Magic Wave Kinetic Sculpture and Sharing from Writing Without Paper

I have been thinking and thinking of this blog post “called Wednesday Wonder: Sculptor Reuben Margolin from Maureen E. Doallas, over at Writing Without Paper.(click and visit, it’s a link!) I like both the movement and the sound. To get more information about the artist and more examples of the works please visit her blog. She contributes vast amounts or knowledge and food for the mind and the senses every day. I think that while people do post and comment there, she really has no idea the impact that she can have on the individual visiting. Thank you for all that you do Maureen!

Morning Trip (81)

“I am dust particles in sunlight.
I am the round sun.

To the bits of dust I say, Stay.
To the sun, Keep moving.

I am morning mist,
and the breathing of evening.

I am wind in the top of a grove,
and surf on the cliff.

Mast, rudder, helmsman, and keel,
I am also the coral reef they founder on.

I am a tree with a trained parrot in its branches.
Silence, thought, and voice.

The musical air coming through a flute,
a spark of a stone, a flickering

in metal. Both candle,
and the moth crazy around it.

Rose, and the nightingale
lost in the fragrance.

I am all orders of being, the circling galaxy,
the evolutionary intelligence, the lift,

and the falling away. What is,
and what isn’t. You who know

Jelaluddin, You the one
in all, say who

I am. Say I
am You.”
–Rumi

A Spring Day Walk, More from The Tree Place

Morning Trip (80)

“I lounge on the grass, that’s all. So
simple. Then I lie back until I am
inside the cloud that is just above me
but very high, and shaped like a fish.
Or, perhaps not. Then I enter the place
of not-thinking, not-remembering, not-
wanting. When the blue jay cries out his
riddle, in his carping voice, I return.
But I go back, the threshold is always
near. Over and back, over and back. Then
I rise. Maybe I rub my face as though I
have been asleep. But I have not been
asleep. I have been, as I say, inside
the cloud, or, perhaps, the lily floating
on the water. Then I go back to town,
to my own house, my own life, which has
now become brighter and simpler, some-
where I have never been before.”
– Mary Oliver

Tree Place in Spring