everything, every thing(is nothing)

and art(is love)

[andartislove]

Steam rose from the moss on a tree as the sun made it’s way through the canopy. Rays of warmth after days of rain. (Bittersweet pain) I think about my little love as I run out, barefoot, to photograph it.

The scents of the damp forest floor feel like home, like lying and becoming part of it all (as if we weren’t already) may be the most restful night of sleep.

If you dream, dream of me.

[andartislove]

Inspiration evading my (heart’s quick grasp) trying that I might be as steadfast and honest as the single sound of the mountain’s river; Sunshine through an insect hum (a hymn: particles flow through the sun’s setting light, between the trees on a slowly moving summer breeze) lighting, bright, my eyes and lightening (my quick heart) steps to you. (oh, the lightning, I am underprepared for your disarming eyes, closing sweetly as you sing.)

[andartislove]

Visit Original Link

Just a mellow song we wrote one night while drinking bourbon.

d.ortegon and michael w.d. ortegon

[andartislove]

Mountains in my home, coffee and creativity.

Wax art in a mason jar by -michael w d ortegon

[andartislove]

Farmer's market, Santa Clara. Then Pho with the brother and father.

[andartislove]

Starry Night

Nothing in this life is new; no song, or poem, no body we may create. All of this has existed since before thought was thought, before god was wrought by the simple minds of fearful men.

Humans have a hard time understanding this concept, that every block in our building is eternal, and eternally changing; every drop of coffee, and blood, every breath we take, and every star is exactly the same age. We are all a product of evolution, but that evolution started long before biology.

With this is mind, however, I begin to think how beautiful it is that when I say to you,

“I love you without reason, without seasons. When I think of you my heart skips, and when I am without you it’s a mistake (in each place and forever)”

there really is no you, or me. It is not my heart speaking to yours. It is not my mouth, and your ears, but a universe, an existence capable of loving itself.

Think about the beauty in that. Think about something so vast and intricately infinite that it is capable of loving itself absolutely and without worry.

We, humans, rarely ever reach such a level of intricate beauty as this. So few of us truly love ourselves. This is not to say that we don’t, often times, “look out for number one.” This isn’t to say that some of us aren’t “self” serving, but this isn’t love.

Loving yourself comes from understanding that all of existence is the extension of yourself, knowing that nature is your body in it’s natural form; when you harm others, you are harming yourself, and when you make others feel loved, you are lovely.

-michael w d ortegon

[andartislove]

Rain Drops (part 2)

Fall, and fall hard.

In such a short lived life, the only purpose of the rain is to follow it's path, first towards the earth, and ultimately towards the larger body. Single drops all from the same mother, brothers in free fall.

Rain, like a human, starts it's life with the gift of the birds eye view. The earth, the end, is never visible at the birth. Each drop spends it's time free falling whether it's willing to face forward or back.

Here is the analogy: each rain drop seems, to me, to be like a human life. All with a beginning and end, and no real end. Our atoms, while we are alive, are a very specific set that, after our death, rejoin the cycle of nutrients. This unique set will never be together again, but they will also never be gone. Each of the atoms in your body is exactly as old as every atom in every star, or hair, or gaseous planet. You are as old as the entire universe.

Each drop has the choice of where to place it's focus. It can look towards it's youth, the sweet carefree days, the end of the journey as such an abstract thought, covered by clouds and condensation; youth is blissfully ignorant to many large pictures. The other option for each drop is to look down, along it's destined path, towards what's coming. Every second of free fall brings the cycle much closer and clearer. Every river, every puddle, every dog barking and running around delighted to be alive comes into focus as the final destination. The end of one journey to begin another.

My thoughts at this point are drawn towards the people I've known in my life, and where their focus has been. Some are very short sighted, looking forward, but only slightly. Some have very good vision, but are pointed towards their "Glory Days", some insignificant time frame from their past that they've never been able to live up to (in their minds) again, very ignorant to the fact that life goes on, and life is always worth living in the moment.

It may be a history of heartbreak speaking, but I feel that each moment is a moment you're losing. Every moment should be cherished as a unique thing, and each a part of history forever, but never held on to so tightly that it makes it impossible to keep your eye on the prize.

So, please, don't fear the end of life. I find it wholly unproductive to worry about what happens to us when it's an inevitability. We are simply an overly complicated raindrop. We exist, and then we continue to exist in some way, shape, or form forever.

part 2 of 2 by -michael w d ortegon

[andartislove]

The rain makes even the city somewhat beautiful.

[andartislove]

Rain Drops (part 1)

I'm unsure how many of you know me, but my beliefs are very observation based. Physics is a huge contributor to the theories I've created regarding the meaning of things.

To me, everything is an analogy, everything scales up from the behavior of atoms up to the entirety of the universe. I also doubt that our universe is anything but a cell in a larger body.

In any case, more about these beliefs later. Today I have an observation, an analogy for you that might help you understand the cycle we call life.

Rain is our life, our very vitality poured down from above and appreciated by very few. The religious can't, or won't, believe that any human could understand the function of life based on their own observations, but anyone who understands the evolution of hydrogen can't help but see the magic in it; there's beauty in every drop, the start of life.

I woke with wind chiming coolly in my ear, soft tapping in the distance, as you might expect from a first time percussionist. This day, it seems, is a gift. Cool mist kisses my skin as I gather the wood for the morning's fire; each a mourning fire for the one that burns. This is a cycle which, after countless times, has produced this very pen scratching imaginary thoughts onto very real paper.

Today I wake alone, like many days of the past. Today my eyes can focus on the importance in life, like my family and the rain. I have an elated glow coming from inside me that's making me appreciate the coffee in my mug, a delicacy from the far reaches of the earth. I always feel so alive when the rain comes. What convenient weather for the true homebody? What other excuse do you need for a warm fire, a good book or two, and beautiful, intricate morning thoughts?

One of this morning's thoughts regard our rules. Most of life follows a paramount rule or two. For animals this rule is simple survive and reproduce. Humans like to over complicate this simple instruction. The rain follows only one very simple rule: Down.

The only goal in a short lived life: fall, and fall hard.

part 1 of 2 by -michael w d ortegon

[andartislove]

What roads?

[andartislove]

A poem for someone who should know their worth.

Watercolor and oil paint.

[andartislove]

we call it a Hemingway party.

drinking, writing, philosophizing.

with d. ortegon

[andartislove]

other places I go

[andartislove]

A poem about letting go.

[andartislove]

Old meets new.

[andartislove]

The first in a themed series. More to come.

[andartislove]

At one point in our history, things were not only about money. Nowadays our police forces are only about the amount of tickets that they can hand out; How many busts, appropriate crime rates (not too high, not too low, as to not actually need the militarized police force that we all have), quotas, quotas, quotas.

Do any of you remember a time when the civil servants served the civil?

Occasionally in our lives, we find that, as Muir put it, "Going into the woods is going home."

Small towns are true.