God's eye POV: Yellow flowers hover above a tangled mass of turquoise. The flowers have grouped together, forming clumps bunched up on the earth, which has cooled down a bit. There is a striking contrast between the flowers and what they have grown from. Somehow, they have managed to filter certain things from the earth—a process involving the acceptance of some things and the rejection of others. They fancy themselves as something other than the dust from which they emerged and rub up against each other for validation and consolation. Convincing themselves that they are more advanced, more progressed, more glorious as they continue to exploit whatever lies below them. They beckon to the bees, 'Drink of our sweetness, collect our sex, our pollen, and deliver it to our beloveds—cross-pollination.'

Local Image 64-66

29 August 2023

I see those words before me, and they drip with the venom of rebellion.

Anger? Why are you so angry?

Into the cloud of unknowing I go and feel your sublime presence.

Lightning, the sudden appearance of the abject, and thunder, the rolling of your emotions of this appearance through your being.

An exposed spider, running this and that, trying to find somewhere to hide—from the sun, from the gaze.

When the blooms are more vaguely defined, they seem more in harmony with what lies below them, with what they arose from, what they grew from. As they gain determination, transformation; there is an in-between state in which they seem fiery, angry, rebellious, uncomfortable; before a cooling takes place. Then they seem more determined, separated, appearing as something with less affinity to what they grew from, displaying a certain vacuity, forgetfulness, vapidity, kitschiness. The draining of emotion; as if emotion has been let from them. Their centers were once intense with red and black; now, their centers are inhabited with insipid, fussy, pale, flat, grey and yellow dots.

I am struck with a sense of vertigo as it seems as if the yellow flower’s maternal plant-body lies far below them.

I listen to my words, but they fall far below
And they take me to where I think only God really knows.
-- Cat Stevens

Has our Apollonian transformation resulted in a devastating separation from God?

Can I make the rain fall down? In a direction that would seem to fit the image from this point of view?

Would an evolution seem like a devolution from here?

Where does the water come from?