not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

being passenger


what it is to put the forehead to the window
and let the world pass by

what it is to be a passenger in this life

and aren't we always passengers?


6 comments:

  1. we all make choices thrusting us to take the unwanted wheel sometimes, the wheel that spins uncontrollably.
    to let the wheel go and not "microscope" the path
    we take, press our face to the glass and feel the world, learn from what we feel.

    ~robert

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  2. this came more from a feeling, robert, of ultimate being. yes, more than microscopic being. ultimately, it feels to me, that inside of these lives we are participant, yes, but like a voyeur to the self, always with the opportunity to watch what passes through our hands (perhaps shaped by will, perhaps not) and learn.

    i'm not sure these words say anything at all to describe what it is that i mean to describe.

    is it not the role of the soul to learn, even if it is without purpose? as such, it feels to me that i am riding in a car, watching. it can feel as though i am absolutely out of control sometimes. and at other times, i feel so comforted by the journey itself.

    xo
    erin

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  3. this is something we all do...us kids

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  4. choosing sometimes to be drivers, sometimes to be passengers...and then again there are those doggone backseat drivers, hehee

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  5. I have often deluded myself into thinking I was the driver, but in truth I am most often, the passenger. I have come to accept this as it seems to be a natural place for a visual artist.
    I have observered the drivers, with their charges, hurl themselves toward their distanations, only to miss the very essence of the trip.

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  6. ollie, may we never grow up:)

    aimee, small choices within this larger framework of life and motion.

    dan! hello, hi, and yes! even when i'm driving there is always someone in front of me.

    xo
    erin

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"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))