Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

shot of the area around Masada, Dead Sea desert. taken june 20
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Mysteries of Sand


climbing to the top of a gravel black dune
sand turns to rock
snails turn to shells
mysteries of centuries
footsteps turn to questions
DNA turns to intricasies

observation leads to wonder
all that brought me to all this
that unexplained chorus line of ancestry
now a million element mix
me in the middle
claiming the name
holding the power
bearing children
honouring my presence

all this from all that
i eat windy dust
under relentless skies
watermelon slices of years
sweet, wet, fresh
turn to fossilized history
carved, laden with irony

patagonic meseta
turquoise bay
sea speaking

turquoise thoughts
lush, languid, infectious
how far must we go?

deserts speak
volumes illusion
what's out there
beyond mirage?

why is the desert so spiritual
does it mirror basic reality
and nurture renewal

the sights are so familiar... our own vistas do have some vegetation, not unlike the leaves in the photo. it reminds me of our own salt cedars that grow along the banks of the muddy Rio Grande.

i presume the photo was taken late morning - mid day..?

What did you hear?
Do the sands whisper
Of phylogeny
And entropy's nemesis
A mystery of unfolding
Enfolding, twisted helices




Of encapsulated phylogenies
of fossilized dreams

no need to go anywhere
(but massive suicide
national honour,
or sad tourism is always an option)
History & a place under the sun
weird...

photo taken around midday (a little after).
the bus was a shaking and a rocking and it's a miracle the photo isn't more blurred.

not a suicide shot, arcadia, just topography in the zone. recording the dry, the heat, the colours of dry.

straight up leads to roundabout down
hoping for a glimpse of the sea
pass the water
no need to pass water

stop the bus
I am getting off.
Here

I did not realize you were on a bus
I feel like a bozo on the buss sometimes
It is so sweet to stop the bus sometimes
and just listen ot It.
That eternal feeling of at oneness with creation


listening to the desert
Still here
but for a moment
I was there too.
Canyon Lands of Utah

Masada's always fall
or so it seems to me
but life goes on

Happy motoring

playing in
impossible land
among thistles
drenched by heat
and rubble of awe
we listen to stories

our nostalgia: a human

but earth
does not ask
for anyone

and yet
we will learn
the speech of this place
and to ask our questions
and to give birth
to ourselves
over and over
again

we will learn to read
the words written in the sand
raked and murmured along
by our bedouin knees

and to hear the silence
that follows the words
of ourselves

but not even the desert
can cure us of our name
or teach us a word
that does not count
as a stone in the wall

not even the desert
can release us
of our unexplained
foreign future

The desert makes no promises
yet i hear the wisdom in the sand
precious water oozes from a poisonous leaf
beware, be prepared, larger life than mine surveys the scene

Larger than windmills
My fear of a life larger than mine.


"Forewarned, forearmed; to be prepared is half the victory"

'Don Quixote