Reflections on gifts and identity
Yesterday, I resisted a strong, predawn, kneejerk reaction nudging me to respond to your piece. Frankly, I wasn’t sure what to say and had something else to read before the distractions of a waking neighborhood broke the peaceful silence. So, I decided instead to sit on it until the spirit moved me, which is now. Buoyed by a morning reading of The Extraordinary Disorder of Obsidian, an Orion Magazine excerpt from Richard J. Nevle’s upcoming book The Paradise Notebooks, I had something that could be effortlessly tethered to your piece about Champlain linestones. Both about native stones and much, much more, Nevle closes his essay with a question I myself often ponder related to the natural world and spirituality. That is, what ancient stories were told over campfires about this important, beautiful, black West Coast stone from which tools and weapons were and still are crafted? More important yet, what is remembered? I’m sure, Jonathan, that you too entertain such questions, fully aware that the ancients in many esoteric ways knew more about their planet than modern industrial man. We have much to learn, for sure.
I really appreciate the reflections as I didn't realize when you put the paint across the screen that it was inviting the spirit of the viewer (me!) in. Really lovely. I do want to believe the seeds will sprout with the extraordinary piece you've created (healing intergenerational trauma!) and shared. It's really something.
Wonderful thoughts about gifts
I like these internal discussions that you share. Essentially, isn't that what a ritual is? An internal discussion made concrete? Words magnified by objects? Thoughts magnified by objects? Lately I have been talking with the moon on my evening walks. Is that not making my thoughts concrete to another entity--realizing them? I appreciate your work for the very fact that it is not instant and it is not about capitalism. A means to an end. It's about discussing ideas. I have been craving an avenue to share my own writing, thoughts on the world. Your take on doing so is intriguing. I always want my stuff on hard copy, though. I want it to be an actual record in time as opposed to digital time. Call me a photojournalist trained on film. Shrug. I like a concrete ritual.