One Thousand Butterflies

It is such a release to look into the obscure shadows of death and not avert our eyes. To accept our mortality as a common thread.. that life comes and goes, and we are all bound to that experience - we can accept our humanity and share the emotion together.
We pretend that if we hide from the idea of death, that perhaps it will disappear; we only talk about it in whispers, but I'm tired of keeping my voice down. We're dying! We are ALL dying.

I spent last Wednsday in the company of hundreds of other people - recognizing the sacredness of the living, celebrating the loved ones that have already passed on, and embracing the delicate distance between our world and the next. I watched as thousands of candles flickered around alters.. their warm glow punching holes in the fear and the lonliness of dying. Alters dedicated to friends, fathers, prophets, brothers, mothers.. people who came, and loved, and then transitioned onward. It was like we were holding death and shining a light onto every pore and blemish, until there was nothing left to run from.. we can see it now.
We see these people who have died, and we see ourselves.. and for those who are willing to look, that truth unites us. We're all it together.



Rachel's father died 10 months ago.. and to celebrate his life she folded one thousand oragomi butterflies and hung them from strings. That was her alter.

Me Now

Your days in one
This day undone
The kind that breaks under
All day at once
for me, for you
I'm just too young
And what of my heart
This day was once
Silence before
All grace of lost
Can't wait at all
Can't wait at all
Temptation won

And what ever comes through the door
I'll see it face to face

- Beirut

Costa Rica Nightlife

This is a tree house near Bellavista in Costa Rica.. I have an obsession with this type of place. The openness, the simple luxury of the trees and their sounds. There is a pureness that you can't find in most places.. a connection that runs deep, bringing us to face our animal selves, the ones that are not fragranced and overtly clean. There is a sensuality here that nestles down in my mind, making me want to grow in a place like that.. to make love and write and invite friends to come and make music there. It fascinates me.



Andrew Tipton

The Night is Still Young

Our creation sides leak out sometimes.. unexpectedly, in odd places. Our vision for the night sways and is reborn. Its always a pleasure to watch the mind make up its mind.. like a spiral staircase - to the room, to the brush, to the stroke. The night is young.. We are a breath away from a thousand choices.


Andrew Tipton

The Commune

I have this idea inside that won't quiet down. And I keep wondering if there are enough people out there to start something.. to take apart our single selves and blend them into a community. Thirty or forty people.. Can you imagine the energy of us if we shared the same spirit! The same attitude about life. It is hard to find people who love creating.. love the intrigue of design, of building and learning, and romance. The ones that love the elegance of sand, and notice the intimate details.
This is not my dream.. this is a future that I believe is completely possible. A community built by people who adore life. A place that we can create music and adventure, and write wild new thoughts.. where we can study and touch and marvel at the fleeting things. Imagine thrity people pouring their talents, their ambitions, their intellects and finances into the same place.. all breathing the same message, that we are all dying.


Andrew Tipton

Dancing Tree

Before we left for the beach I went to visit my grandparents and as I was leaving, I looked up and saw this tree in the field behind their house. It literally seduced me.. the sunlight was trickling through her leaves, and she was dancing with the breeze. I quietly walked up close to her and watched.. It was sensual and breathtaking. She was alone at the end of the field.. catching the last beams of light with her outstretched branches,.. she swayed from side to side, like she was listening to some silent rhythm of music too soft for my own ears. Her hips were the base of her branches.. her fingers the leaves,.. she moved and arched without any inhibitions.


Andrew Tipton

Omens

Journal on Omens:
When a thought passes, we get to look at it.. see it as we'd see a stranger pass us on the street. It comes and goes.. sometimes at a slow stride, sometimes so quickly we don't really notice the details. But do we ever question where our thoughts come from? Are we creating them?
Can you trace a split-second, fragment of an idea to anywhere in particular?

For the most part, I haven't really been paying attention... at least not to the subtleties and the shadows.
Probably like most people.. I assume that my thoughts are more or less me, or my consciousness just randomly coming up with things. I never assume rhythm or reason, never elaborate on the coincidences.

The coincidences.. are starting to impress me. Or, I should say, they are beginning to appear deeper than I gave them credit for. Really, its a certain type of thought that has been catching my attention.. you don't notice it at first because we're not used to separating the sensations of our mind. But there is a difference.. its like these particular thoughts are coming from a source outside of myself. A thought is such a fleeting, fragile thing.. but if we can catch them at the instant they strike our minds then we have a chance to feel where they are coming from.
These "coincidence" thoughts, are interesting because they always manifest themselves physically somehow. When I react in a positive way, its like I have been shown a special doorway, and allowed some other (knowing) source to move me through it. It is me responding.. but I am responding to a feeling, or an instinct or an omen that I did not create.. the thought came to me not from inside of my mind.

I have been reading about omens, the idea astounds me.. Omens, to the best of my knowledge are instances in our paths that connect us to a deeper root of what's happening. In a sense they are exterior stimuli that lead us in a certain direction... or to make certain choices. But only if we see them.. or feel their guidance. I have started calling these thoughts.. omens.
They are becoming more frequent.




Andrew Tipton