Ephemera

Sometimes it is damn near impossible to tell whether one is inside the beehive, or on the outside looking in. Entering into a world that flies very quickly from connections in time that span seventy years in the turn of a word, then back to the near past, briefly checking in with the present, then off again to a distant realm. Listening intently, you can just barely conceive or understand the overall magnitude of a life lived.

 

The challenge is to sit very still, showing attention and reaction, but beyond that, to follow each thread to wherever it may go. Walking down dark corridors with minimal light there are many things that are seen, whether it be paintings hanging on the walls, or old family photographs that document a time that is difficult to recognize. As the person speaking changes pace you find yourself in the back seat of a car racing through the streets on a warm summer morning, uncertain as to where you may be, or aware of the terrain you are passing through. Then everything comes to a stop, another person enters with their own burst of words that creates a very different set of imagery, a tangential thread that leads one to the aft of a small skiff skittering through rough coastal surf.

 

And so it goes, following the intersecting threads of thought that tie then unravel in a series of tensions, leading to places that are known but changed. In living a truly conscious and awake life, there is no respite nor quiet within interactions with those that we love and adore. The quick sands of the past are to be avoided at all cost, the thread of the present to be used to pull oneself out in cases where you feel yourself slowly being drawn downward. The immediacy of the ever happening ‘Now!’ demands the full attention of all senses, producing playfulness and delight as side effects in delicious morsels that are tangible and real for the mind.

 

A meal without eating, is the outcome. Tastier than anything that could be produced in any kitchen or pantry the world over. Leaving a residue that follows one into dreams, into the silent moments in the middle of night, while all the hemisphere sleeps, the busy hum of the hive, ones mind, recounts the catacombs of threads that tie from the past to the present, onward into our future.

 

wbh

 

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About Sarah Seager

I am an artist that works and lives in the wilds of Los Angeles.
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