The Dance






Learning new image languages
Is the same as inventing new words.
How do we know their derivations?
We view them in the context of history.
Does the history matter?
When the ‘present time’ is so trendy?
History looms large in consciousness.
Yet what happens right in front of our eyes
Can be held in disbelief and ignored
Or understood through study.
To study can be instinctual.
Rather than built into the rapidity of button pushing.
The digital age has always existed.
Instruments implementing the parts are different yet correlated.
So why can’t we study and understand?
As opposed to scan, send and share?

We can tap the larger, denser, more information picture.
We can learn about derivations and history.
The potential of discovery underneath the keyboard is vast.
To take advantage of it is even admirable.

Sometimes taking things apart and putting them back together in unpredictable ways
Allows for unexpected perceptions and learning.
How could we forget?
What did we learn in school?
Did we pay attention?
Did we take hold of the process of the discipline of learning?
Or did we just memorize to pass?




In Time:
The derivations are built in.
The present tense is built in.
The understanding is built in.

The kind of truth that we want to know
Is ready to be revealed.
Waiting and wondering when it will be apparent
Are wasteful.

Truth surprises us.
It is real.
It is without question.
It surrounds us.
It guarantees our safety within ourselves.




Truth is the nirvana state.
It either is or it isn’t.
It does not exist.
It happens.

Who we are becomes a stack of truths.
No one can tear the stack apart.
We breathe, we walk, we see, we feel.
We do all that.
Each aspect of being alive supplies a torrent of information that integrates itself into our being.
Being aware of that integration is a gift to ourselves.
A means of taking steps outside of a comfort zone, outside of a norm, a habit, a routine.

Later on, we do no walking, breathing, seeing, feeling.
The information input dies.
The relics proving our lives happened remain.
In a box, on a computer, in the dump.
Somewhere on earth.





Copyright 2018 Lyn Horton

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