As the leaves change and winter crisps the air, Libra season came to a blazing close and winter seems to be setting swiftly into the bones. Where vata crackles meet kapha snuggles. it’s all perfect in the grand scheme of the balanced time from the eagle’s eye.
When the leaves were yet green upon the trees, I walked upon a path along the canal each day, where I am now harvesting rich-in-red rose hips post first frost. Each day, walking on the beauty way, I found myself in daily wonderment and awe of the fact that the leaves will soon change. Each day I wondered what color each tree would bestow upon its leaves. Red, yellow, orange, sprinkles of green? The only way to know is to walk the same path as the season blows in and the embers of colour begin to glow their hymns. Near in the blink of an eye, the colours were filling the space between me and the sky and I desired so badly to drink them… and then I would laugh at the thought and ponder how I could make some sort of potion or product out of that.
Yet, then again, the wind has begun to blow, snow kisses the ground, and the trees change once again. They begin to become barren and discover space for hibernation until the juices flow again and the leaves come on hot and the blossoms begin to pop and here we are again, again, again in the fascination of it all like it never began and it never stopped.
Energy is neither created nor destroyed, then perhaps time is neither gained nor lost.
It is simply a matter of how uttlerly present one is for each and every moment. This is what creates a creator in the stakes of haters and how adversity somehow births suddenly a new earth, you see? The anticipation of the change + curiosity; a coping mechanism of many artists. A sure way to breathe. A clear path to what could be considered something of the nature of free.
To remain in curiosity and anticipation for change is a beautiful thing in the balancing act of a world that is always upon wax or within wane. A philosophy that many speak to, though also many remain slave to in ways of expression that results in anxiety and paranoia. Yet, as oversimplified as it sounds, all one must do is find space like the trees and breathe into the stillness and shake like the leaves. Somatic integration. Yes please! The answers emerge and what’s truthfully important steadily procures. There are fine lines to every which way and every side. Though, to remain in wonderment, eyes open can cure the blind, because it’s beyond what is seen, but what is felt in between. It is less of the doing and more of the becoming. It is every single moment sipped and sopping with tender attention. It is loving.
This is what makes up my imagery. This is the crux of the beginning. This is what I’ve been up to in the past several months. Turning the ship in the ocean currents and clearing my goggles of the dust. This is the sacred desire, the yearning that points me towards the making of the way that I am living. It was always intrinsic to be in the moment of life, though somehow life stated the mis-allowance and preached hustle and gathered bustles like they were made of gold plated things. Praised the hustle as if you couldn’t collect enough rings. Well, no more, good lord to purchasing time at the hustle store. Drop the swords and give me a hug. Let’s meet in the middle and cure this confusion, let’s release this dusty old bug. This planet is too abundant to perish in the fires of redundancy. What we crave… if I could speak for all.. yee, what I desire is transparency.
So before each session, I breathe life into the translations. I ask for all to come through who are clear and in the sheer alignment of curious fascination. So, as the changes occur and the letters are written word by word. We come together to co-create in these moments ever fleeting and ever weeping and ever beaming in the blissful balance of the oceanic rhythms of time worth keeping.
Aloha, I am Jayde, your esoteric poet photographer and all I can do best is to be me! ;)