DISTANT CENTERS, fractal image generated with XaoS [ click photo for next . . . ]
On the road in the Northwest of America.
Time folds into Space like a thread
wound round into a skein;
The one-at-a-time folds into and becomes
the all-at-once, as differences
Listen to the notes of Melody wind round
themselves to become Harmony as the
piano’s sustaining pedal is pushed down.
That’s the sound of Time becoming Space.
New StarCycle PROJECT score, m-for solo viola
in four frames, or movements . . .Join me in my campaign to bring the conservation of Nature
and the best of classical music together. The sonosphere—the
sea of sounds which surrounds us—deserves as much attention and
care as our water and air!
does not seem like Chance.
One of my recurrent themes is a difference I see between mere me-
chanical randomness, say, like a computer so easily generates, and
chance. Chance I see as something far more mysterious, both in terms
of its nature and its source.
An event may seem like chance only because its matrix of causes lies
outside the field of our vision or comprehension; Or it may at other
times appear as an almost divinely inspired confluence of hitherto
separate ribbons of fate, say, as when two strangers unexpectedly en-
counter each other on a path and instantly feel bonded by some kind of
deep sympathetic resonance.
I in no way think that such a view must retreat into a vulgar dreamlike
romantic subjectivity. On the contrary, such an open view of chance
appears to me almost unavoidable as we by hard, cool thinking reach
the end of the road of logic and reason, and enter into the pathless land
of the unknown. This is where Art and Science, I feel, may possibly
join hands and walk together for a while, for who would deny that
what we do not understand of reality is a vastly greater realm than
that little domain we with some degree of certainty can say we truly
know or understand. And who would deny that image and metaphor
are not just as necessary items of our intellectual equipage as are
mathematics and formal models, when it comes to exploring new
and still uncharted terrain.
So, in this spirit, here is a little flutter of a piece which turns around
this idea of chance and what I call the butterfly way . . .
A TOSS OF THE COIN
A fork in the trail appears, with two wooden signs,
each pointing in opposite directions,
each of equal appeal.
Which way shall I follow?
I could stop to study my map.
Or wait a while to ask a fellow passerby.
Or I could leave it to the gods of chance
and toss a coin, heads to the left, tails to the right.
Always willing to bet on good fortune, I give
my last lucky nickel a stout thumb-flick
up into the clear morning air and watch
it spin as if outside of time, in slow motion.
Before my disbelieving eyes, it morphs
into a little blue set of wings . . ..
What to do? Why of course:—
Follow the butterfly way!
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All Photographs & texts by Cliff Crego © 2011 picture-poems.com