THE MEDIUM

me....but remember that sometimes I'm tuned to the music of the spheres and sometimes I'm tuned to my own bullshit.....The Lady or the Tiger! One always speaks the truth, the other tries to escape its prison. The old folk legend of the Angel and Lucifer is part of our collective memory and Humanity's propensity for this dualism, which may have originated before pre-frontal cortex, entrenched deep within the genetic coils of the medulla or even the brain-stem, beneath, commanding the frontal lobes to "Obey". The disintegration of this largely unconscious linkage leads to Art or Madness......perhaps.....even to Wisdom or Folly.

\\ The work of Werner Durand and his collaborations with Dhrupad singer, Amelia Cuni continually intrigue me. Durand has performed works based on the sounds of buzzing bees and has a large repertoire of South Pacific, African and Indonesian-inspired music, performed on instruments of his own imagination.......reminding me of the work of the Master, Harry Parch. Atlanta's Klimchak is another of my favorite music artists. Imagination, Concept, Expression....... Great music that resonates against the membrane between mystery and madness. Remnants From Paradise by Werner Durand

Self-cultivation, with due regard to others, is the sole and sufficient object of human life; however, this can only take place in the light of wisdom......otherwise, blind ambitions attempt to fill the void, predicated by the urgency to expand, contracted with lack of sentiment and contrite with self-importance. CD2-JS Bach-Six Sonatas for Violin and Harpsichord by Ingrid Matthews and Byron Schenkman

leaping from the vessel, swimming the shallow depth, forever, circling and returning, and not for a second, the same sameness; or diving straight for the center, stopped by impossibilities, crushing pressure and endless darkness...... dreaming of the seeming safety of the vessel, left..... the spirit leaves; both are the same, mementos of forgotten cycles of confusion.. dangling, tinkling memories....... Healing Sounds of Tibet by Satori

Svanevit by Svanevit after an endless night of sleepless darkness, the winter sun rose, late from the valley beyond, and, through the mists, the warm fire turned the indigo velvet to diffuse grey, the still black silhouettes, indistinguishable, like the nebulous, troubled dreams that will not relinquish their truest meaning...... then, the bark, then birds awakening...... dawn, the harbinger of hopes and wishful expectation, smiles across the bleak formlessness. another day begins.....

a heart's clear blood leaves through the eyes; yet dreams of childhood mount the knolls of imaginings... waves to the next days' futures and hopes.... Now I am wide-awake and everything seems changed. I watch outside, but there is nothing absolute.

under the colored lights through prisms, conceived while flutes and horns call down the canyon, the cells divide. while father stacked mythic thought totems, and mother ate her curds and whey, the birds and bugs called for a forest prince, or princess or a what, as incense coiled into the fragrant air, from roots immolated in fire. leaves make teas and balms; and thus the day is readied. all are there to see the birth from darkness, of man from earth and minds... the stars' prediction in our dream, this photon of a beam....... the old King, in an instant, dies; light abandoned before the lens... then, there, the world is changed forever, for the moment, in an instant..... or so it seems.....in the minute after... EPIC by Kenji Williams