnifying glass of the dew. We do not actually know it, but we sense it: our life has a sister vessel which plies an entirely different route. While the sun burns behind the islands.
Shine on and blaze across galaxies Donovan Livingston. Blaze on.
The past few months the world has lost some greats: David Bowie, Glenn Frey, Merle Haggard and, most recently, Prince. While deference is given to all of these giants, the ones that seem to have struck the cultural nerve most profoundly are David Bowie and, here at bringforth, Prince. Having come of age with “Purple Rain”, “Kiss”, “Little Red Corvette” and so many others, his passing seems unbearably sad.
It is a weird thing to have, in many ways, grown up with someone, had them provide the background vocals to your Life and then suddenly they are just gone, back into the ether. In thinking about this sadness that will not shake, it strikes one how powerful music is; the way it unites, transforms and shapes people and the world as a whole. But, it is not just about the music and the art, no, what it is about most profoundly is the artist. These men and women who never quite seemed to be of this world but, rather, that other world. A world that encompasses everything and everyone and transcends time and space and elevates beauty and Truth to their highest points and, kindly, bring us along for the ride.
A while back we wrote about how much pleasure can be found in the contrary and artists like Prince embody the contrary. They belong not to a gender, to a culture, to a time or to a place. No, they belong to everyone and no one but themselves all at the same time. It is strange, contradictory and magic. So, as sad as this all is, all we can do is thank the Starman and the Purple One and all of the others who see Life as it really is, turn it into something beautiful and let us all share in the magic and the mystery. Thank you to all of the greats, who always bringforth, ever so beautifully.