This action might not be possible to undo. Are you sure you want to continue?
continuing the word mosaic series by Mary Ann Schaefer © 2009
Creation Notes: My friend and I had made a date to go out in the world and look for inspiration. This assignment was both easy and hard! After spending several hours viewing the Continental Divide (such an obvious place to look for inspiration!), we were heading home with some sense of disappointment. And then we spontaneously decided to stop at a cemetery. We both understood this more unexpected moment as the inspiration offering for that day. After sitting with the many culturally-prescribed implications associated with death, I found myself looking for alternate entry points into the subject as a way of reaching for other meanings. The pieces in this mosaic are part of that conjuring intention.
Pl aying Dead – A Meditation
Fall where you are. Crumple into an awkward position. Stay still, so very, very still. Close your eyes or stare unblinking at nothing far away. Hold your breath indefinitely, disallowing your chest to swell and empty. Pretend unawares to prods or shaking, deaf to weeping or appeals or damnation. Wait and keep waiting like a vigil as the wind washes over you, the rain and snow, the sun casting shadows that shift and stretch darkly into silence. Remember nothing. Bury yourself inside.
Doing so could save your life.
Briefly, I was here where you are now between earth and sky inhabiting a universe, a forest, flesh. The story about who I was and what happened, how I ended up here has disappeared but you can imagine. Today of all days, you turned toward and parked, you pushed open the iron gate and crossed into this field purposefully as if the hush were calling you too.
Is it accidental, the seeming semblances attracting notice, the changing light streaming through aperture, focusing in, reflective edges emerging from a dazzle of flecks billowing across the viewfinder like starlings swarming impossibly intelligently in washes of utter grace? I remember now, essence as form, and being survived by you.
Sometimes sleeping contradicts rest, especially when sheets seem to tangle and confine, so wandering out into the night bowl is like releasing consciousness from You don t a butterfly net. You don’’t know what I’’m tallking know what I m ta king about,, do you? You want about do you? You want me to tellll you what this me to te you what this means? Go back to slleep.. means? Go back to s eep Meanwhile elsewhere, the motion-detector lights snap on suddenly, electrifying shadows and flooding recesses, chasing some sizable creature up and over the fence — blink blink, the glaring quiet holds its breath pretending W h at ? to be nothing there. What? You want this to make You want this to make sense? You want to skip sense? You want to skip to the end? Wellll,, forget it.. to the end? We forget it Dreams can often escape unnoticed like homeless souls vacating a cemetery, otherwise the voices might loiter, might arouse afterthoughts so realistic that slipping through skin could induce waking. Go Go ahead,, lleave this behind ahead eave this behind and rest now in peace.. and rest now in peace