In
the V & A museum, while walking through a roomful of buddhas, I see
through the doorway of the next room a beautiful 1960s evening gown, in
gentle pink and with diamonds around the cuffs. The way the three of
us - gown, statues, myself - echo each other is breathtaking.
Everything I need to think with is here, right now, in this moment
between these two rooms - all the drama of embodiment, all the quiet
disciplines, all the tender love. And its not as if I see myself as a
buddha and you as a diamond princess or anything like that, but If I
could I would meet you here, in rooms like this, without any schedule or
project, which is to say in a paradise realm.
One of the blessings of being a buddhist monk and truly trusting in its practices is an increasing trust in my own unconscious. I know that I am moving through an encoded hidden happiness, I know that I know what I want, but I’m just not conscious of what it is at this point. I know because of the way it feels to be alive, to be alive like this, of recording in the face of the firestorm, or not recording, this willingness not to give a name and a form and a logic to things that haven’t formed yet. To stay inside invisible disciplines and partial lawlessness. Recording, or not recording.
One of the blessings of being a buddhist monk and truly trusting in its practices is an increasing trust in my own unconscious. I know that I am moving through an encoded hidden happiness, I know that I know what I want, but I’m just not conscious of what it is at this point. I know because of the way it feels to be alive, to be alive like this, of recording in the face of the firestorm, or not recording, this willingness not to give a name and a form and a logic to things that haven’t formed yet. To stay inside invisible disciplines and partial lawlessness. Recording, or not recording.
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