Eternities voices

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Lately I find myself pondering eternity.

For me eternity is neither nothingness or void. Nor do I find myself abjectly contemplating a Nietzschean eternal recurrence of this life by daily sublimation and surrender to the possibility of endless reincarnation.

With the Kantian destruction of ontological arguments for the proof of a god whose existence relies on being posited by human contemplation and acceptance in faith, I find myself looking for clues to an eternity that is instead limitless, and only constrained by the will to liberate an eternal imagination without beginning or end.

I find myself wondering the colour of eternity? Is it orange as my friend responds because he has been bad, dislikes this hue, and it will subsequently torment him till after the end of time, or because for me it is simply the colour of dawn. The sun rises every day, and its recurrence over eons suggests…

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Every day we stand at the edge of uncertainty, but spring and its impact on circadian rhythms brings forth plenitude. The longer days encourage plants to shoot, flowers to bloom, animals to multiply, and assures our existence with the promise of an abundant harvest.

On the edge of a tilled field it is not hard to imagine forever. Verdant fields with endless sheaths of wheat vanishing into the distance, or elsewhere, canola brightly turning yellow across gently rolling hills.

Verdure Verdure

Four trees Four trees

Spring is marked by regularity. Fields furrowed with precision, orchards pruned neatly in rows, and sheep ready to lamb. It is the season of grace. Nothing is out of place. Even where a few trees remain, it is mostly out of utility. When fields are fallow, or animals graze after harvest on the stubble, shade is needed from the harsh summer sun yet to come.

There is a…

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52 rolls

There are times when I fall into a deep reverie floating through ideas, or slip into an almost trance like state listening to music, losing all sense of time, space and place. This can be quite awkward sometimes. Not knowing how one has arrived somewhere, but having an awareness that it might have just been the most beautiful piece of music one has ever listened too.

Whether it is listening to Schubert’s Rosamunde, the celtic harp, or a jazz trumpet, I sometimes slip into a world of dreams, visions or thoughts where ideas become depicted by imagery, or just sense sheer ecstasy. When younger I was often described as rather serious, a dreamer, and even once called a sensualist. Not in an erotic sense, but rather as a depiction of a person enjoying experiences coming from pure appreciation of one’s senses. It is only as I have grown older…

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The plant has an essential and infinite relationship with light

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The plant has an essential and infinite relationship with light.. ..which is external to the plant, has supreme power over it, and.. ..if the plant were conscious it would venerate light as its god.Philosophy of Nature, Hegel

…one begins to love flowers. The religion of flowers follows the religion of the sun.Glas, Derrida

It is hard not to love flowers: their sublime colours, delight in the sun, and heralding of seasons. Hegel observed that plants which sprout in the darkest place can still find their way towards a chink of light as if they knew the way. In fields he saw “sunflowers and a host of other flowers face the sun and turn as it moves across the sky.”

Many flowers like the infinitesimally small Paroo lily, close and go to bed, when shadows fall with daylight departing.

Paroo lily Paroo lily

But what is the…

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