We hear the story in the dark before we can see anything.
We must imagine it with our own mind’s eye.
I believe I have just completed the disheveled first draft of my long term storytelling project, tentatively titled The Children’s Epic. Discarded paragraphs and broken branches litter my desktop but they are becoming fewer and fewer. Remember this blog isn’t about telling the story, it’s about helping me become more organized and prepared for the series of events I am planning and for my life in the future.
Recontextualizing the idea of an “event” to span a longer period of time as well as the purpose of this specific event in the first place is going to require ongoing effort to articulate. To reiterate a previous post, the event exists to share my experience and begin the conversation of if this process is valuable and worth it for others to duplicate in any capacity. The story is not good, the process of telling stories is good.
We enter the museum and are forced to walk past many sculptures and photos from the 7 year process. It is a very curated selection, not overwhelming or trying to show the entire story. We enter the dome theatre to a blank black screen, it is dark, not too dark to find your seats, but pretty dark.
I embody the boy,
I go to the center of the spiral,
I feel the sun on my skin,
I feel my body,
the hawk that I could only hear before
is framed perfectly
by the weeds,
perched on the massive electrical pole,
electrical tower,
its shrill call forcing me
to remember
that dream of flight,
the sacredness of the bird,
watching from above,
like the sun,
the egyptian myths all ring true,
the falcon of god,
the falcon of flight,
the falcon of consciousness.
//
In my dream
I am forever surrounded
by that which is
above
and
beyond.
//
The sun and the bird,
forever above,
forever watching from great heights.
last pic is fire