~Becoming The Craftsman, The Book of the Dead

Truth lies in the hearts and tongues of men. Speak and live. You are creator and creation.
Your life is craft.Your supple body molded by word,sculpted by desire,fired by deed.
You poise yourself between life and fate.The will of men and the will of gods.
In the beat of a heart, the suck of a breath you are the universe. Making, making, making.
I have heard lies,yet not believed in them. No matter the pain I have shattered the illusions. I sought the crack in every cup.
The things said of me in anger or in praise I have not made my own.
It is for my conscious to guide my hand,my deed,to create myself.
I am myself perceiving myself, making, making, making.

In those moments of silence when desire and will are stilled, I know the purpose gods know.
My body is nourished by the things of earth, my spirit by the things of heart.
Under flowing almond trees I eat the fruit of love. I watch the boughs dance in the wind, hearing music in dreams. I am making, making, making.

I wrap my skin in the blue robe of heaven. I sit in the garden listening to birds. I do what my heart tells me. My thoughts leap visible as light.
I am what I know,what I feel, what I make. I myself, the ether of the instant, breathing. I gather and build my life.
The earth is a small globe created by thoughts, mine and those of others.
I walk among houses, the fields, flowers, rocks, even the poison of snakes, the sting of bees are mine.
All existence is the measure between light and dark, bees and serpents, wind and fire. I love the scorpion, yet I know its poisonous sting. To live in harmony is a beginning.
What can be named can be known, what can not be named must be lived,believed. I speak of the creator and the creation, the ordinary life live extraordinarily.
I work for the sake of working. The joy of creating is the joy of forgetting everything else. I lean into life.
My tongue is fire; my breath is wind, The spirit spits from my mouth.
I speak of a chain of events where making leads to making,action to action, love to love, where the beginning began so long ago we find ourselves always in the midst of it.
There is no rest. The act is now. In your lives you will make children, make peace, make errors, you will make trouble, you will dance under the sun and moon.
As long as you live you will create life. You will rise and fall many times. Its is like the making of a good loaf of bread.
You will be nourished.

~Becoming The Craftsman Passage from the book of the dead

I have been hopelessly in love with Olof Arnalds since seeing Mum for the first time in 2002.

Tears of joy. Thank you Olof.

To manifest:

This video captures so much of a vibration I want to dive into. This story of the child hero, the unforseen and frightening allies… innocence against a society that would destroy it.

The cinematography, costuming, the creation. This is it.


By “beauty” I mean that which seems complete. Obversely, that the incomplete, or the mutilated, is the ugly. Venus de Milo: to a child she is ugly. When a mind adjusts to thinking of her as a completeness… she is beautiful. A hand, though of only as a hand, may seem beautiful; found on a battlefield- obviously a part- not beautiful.

But everything in our experience is only a part of something else that in turn is only a part of something else….

Or.. that there is nothing beautiful in our experience; only appearances that are intermediate to beauty and ugliness- that only universality is complete; that only the complete is the beautiful; that every attempt to achieve beauty is an attempt to give to the local the attribute of the universal.

-Charles Hoy Fort


At dawn a knot of sea-lions lies off the shore
In the slow swell between the rock and the cliff,
Sharp flippers lifted, or great-eyed heads, as they roll in the sea,
Bigger than draft-horses, and barking like dogs
Their all-night song. It makes me wonder a little
That life near kind to human, intelligent, hot-blooded, idle and singing,
can float at ease
In the ice-cold winter water. Then, yellow dawn
Colors the south, I think about the rapid and furious lives in the sun:
They have little to do with ours; they have nothing to do with oxygen
and salted water; the would look monstrous
If we could see them: the beautiful passionate bodies of living flame,
batlike flapping and screaming,
Tortured with burning lust and acute awareness, that ride
the storm-tides
Of the great fire-globe. They are animals, as we are. There are many
other chemistries of animal life
Beside the slow oxidation of carbohydrates and amino acids.

-Robinson Jeffers

Collect all 1.618 x 10^40!

Such beauty out there in the world of photography and design.   Here’s some bits and bobs.