No.31
"noise the brush makes" by George (8/16/2007)
Dear Rin,
Your most recent response has a very strong attraction for me and I cannot get
enough of looking at it. I can feel what it means but words will never do to describe it.
My current state of homelessness has made me very thirsty. I cannot drink enough of
the waters of life and the quest for meaning in life is one with it. There are two worlds
which nevertheless are one; the visible and the invisible. One person sees a bowl
and sees merely a utilitarian object. Another person sees the same bowl and sees
the dynamic world in it. Two people can use the same words but they are speaking a
different language. That is why there is so much potential for confusion, and the more
one seeks meaning the more one meets with mystery. We want to know who those
invisible beings are?
On the telephone here it tells who the caller is but some say “unknown caller”. That is
how it is.
There are whisperings that guide us but we cannot explain because we do not have
the language. We point something out of this mystery and all we can say is:
“It is just so”.
“It is just so.” There are not words that are meant to convince anyone. They are not
an argument---merely a statement. I remember one time I sat on a great boulder. I
sat for hours and hours there on this granite stone. How would I explain why so long
apparently doing absolutely nothing? And if I said, “It was because we were friends,
the stone and I, and I knew that I would not be back his way and wanted to have a
long visit before I go”. What kind of looks would I receive by such a statement?
When I look at your image and read your letter it is “just so”.
I feel I have a friend somewhere in this world who is as “lost and found” as I am and
that is a great comfort to me. It brings me peace.
It is true that I am seeking peace. I am a wilderness and seek peace within it. I know
that I will never find it if not within and that it is the quest of everyday. Where-ever I
go, that is where I am. I find myself there. Am I seeking to escape myself?
Impossible. There are other people, other places, thank God for that.
How impossible to be only oneself.
Gratefully we are not alone.
I also read your letter over and over. The words are like buckets and they are filled
with some liquid I am thirsty for.
I am afraid that I may convey an impatience sometimes to hear from you. But I do not
wish this. I do not wish to hurry you. I like it that you take your time and think things
over and allow questions to evolve to maturity. There is so much in this world which
demands our quickness. I am not against this but it ought to be counter balanced by
a deep reservoir of thoughtful contemplation. Feelings for things which are not merely
things.
What you say “art is like noise” captured my imagination. Here is my response.
“Noise the Brush Makes”
Ring of a bell Waves over sand
Rustle of parcels
Hand touching hand
Peace of understanding
Love of all worlds,
George
Your most recent response has a very strong attraction for me and I cannot get
enough of looking at it. I can feel what it means but words will never do to describe it.
My current state of homelessness has made me very thirsty. I cannot drink enough of
the waters of life and the quest for meaning in life is one with it. There are two worlds
which nevertheless are one; the visible and the invisible. One person sees a bowl
and sees merely a utilitarian object. Another person sees the same bowl and sees
the dynamic world in it. Two people can use the same words but they are speaking a
different language. That is why there is so much potential for confusion, and the more
one seeks meaning the more one meets with mystery. We want to know who those
invisible beings are?
On the telephone here it tells who the caller is but some say “unknown caller”. That is
how it is.
There are whisperings that guide us but we cannot explain because we do not have
the language. We point something out of this mystery and all we can say is:
“It is just so”.
“It is just so.” There are not words that are meant to convince anyone. They are not
an argument---merely a statement. I remember one time I sat on a great boulder. I
sat for hours and hours there on this granite stone. How would I explain why so long
apparently doing absolutely nothing? And if I said, “It was because we were friends,
the stone and I, and I knew that I would not be back his way and wanted to have a
long visit before I go”. What kind of looks would I receive by such a statement?
When I look at your image and read your letter it is “just so”.
I feel I have a friend somewhere in this world who is as “lost and found” as I am and
that is a great comfort to me. It brings me peace.
It is true that I am seeking peace. I am a wilderness and seek peace within it. I know
that I will never find it if not within and that it is the quest of everyday. Where-ever I
go, that is where I am. I find myself there. Am I seeking to escape myself?
Impossible. There are other people, other places, thank God for that.
How impossible to be only oneself.
Gratefully we are not alone.
I also read your letter over and over. The words are like buckets and they are filled
with some liquid I am thirsty for.
I am afraid that I may convey an impatience sometimes to hear from you. But I do not
wish this. I do not wish to hurry you. I like it that you take your time and think things
over and allow questions to evolve to maturity. There is so much in this world which
demands our quickness. I am not against this but it ought to be counter balanced by
a deep reservoir of thoughtful contemplation. Feelings for things which are not merely
things.
What you say “art is like noise” captured my imagination. Here is my response.
“Noise the Brush Makes”
Ring of a bell Waves over sand
Rustle of parcels
Hand touching hand
Peace of understanding
Love of all worlds,
George