Reverberations

Rembrandt exhibit

Trying to tell a real Rembrandt from a fake

when everything is dark and the figures stare hauntingly

from their 17th century lives

when clothes were heavier

and women fell between the cracks of history

it makes you wonder how to know Rembrandt as a whole--

so irresistibly imitable, sought after for 3 decades,

then falling out of style when a brighter pallet was preferred.

So many of his loved ones died,

and he himself buried in a rented grave.

Swimming in the dark sea of paintings,

it's easy to claim your own version of Rembrandt--

to decide which paintings speak the most and seem most "real".

but it begs the question--with such a legacy

are the workshop imitations not just part

of a continuing Rembrandt conversation--

and what is our own part in this, 400 years later

standing in jeans and headphones,

gazing into those bottomless eyes?

Flotsam

The Jade

New Years Resolution

What happens during meditation

Sometimes in meditation I am trying to keep my eyes closed and think peaceful thoughts.

But during this I can feel my hands on my knees--they are growing warm, for some reason. I can feel each finger pulsing with its own blood.

And as I sit there it seems my hands start to grow, increasing in weight and breadth.



They grow and grow as I breathe, feeling heavier on my knees each second. They feel muscular, blunt-fingered, incredibly strong. They get bigger and bigger, radiating heat and capability.

By the time they are winding up the meditation I am sitting there with these gigantic, fantastic puppet-hands on my knees and I don't want to open my eyes.

I know they really are this big, as big as one of the chairs in the room, these warm, friendly paw-like hands.



But when I open my eyes they will just look small again, small and hot and passive in my lap, just regular meditation hands after all.

Things That Are Hard To Find