Death . . . before LIFE скачать в хорошем качестве

Death . . . before LIFE

I wouldn't wish this on an enemy . . . “this," an untold/pivotal story of my creative journey; admittedly a grain of sand in the universe of life-altering pain experienced more deeply by many other brothers/sisters in their life experience. Approaching 84, an overriding question I'm asked about my life journey is "What happened to the 1966-1969 Ikenga Automobile Project . . . why did it end?” Whilst deep and unfathomably horrifying, an aspect of the Ikenga dream vanished on the Island of Formentera in a betrayal by my beloved that was a catalyst to a loss of memory and identity, a loss of an idea of family, the loss of a son, and an erasure of the ability to function coherently; it was an entry into addressing a lifelong trauma that tested my woundedness shouting for deadly revenge against a beckoning echo of forgiveness. The unknowns encountered under a foreign flag that afternoon, assaulted by people from different countries I had never met -- some were beaded devotees to some distant guru, others were wearing yarmulkes and twirling Payos, and some attired in brilliant tie-dyes that were a signature of their acid-altered universe. My ignorance, walking into her alien community and presuming it to be loving, which in truth became the opposite . . . “Here, try this Windowpane.” How do you recover from a group of people shouting at you to "kill yourself, kill yourself, kill yourself”? Finally, under the acid something breaks, one vanishes in an unyielding scream that is ever-present, and the world is an aberration to be dealt with moment by moment. The deep psychic scars become a lifelong quest for a presumed sanity, well-being, a goal that is impossible to articulate. This is how/why the Ikenga automobile project came to an abrupt end! Following this harrowing experience the blessings came. My first nurturers were Indian musicians who sheltered me for days, a Gurkha Kabbalist preparing for a final life journey to the south seas and, in later years, Rabbi Gelberman, John Heider and others. Life throws stuff at us; our inhumanity towards each other is formidable . . . especially, for me, an ever-present scream akin to a living-death that is a consort of grounding/growth/insightfulness over the past fifty-two years!!!!! I have unfathomable admiration for Dr. Richard Schulman and cranial sacral therapist Cat Taylor for this first intense breakthrough, some years ago, that I'm sharing. These are all steppingstones on a life-long healing, and return to wholeness, journey. *A coincidence or God/Goddess laughing: I was called to write this on Thursday, November 3, sitting under my limited edition artists proof painting #3 titled Way Station Earth at a friends home; I've not seen it for over a decade. Richard passed away the morning of November 4th, and was one of the first to have this edition.