Forever

I was young in that place where we are all young, when the world seems larger, the fires seem to warm you better, and the fallen leaves and frozen world of snow just create new landscapes of adventure. I remember perfect, clear ocean water and the smell of salt in the air as spring finally gave way to summer.

And there are other kinds of seasons. There are the seasons of childhood and paper-glue constructions and grade-school innocence. There are the seasons of awkward glances and school dances. There are the seasons of the first warm blush of love, where the world will always be the clearest and the sunlight reveals only new endless moments, which you can time-travel within - because in that season we can all stop time.

There are the seasons of friendship and those of first duty and dedication where there’s less time for memories and where people rely upon us for their living and their life. There are the seasons of loss when we find that it is possible for endings to come abruptly and hit us with the power and weight of the whole world – maybe the universe. There’s the season of beauty, when we discover we can see the world through the eyes of our children, if we’re willing to try. There’s the season of strength and will, when we discover we can, indeed, overcome.

There’s a season for all of it.

Let the slideshow of your life spool through you. See the images of all those yesterdays, once so overwhelming – now so light and delicate, like pale tracings on fine tissue. Does any of it have enough texture to wash you back – even for a moment – so you can know, even in the Autumn of your life, what it felt like in that first summer kiss?

How many years – how many seasons before the boatman comes for us all? Or will we warriors be fortunate and be carried aloft by valkaries, flashing silver and gold in their ivory chariots, stiff battle harness, heavy horses clad in polished iron, unearthly breath clouding in the crisp air of our endings?

Give me the tall drinking mug and I will toast heartily your exploits and beauty – I’ll toast your future and exclaim in lofty words, your unending power and eternal, untouchable grace. We will wake the sleeping countryside with the great call of the living and certain immortals.

I know the way to the future. See it – it is just there beyond the next stand of trees, waiting for us, promising a new season and a new beginning. The promise is always new and always seems to shine with its’ own light and soul. Whether we choose to grasp it and breathe into it and make it real and whole – it is all there. See the birds, tilting amongst the heights and haze of our horizon. But are they birds or angels? Do they call for our action, or come for our release?

Compassion and forgiveness are the gifts of angels, should we choose to accept them. In our new seasons we can do that, and open our hearts, feel the smile warm us, and go to our sleep knowing that the day we have just been given has been truly lived as if it were our last.

And if given the chance, we will live it again tomorrow.

We can have forever.

I can See.

When we are young.

The world seems so different.

But the difference is really us.

Remember that.

Forest Child

Wherever we find ourselves, wherever we go, the forest-child lives within. Is it better to aspire, to try to reach what may be always beyond our reach - or is it better to lay down in the quiet places, look up at the night sky and dream?

A net between

I want to chase the wake
and race the cut-water,
slap at the dead lights,
and drink at the scuppers
with the grey-finned children
of the tide.

Do they see the sky above
as I do the ocean?

Mirrors of each other -
reflections of an eternal frontier.

Wind and the iron horse

What is wind, but the rush of a million tiny worlds,
swirling past with a scream?
a rush,
an impossible buffeting insanity of layers.

Lean into the gale. Know what ancient seamen knew.
Guess at the wisdom of starmen.

I am becoming.

What is Heaven?

I know if I wait here long enough, I will learn the unknowable language of the wind, and the hawkes and eagles will show me all the secret places. And the world will breathe again...

The world is more than we know.

Soft grass, beautiful dreams, a welcoming - wouldn't we all live within the clover, if we could?

Always Coming Home

Time is the fabric through which we are twisted, woven and connected. Everything ever to exist is bound by it and freed by it. And though we age, eventually to pass into whatever comes next, we are always coming home.

Beltane's Flower

Remember when earth and rock and sky and heart were the universe? Remember when power was dance and song and gesture and heated embrace in the cold evening mist - on the field - in the firelight? This image was done from a photo of my wife, a Celtic queen herself. It was combined with a robe copied from an unattributed ancient drawing of a Irish woman - and set on the field next to one of the Avebury stones, where I used to spend a lot of my spare time when I lived in Britain.

Footfall - the 911 tribute to the fallen

This painting was done during the week following the 911 attacks. A week ago I took it back out and re-worked the image by laying in every name of everyone lost in those attacks, into the background.

In the foreground, the image of the New York skyline in the months afterward - lit by two pillars of light.

Child of Darkness

Child of Light

We are all made up of two worlds. But it is possible in our weakness, to lose the delicate balance and be devoured. We are light and we are darkness.

Ray Guns and Rising

Here is a piece of art done for a space journal, but the management of the publication thought it might be too racey for the politicians who were on the mailing list. So, we had to go with something else. Too racey? Are we talking about the same politicians?

Anyway, this was modeled by my good friend, Amber. If I've got an alien invasion problem, first thing - I'll grab my .44. Next, I'm calling Amber to take care of it.

Falling

Let the swordstroke be pure. Let the mind be clear. Live within the moment.

Shores of another Sea

What will find us on the shores of another sea?

Emerald Shore

The ocean may be the oldest living organism on Earth. We have only explored a small percentage of it - and we understand even less. Let the sea call you back. Become part of the tide.

Adobe

In the old places, do the ghosts come? Do they dance? In the desert places they can come to you if you let them.

Glory waits

Our ancestors sing in our dreams and in our very blood. We are the warriors of the past, given substance again, to fight the new battles - to live for glory.

All worlds in a touch

When we discover life elsewhere - what will it discover in us? In a single moment and a single touch, regardless of the outcome, lives of humans everywhere will be changed forever.

Tired of dying

How fragile is life? How brief a flash it is from the time we are born to the time we are gone. And if we have all been here before, how many times? For how long have our souls been crashing through history - always being born and always passing on - tired of dying.