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Razor red edge of dawn ride
Sky orange;
Burning silver sun,
She threads the spinning web of day.
Dark battles fade off, faraway,
Set players for another play.
Life’s scene goes on quite in between,
A see-saw set in what is seen
‘Cos senses sent, perceive the dream…
And you enchantresses, cosmic whores,
Space’s beauty ‘tis in all, with all,
Your delicate graces can do no more
I cannot see what sights you saw.
Razor red edge of dawn ride,
Sky orange,
Burning silver sun,
Your signs are writ in arid air
To be aware
Of the faery fare….
© Summer 1976 Ripley Surrey
In 1991, after ‘retiring from trade’ as Flanagan put it, he commissioned me to find a book entitled “A Color Notation” written in 1905 by Albert Munsell who lived in Massachusetts.
This system of defining color by hue, value and chroma Munsell invented so he and his friend, Robert Louis Stevenson who lived in California, could accurately communicate in their letters, the different variations of blue, between the Pacific and Atlantic oceans.
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Something Mickey Reynolds said to me in Copenhagen suddenly springs to mind –
“Robin you better believe it, there is a war going on now, all over the world.
Everyone has their part to play.”
Sat, here, now, by the Pacific Ocean, wind whipping white walls of silver sun streaked waves.
Life’s rhythm – I remember Mickey Reynolds –‘The Fox’ as he was known.
I remember his audacious exposure of small town English society.
I remember his rather wide-eyed innocence of why they reacted to his actions with fear, suspicion.
As if he was some out of time demon, whose existence should be stamped on.
I remember here now
The price you paid
The part you played
In the game of life…
I can understand how certain people who be in rarefied atmosphere spend their whole time sat crossed legged, staring into what most people might perceive as just being EMPTY SPACE.
Be forewarned –
No space ‘tis empty.
That which does not appear visible to ones own eyes may well be visible to another’s being.
I wonder what the sandpiper sees whilst foddering by the oceans edge?
How does his eyes see that dance play of crystal sunlight which shines upon his catches?
His life force playing with water and fire.
Those men cross – legg’d for years, they too must catch e/motion in their visible.
They merely accept and let all things pass through them.
I, no doubt, as much as everyone else, have heard that such men may achieve strangely respectful states, in rejecting the physical for the meta-physical, each to his own realm…
Knowing that there is more to life than meets the eye.
BODHISATTVA…
© Venice Beach California 25 -2-80
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