Complexity

Sarah Seager, Napa valley, California, January, 2011

The rain is falling steadily tonight, coating the dry ground, soaking deep within the roots of the plants that line the outer perimeter of the yard.  The lawn floods into pools, then resides as the water is quickly absorbed below.  Within caverns of worms, air is choked away, forcing a sudden exit topside to air and cool temperatures.   There is warmth below ground, a consistent ambiance to be enjoyed, to be relished within.  Topside on the other hand is filled with combat, the meeting place between atmospheres.

In this space, where air meets land, two divergent forms interact, collect, and exchange vows to one another.  Deep within each the other cannot exist, except as mist, spreading out, to only recollect again within their own form.  The sea understands this relationship, laughing and gnashing itself against both forces,  spreading out in its offense, devouring earth, yet misting upward into clouds.  Tumbling forward, pulling back, then charging once again outward urged by the air, it relentlessly fights a battle that is both its own and another.

And all sleep, gentle within dreams, having fought hard throughout the daylight.  There, up there, yes, pointed finger, fin, hoof, or beak, one can acknowledge the cause of all of this.   The tempest that rains not drops of water, but interchangeable stuff (particle or wave, or wave or particle….) that swirls the airs, excites the seas,  and parches the earth.  The same cause of disturbance, is the only cause for existence.

And the drops have become less frequent, lazily falling from condensed points of leaves to the roof below.   Thousands of meters above the air is becoming parched of the sea, the earth devouring all that it can consume.  In between we sit, lay, walk, or move, trapped within the conflict, the conversations of the elements.  We acknowledge them, soak them in, bath within them, and float within each moment, passing through their timeless pursuit in that of our own.  As they dream we do, easing into a sullen state that is composed of memories that speak to them.  In these dreams we fight again, the conflicts that have long existed, far beyond our births, our deaths, our gasps of light in winter skies.

wbh

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About Sarah Seager

I am an artist that works and lives in the wilds of Los Angeles.
This entry was posted in Events, Random, Sighs, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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