My Jeans Were Clean

I was walking toward my favorite vale.
My jeans were clean.
I spotted a beautiful butterfly on the path.
I stopped and spoke to it at length.
It flew up and landed on my jeans.
I kept speaking to it.
It stayed put.
I started walking slowly.
It settled and opened his wings again and again.
I kept talking to it.
It stayed put.
It seemed to like its position.
I was glad to have the passenger.
And I told it so.
Finally it flew up and flew around me
and then landed on my other leg.
I had kept walking
and I kept talking to it.
It appreciated the conversation.
It spoke back to me.
Not with words of course.
Words are cheap.
I felt claimed by a glorious presence.
I wished it well in all of its endeavors.
It is difficult to express how the small creature had made my day.
I changed from being a simple man,
to the butterfly person.
I’m still grokking that.
It’s a significant change in perspective.
I may never be the same again.
But of course when I got up this morning
I never expected to be the same anyway.
Shall someone who expects consistency and expects sameness from day-to-day from their human consorts expect to ever understand the change that has occurred?
Can I share this with my business associates?
Will my family understand?
Should I attempt consistency with my former consciousness?

Everything I encounter changes me, even dirt and stones.

I used to read a lot,
especially for the changes that humans could incur within me.
But I found I was digging in the shallow pool.

I could have eaten the butterfly, but that would not have been nearly as nutritious.
It flew away as we approached a puddle.
It said goodbye with a few flaps of its wings and got a drink.
I walked on. With gratitude.

I finally reached the vale where I like to sit and think.
A fox approached.
It gave me a look like ‘oh, you’re the butterfly man’.
What could I say?
Yes. I am.

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Living Languages

Folks learn Latin because it’s a dead language.
It rarely, very rarely changes.
There are a couple of strains of it.
But it’s no longer active, dynamic.
English is the language I was born into.
I learned French in high school for four years.
At one point I even dreamed in French.
My point here is that languages are dynamic, active languages that is.
Our words change.
We give the same word new definitions.
Each generation comes up with new definitions, new ways to use words, new combinations.
We get attached to the language we used growing up.
Then, sometimes, we discover meaning beyond words.
Then we seem to be much slower at looking for new words new ways to say things.
I have made up lots of words.
And it’s important that we do that occasionally.
We look for words to represent realities that we have not found words to represent before.
For years I introduced myself to new words that I did not know before
so that I could speak more clearly.
But I try to use words, even when making them up,
that are relatively discernible to anyone thinking about what I’m saying.
I’ve read about things you can say in Russian that you cannot say in English.
There are no English words for them.
We dumb ourselves down by using the wrong words.
Like the word “word” which is the translation that we use for the word “logos”.
Just as an example, the word “logos” is a huge meaningful word.
That does not mean “word”.
And that mistranslation has produced all kinds of garbage
that people say to each other that is not true.

Words have always been a moving target.
Words never stay the same.
Our language is dynamic.
We grow with what we can say.
You can pick a point in time and try to perfect your grammar.
And by the time you complete that it will be meaningless or nearly so.
It’s critical that we love and even worship truths.
If we attach ourselves to words truths will escape us.

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I Talk with Trees

I talk with trees
because I have to.
I certainly love people
but I have to talk with trees.
People tend to know too little
and believe too much.
What trees know and can share with me
is better than what most people believe and will share.
From their invisible parts below the ground
to their visible parts extending way above the ground
trees never deny that they are fractals in any way.
It is a treasure to know what you are.

I am a fractal also.

And the trees have helped me to understand this.
It’s good to know where you came from and how you grew.
It’s good to know that when you stop, when it occurs to you that you are dying.
You can increase the value of what you leave behind.
When a tree dies other fractals live in it.
This wouldn’t happen so much if we always buried them.
Year after year, green after green, trees know what to do.
They teach me how to live, how to produce, how to maintain,
where to find joy, and how to be alive.
They teach me how to share.
They teach me flexibility in the wind.
They teach me how to grow right up against other trees, other people that are different from me.
They teach me how to appreciate people that are different from me.
And they teach me how to be me.

I use words to speak to you.
But words are a mere shadow of thoughts compared to the language of trees.
Trees never lie to me.
Trees never hide from me.
Trees never try to deceive me.
Trees do not believe things that are not true.
This makes them rather superior on numerous levels.
We knock them around and knock them down and they come back.
I’ve been knocked around and knocked down.
The trees teach me how to stand up again and do better.

It’s not that grass and flowers have less to share.
Nor that they know less or are less.
But trees are less ephemeral
and easier for me to relate to visually.

I encourage everyone to spend some time in the trees.
Watch them closely.
Listen to them closely.
It is amazing what they can contribute to your life.


… I discovered this TODAY 5/29/2019. I did not know he thought this.

Jung Trees

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Fractal Admission

There’s nothing to see but fractals: fractals and fractal fragments – there is nothing else to see.
Misperception of this phenomenon trashes the fractal world.
We should avoid the practice of seeking permanence.
We should focus on fractal qualities.
The things we love about life the most are fractal beauties.
Fighting for permanence destroys fractal beauties.
Yes, there are numbers associated with fractals
but fractals extend far beyond our numbering.
Things are less complicated than most folks think.
The simplicities of repeated fractals extend beyond our imagination.
We need to acknowledge that we think in fractals,
everything in our minds is fractals,
not just the things around us that we perceive,
but everything that we think is fractals.
Our imaginations can diverge from the fractal patterns,
but when they do it becomes destructive, they produce no beautiful fruit.

Take a walk in the forest, an unkept forest.
Notice how the locations and the growth patterns of the trees that are unkept by people
are all in perfect order.
They are in a fractal pattern, beautiful.

We must learn how to rise to our optimum power
and then learn how to diminish and to yield to subsequent fractals.
The trees understand this.
They know how to grow up and then diminish without ever failing to give:
to receive what’s free and give what ever they collect.

I have collected.
And you may have at all.

We must never grow in arrogance.
We must resist believing things which are not true.
The world did not begin evolving one day and then another day claim it was complete.
Every aspect has always been evolving.

This does not mean that our imaginations should be thwarted.
But even our imagination should connect to fractal patterns that precede us.
This means no diminishment in creative extensions of ourselves.
It means far more creative, and far faster, and far more meaningful extensions
that are sometimes pretested and viable.
We do not know that there is any end of new things under the sun,
but the new things under the sun continue to evolve,
continue to make new things – always.
Arising from our fractal roots there is no end to what we may become.

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Share Not Share

There’s fine twisting curls.
If it were not climbing me it would have no height at all.

There was more that I could not say.
I loved you but you could not understand me.
You loved me but you could not understand.

This seems to happen often.
All over the world.
It’s hard to try on an idea to see how well it fits,
If you cannot listen and hear the whole idea.

You may die of thirst in the presence of a big glass of water.
You may die of hunger unable to see your place at the table.

Stone upon stone your glacier retreats,
But you are no more lost than you want to be.
We each need to want to not be lost,
And we each need not to define lost by what people around us think of us.

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No Real You

I’d like to encourage you
to stop trying to be the real you.
What would you even suppose that might be?

Someday, notice how you change.
Notice the you that claims to be you when you wake up in the morning,
then notice the you that starts working or doing whatever you intend to do every day,
notice the you that stops for lunch and the you that needed to,
notice the you that watches the clock in order to go back home,
notice the you that greets whatever shares your home that makes it home for you.
Notice the you that eats dinner.
Notice the you that sometimes goes out in the evening to meet with other folks and
Notice how that you differs depending upon which folks you’re meeting.
Notice the you that protects itself from the things you don’t understand.
Notice the you that sheds its height as bedtime approaches.
Notice the you that wakes to pee before you’re done sleeping.

You can detect a different you at these and so many other times each day.
So which one is the real you?

None of them.

I recommend that you give up the idea of even discovering the real you.
It doesn’t exist.
But you can do this…
Write the old you off.
The more you write off all these old yous what’s left is rather precious.
It’s not that you will discover the real you, you will discover that there is no real you.
You’ll discover that our capacity for me-ness is huge and dynamic.
Our identity can continue to grow and grow and grow daily even hourly with the things that we see and discover each day.

I ate some snow today.
No big deal.
But I bet you did not.

The little things that each of us does
can mean so much to us,
and we may not realize how unique they are to us.

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Fractal Trees

Where I live there’s daylight on the south side
and there’s moss on the north,
And vines wind up and around
and then release near the bottom.
Some of the vines are evergreens
climbing up the deciduous.

Who does not feel this weight and warmth?

The remarkable yet hollow Tulip Tree has fallen.
You can see it is already decayed far more
than the American Chestnut that fell many years earlier.

The wind and the rocky soil make the trees fall.
All of the fallen trees become more soil
for the next generations.
While we see this readily,
we generally fail to recognize
the fractals of our minds that also fall.
They fall around us haphazardly
and become the soil for new generations.

We generally fail to recognize the fractals of our minds.
Can’t we all see this?
When we don’t it is difficult to converse.

What is more disparate than trying to live linearly in a fractal world?
I had to unlearn and relearn so much just to see this.
Deep, deep joy is here for those who learn to participate fractally.

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Bone

The bone is not the stone of you.
The bone is not the living daylights.
What will last past me will live in you.
What will last past you will live in others.

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Invitation

I am slowly regaining my footing, and in some areas I am better than before…

Join me for sharing.

https://www.facebook.com/pages/C-W-Turner-Arts-Letters/149038171808758.

If you have any trouble with this link, please holler.

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Imaginal Domains

I generally think you are referring to our “experience of ourselves and other things in the classical world”, right?

If so, I think you may be regarding some statements as solipsistic assertions that reality arises wholly from our imagination. But that’s not what I think it is. Our senses only assess a tiny fraction of the vibratory spectrum we might call ‘objective reality’. If we want to understand what we sense or discover more than we can directly sense, we employ the pattern-recognizing and pattern-making power of imagination. We settle into patterned ‘grooves’ of personal and social functionality and creativity. These become our realities, but I think they would better be called imaginal domains, or memetic vortexes.

I don’t concur with the suggestion that imagination is the antithesis of reality.
To me they are an integral fabric.

So, for me,
Truth is grokking the well-woven;
Responsibility is the ability to respond within our imaginal domain;
Validity or authenticity is recognizing other domains as co-real.

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