Tag Archives: poetry

Amazingly Labyrinthian Existentialism

header image Mt Vernon Rd Labyrinth brick path with yellow flowers and green grass

As I continue to pace along this brick path I come to the center and ponder with depth the situation at hand. Before any of us knew it, we were all thrust into what appears to be some kind of generational loop of dynamically and intricately woven connections between individual instances of living manifestations of matter, some of which seems self-aware.  Here we all are journeying further and farther down our paths which were in part laid down by all who came before.  Careening through space on this boat named Earth we get to spin round and circle the Sun as is flows around and around with the rest of the Milky Way.  When you look up to the heavens a very different, very vast, and very long term perspective comes into view.  Dealings back here on ground level seem mundane and trivial in a galactic scale, but in the labyrinth of our lives we know there to be great passion, love and meaning.  There is great danger we must ward away, a bull headed monster roams this hedge maze.  He is greed, hunger, violence, brutality, injustice and lives within each of us. He is not to be forgotten, but is easily kept at bay by our good will and charity.

“I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.” – Frank Herbert, Dune

“Knowing others is wisdom, knowing yourself is Enlightenment.”  – Lao Tzu

“Regardless of the staggering dimensions of the world about us, the density of our ignorance, the risks of catastrophes to come, and our individual weakness within the immense collectivity, the fact remains that we are absolutely free today if we choose to will our existence in its finiteness, a finiteness which is open on the infinite. And in fact, any man who has known real loves, real revolts, real desires, and real will knows quite well that he has no need of any outside guarantee to be sure of his goals; their certitude comes from his own drive.”
― Simone de Beauvoir, The Ethics of Ambiguity

“He was free, free in every way, free to behave like a fool or a machine, free to accept, free to refuse, free to equivocate; to marry, to give up the game, to drag this death weight about with him for years to come. He could do what he liked, no one had the right to advise him, there would be for him no Good or Evil unless he thought them into being.”
― Jean-Paul Sartre

Gallery of collected labyrinthian imagery, please add your own in the comments below! 😀

Soft phantom lights glowing in the cold, dark night

Today I designed a moody cosmetics bag over at Zazzle. I’m not sure if anyone will ever buy the thing and make the design come into actual existence as a product, but even if that never happens it is still really cool to see my artsy photographs come to life on a random little bag. I’m looking forward to doing a whole bunch more of these babies so stay tuned!

 

The soft glowing ebbs flowingly
through the cold, dark night
rivers flow, the moon shines
light dances and fades knowingly
shapeshifting to our delight.

-Mark Weathers, January 4th 2014

And here we all are…

IMG_20130924_173300

And here we all are.  So insignificantly small when we look at the clear night sky, the winking stars so plentiful so far away and so long ago are telling us an important story.  A lesson about who we are, who we will be, how much time there is reminds us of how we fit in.  It’s all over in less than the blink of an eye.  The lifespan of a gnat, the life’s work of an ant, a flickering flame sending an ember on an upward journey.  Gone forever, unforgettable and with illusions of grandeur we rise and fall.  From the deepest depths we crash and roll, breaking with the tides, endless, for all eternity.  The hypnotic dull roar muted by clear glass doors, lulling us back to sleep.  Lost in dreams.  Alone with the hum of the fridge, the ticking of the clock as seconds pass forever, out the cold night’s breeze.  Men strong and desperate work for squanderings on pitching decks under false lights that hide the heavens.  And the fish die, giving themselves, ending their lives, as is their place, under the stars.

1.11.2013 – Mark Weathers

somhumbakgrdM81_M82_with_Integrated_Flux_Nebulae.jpg