Dedicated to an unnamed black lady in RSA returning home to her carboard
shack each day , picking flowers from the gutters on her way home.
Dear Learners,
I have just read the latest posts to the digest, and I imagined a 'what
if'.
Sometimes I imagine dear At de Lange splaying away his fractal mindscaping
capacity, weaving hither and ... his WIM to the WOM and then looping the
so invested WOM to WIM. One thing I know from experiences of painting,
that working at such ablating rates of production in both its extensivity
and intensivity often as not brings to the surface or interface of WIM and
WOM a kind of ordinate dia*******logic capacity for the meeting of
intuitions and it's opposite, the leaps and the steps, such inner working
conditions when created 'self' seem to bring forward a third quantum of
expressive capacity..as if the text took on a new life of it's own...the
text or images may take on a life of their own. This might seem an
illusion, a delusion, and optical trick. But although a rare opportunity,
if you ever get a chance to see the film of Picasso painting into;-) glass
and you just peer into those dark stormed eyes and get the measure of
their focus and then you try to decide if they focus on the surface, above
or beyond it or all three neartogether at the speed of light.
And just such I plucked yeterday from the consilience I sometimes find
behind the glasses of both a chance and a choice.
Person 1.
You are an acknowledged writer in your own country and all around the
world, your work is castigated and celebrated, was and remains allowed and
disallowed at turns according to the regime under which it lives. For now
the sun shines upon you and your work...can you tell us what is happening
in your country now that is, good, lovely, and true?
Person 2.
Yes. I am involved in the development of reading and writing among the
peoples of RSA where the traditions are mainly oral for the blacks ...we
started writing classes, creative writing classes..poetry classes for
these people who lived through it all...like the black woman who lives in
a cardboard and wood shack near an open gutter sewer. She came to our
public class meeting for the first time recently with a thin scrap of
paper, in fact it was so thin you could see her hand shining through it as
she held it up to read her poem to us with the light behind her;-). She
had never written or read publicly before, and she'd only just started to
write creatively...she was so frightened that her hands were trembling,
you could see the paper and hear it rattling with her fear. When she read
she read just the few lines of prose that comprised her poetic
contribution...she describes in a few lines how she had often walked home
from the factory in the evening and picked tiny and invisibly so to most,
wild flowers that had sprung up in the gutters, these she took home and
put in a tiny glass bowl to shine into the darkness of her cold night.
That was her poem, that simple recollection. (Arts Programme Radio 4)
Oh yes, I forgot...my What if?
What if we all and each went out today and searched for that woman as WIM
and WOM...what might happen then...what kind of a congregation?
When I was a boy at school I was often called 'pinhead' (brainless). Years
later I learned of the old philosophic question..How many angels can dance
on the head of a pin? Then even later, through the German mystic Jacob
Bohemm I learned to look to the 'edge' to see the fractal cascades of
angels in swirling flight, and only recently did I shift the rim of my
darkness to discover the source of all these uncountable angels and their
this playing in uncountable millions as thoughts emerging inside this, my
'pinhead'.
That 'wall', that 'dream', this electrical storm, that Michael
Farraday...turning, turning and turning again ...
What will we sew together with this my (our) pinhead and learning, through
the endless becomings of elevating simple things;-)
Love,
Andrew
--Learning-org -- Hosted by Rick Karash <Richard@Karash.com> Public Dialog on Learning Organizations -- <http://www.learning-org.com>
"Learning-org" and the format of our message identifiers (LO1234, etc.) are trademarks of Richard Karash.