Maybe a Time Traveler
A text message sounded and diverted my attention from what I was doing at the time, but time is signing the thing I was doing was transitory, and the text message with picture was as permanent as my soul. I looked at the message squinting as if I was seeing through a veil. It took some refocused effort to read the message from a lifelong friend and see the drawing he did of me. The drawing was inspired by a photo another friend took of me one evening as several old school mates gathered around a table in a pizza palace. The photo had a Rembrant-esque look and was much like a tonal and limited color canvas by the Dutch Master. I thought as I studied the texted drawing, that art is a metaphor and can stir our imagination if we allow creative thought to flow from the artful stimulus. Again the thought of the material world as temporal and the spiritual world as everlasting came to me as I looked at “Terry Martin, Time Traveler”, by Clarke Harvey. And another lifelong friend Bill McWhorter had called to share enlightenment and express amazement for a recent experience on the river with me. He had witnessed our rescue by a friend, who got a feeling we needed help. How are these things possible he asked?
We get some feelings about friends and art we cannot explain. I share a bond with some friends and we feel things I cannot describe, but my sense is of being born, in a time, passing through with a real home somewhere else. I have recycled the DNA of Hunter / Gatherer Ancestors, all is not forgotten it is still felt. I know them they are my kin; we are not comforted all the time by the warmth and amenities of our new technology. They may earn a living by technology, but they still live by interacting with the Spirit of Nature. Perhaps they do not even fish to be happy but are happy because this Spirit fishes with them. I return to Nature in all seasons and in all kinds of weather. Without this special stimulus I would not easily paint, tell stories or share meals of fish with loved ones.
Out in nature it is not always so sublime, so peaceful, I see things born and I see things die. If I kill I eat that which I consume, and I know that the wild thing I ate is part of me, and in a spiritual way, it is with me for all time.
This life like a misty vapor that burns off the river by mid-day, will also evaporate. But, with the Creator I know, there is no death, only continual creation. My time like the fish is brief, may I be one with the things that swim and may I see their world without air tanks and breathing tubes one day. In time the circle will come full cycle and I will be a part of the Great Spirit. Thank you for every day I have seen the sun rise and set, thank you for the blessings I have known.
Give me opportunities to pay tribute to you; whether in art or storytelling, I want to keep the tradition of my ancient ancestors alive with a human touch. Thank you for technology too so that I can touch others and communicate the things I feel about you.
A text message sounded and diverted my attention from what I was doing at the time, but time is signing the thing I was doing was transitory, and the text message with picture was as permanent as my soul. I looked at the message squinting as if I was seeing through a veil. It took some refocused effort to read the message from a lifelong friend and see the drawing he did of me. The drawing was inspired by a photo another friend took of me one evening as several old school mates gathered around a table in a pizza palace. The photo had a Rembrant-esque look and was much like a tonal and limited color canvas by the Dutch Master. I thought as I studied the texted drawing, that art is a metaphor and can stir our imagination if we allow creative thought to flow from the artful stimulus. Again the thought of the material world as temporal and the spiritual world as everlasting came to me as I looked at “Terry Martin, Time Traveler”, by Clarke Harvey. And another lifelong friend Bill McWhorter had called to share enlightenment and express amazement for a recent experience on the river with me. He had witnessed our rescue by a friend, who got a feeling we needed help. How are these things possible he asked?
We get some feelings about friends and art we cannot explain. I share a bond with some friends and we feel things I cannot describe, but my sense is of being born, in a time, passing through with a real home somewhere else. I have recycled the DNA of Hunter / Gatherer Ancestors, all is not forgotten it is still felt. I know them they are my kin; we are not comforted all the time by the warmth and amenities of our new technology. They may earn a living by technology, but they still live by interacting with the Spirit of Nature. Perhaps they do not even fish to be happy but are happy because this Spirit fishes with them. I return to Nature in all seasons and in all kinds of weather. Without this special stimulus I would not easily paint, tell stories or share meals of fish with loved ones.
Out in nature it is not always so sublime, so peaceful, I see things born and I see things die. If I kill I eat that which I consume, and I know that the wild thing I ate is part of me, and in a spiritual way, it is with me for all time.
This life like a misty vapor that burns off the river by mid-day, will also evaporate. But, with the Creator I know, there is no death, only continual creation. My time like the fish is brief, may I be one with the things that swim and may I see their world without air tanks and breathing tubes one day. In time the circle will come full cycle and I will be a part of the Great Spirit. Thank you for every day I have seen the sun rise and set, thank you for the blessings I have known.
Give me opportunities to pay tribute to you; whether in art or storytelling, I want to keep the tradition of my ancient ancestors alive with a human touch. Thank you for technology too so that I can touch others and communicate the things I feel about you.