Nobody's creekbed

songs, prayers, poetry, stories, art, photographs, moving pictures, fondnesses, tall-tales and meditations

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The Anterior Insula and Hwy W

Saturday, October 13, 2012

7th Anniversary of Justin Stone's Creekbed

Scene from the 7th Anniversary Celebration for Justin Stone's Creekbed

We do not know how we do it. Or why. Not exactly. It has never been about a straight line, or even a square corner. These are rounded things, arcs, leaps, emergent patterns. Verbiage painted on the nonverbal. Paintings, songs. Songfinding. That is all. As you can see in these photographs, a very interesting crowd came out for the 7th Anniversary Celebration for Justin Stone's Creekbed. I do not know where we were. I do not know when. I was delighted with the turnout. I saw pretty much every old friend and pretty much every other creature that has ever lived in these many universes. I tried to say hi to each of you individually, but it was a strange night. If I did not get a chance to tell you then, let me do so now: Thank you. This is all you. Every one of you. I am grateful these countless knowing eyes and fearless hopes. The ceaseless continuing. The prayers. The delight. The fresh peals of laughter always, shifting us improbably always. The openness and reserve. The strength. The resolve. Sturdy hearts. Somebody saying something. Somebody else saying something else. Smiles shared. Eyes waggled. An embrace. Sharing. The darndest things, the wind. Energy inborn. Bless you that soft spot in your heart. Falling asleep. Being born again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again.

Gentle explorers of the mind and universes, you left some things behind. I picked some of these up. I knew them. And I know you did the same for me.

I will be honest: my heart and mind yet race, but there is inside, every new moment, a little more space.

See: none of it meant anything.

It is weird. And it is perfect. Nature.

A game of catch in the sunlight. And in the night. A love being made.

A new idea is always had. Realizing itself.

Squishy. Delishy. Wishy.

Tom Waits said that there is too much of everything today. Of course he did not really mean anything when he said that. He smiled. Then he disappeared. So here is to gratitude. Here is to quiet. Here is to the innumerable seeds in each of you and every other thing.

Roll your eyes. It is good for you.