Writings by Tim Girvin
The Glinting Blades of Light

Here, it's spectacularly beautiful. So quiet and cold, but brilliantly sunny, glinting and glimmering splintering of light; it's shimmering the ceiling. So it is good to be here, alone, for at least the time being. Others, client types, coming later, with children-so that will be interesting to watch and learn. The scene is rather wild though, faxes coming in, people calling on both phones, the cell ringin' the email pouring in...I feel like a movie star. (Kidding)

It's been a satsifying week for me, as well. Less about fretting and more about freeing the creative bird, an uncaging. Speaking the other night was powerfully cathartic for me. People shared some remarkable things, so the talk went longer than I thought, we left sometime after 8.00, starting at 6.30; I was surprised. It seems that the notion of finding the integer, the whole numeration of creativity is really compelling for me, for others. People really dug it, so I dug in. It was a good excavation for all, I'm hoping. I've got lots of follow up to do, some clients might be emerging from it all.

I would like to continue to pursue this, play in this space. Use it as something meaningful for others, as I did earlier in the week, and to continue to try to explore this voyage, myself.

As to the profound and shattering learnings, catastrophe (there's that strophe again) is always a start. Something riveting, like a building fire, for instance. An automobile accident...an avalanche. Somehow, I think that you've got a little of your brother in you, less to the risk that will take you over the waterfall, to shoot the rapids, more to going to the brink and looking down to the maelstrom for the exhilaration of it.

And, is the learning to be paid for? Or does the learner pay, and pay the price of entry. Some learnings, the really profound and earth shattering learnings, the riveting and the fascinating expansions often times have other prices to bear; this has truly been my experience, peering into the gates of Hell, my twinkly toes curled around the brink. Sometimes, as we all know, we go to a place of supreme difficulty, and we come out new. Burned, but freshly skinned, something has been sloughed away...the new tale of the lizard.

I find myself playing in the space of the experience, what experiences can be had, at this moment, reflected upon and harvested, even the most basic. Like eating or making food, or approaching the mystical turnings of sex, or playing something, an instrument, or a sport. How can the learnings be deepened, that's my pondering. And how can the symbolisms of the various movements, internally and externally be conjoined; made confluent. I just think that there is something there; something that I will discover the moment that I die, I imagine. Gautama would preach otherwise, but here, in this form of immaturity, at this phase in my life, I think that I might die, burn up, if I were to discover it...to stumble upon it...

To our practice, I wonder about the idea of the expansion in this place of play, to be in the space of the experience, where we ponder it, know it, embrace it, and wonder at it. Then, we build it.

It's still a big dream for me, one that I think about all the time. But I wonder if I am approaching it correctly. The answer, shall be revealed in stages I trust, as the skins are shaved, and made simpler...

To speak in the space of the real, the emotional the sensual, telling the story that really jabs at you, spears you with its intensity...wouldn't this be something.

Really, for work that attaches to the practice, IBM still holds something out there, but its still far out, and hasn't given me the glimmering of the mirage that turns true. The distant wavering of the oasis, the walking nearer, and nearer...turns out to be true.

Girvin

(Originally sent: Saturday, February 16, 2002)

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