Robyn Chance – Featured Artist [Above – Aquarian Rebirth]
B u d d h a f l i e s
Robyn Chance – Featured Artist
The broken wanderer has seen the world befallen. He has seen the new order and the chaotic tyrant shambling through engine ink and fake bird static in a blubbered starve of malcontent. He has seen humanities gallant efforts to oppose injustices upon itself while righteously repudiating any personal involvement in the progress and momentum towards a future beyond that which nature has suggested, and thusly ignored.
His heart swells… a very substantial contention remains forefront in affairs on both oppositions, proposing human nature has instantiated systematic thought in parallel to thought in suffering because simply, that is what is. This frozen outline has predicted one of two futures for the evolution of the human being. The first is self-destructive. The second or myriad other, spilling paper birds from an origami nest, proposes a spiritual age of becoming. The mind, a 7 billion car pileup, will be set free from its discontent… though great tragedy shall first darken the empire… surely man’s idea of what god is has always floundered the fringe upon man’s idea of what man is. We have but one hope…
And he, returning to he, the primitive man who knew intimately a life a life the life the life impermanent; the resemblant contemporary—proverbial street man, filled with scuffs and skids, scrounging food, being Jesus, and himself, out of context with a world in a spiritual abyss. Have we been on the “wrong” path for sometime now?—to those that believe no such path is and this life is justly to all beings within it.
This street man, this beggar, this buddha, bountiful enough to simplify the asininity of ownership of selves and things while remaining arbitrary with concepts adhering the spectrum of the infinite and its fall into the complexity of human evolution… what matters to you in this life?… technology? Is it work or self-preservation… your meaning amongst the stars? Who you are and the profundity of what you do and how that may affect the greater collective of being?… Or is it actually the beings themselves? Is that what this vehicle was designed to nurture?
Perhaps the evolution of organic human life ended in the thrall and subjugation of the submissive man’s esprit de corps that knew heartedly the providence of god. The uncivil at the umbilical of the earth, in reverence and respect of life and its creatures, honors the great pregnancy that spit them from the sea. Perhaps we have appointed within us, gods, and gods amongst us; tiny little gods, flawed and terrible, creating the next influx of sentients to enrapture and extinct.
There are few words I love, and of those few, even less I’d like to hear spoken. There are few moments, in close observation of the human being, that prevail to assume such an unrefined being as this were living against its more natural instinct and order. Other moments naturally assume the latter, for civilization has proven its purpose flawed along the helm of creation, illegitimate, circling the moment of self-inflicted irony in the face of annihilation for what we sought as the path of superseding the widow of our callous… for if not buddha, then whom? The mere fact of this moment here proves otherwise.
As the advanced technological beings, out of their more-than-primitive nature, find the most brilliant amongst them, and in this brilliance, introduce a game of hide-and-seek, proposing it as high intelligence, to end not only its life, but the entire inhabitance of life around it… let us praise, for god has shown the path to prolificacy.
As our ancestors have once prophesied, a great dawn shall reveal itself under a blanket of dusk. Beyond the treachery that is before us, our days to spiritual recumbency draws near. And as these brilliant little reminders sail in frenetic excesses through the midnight air like long extended fingers from some giant alien robot, we will stand to our knees and plead for awakening.
And he, returning to he, won’t fight or join the “right” side or attempt to understand it. He just smiles. Cheeks hung like crescent moons in the wind’s soft frill along the meadow’s sway. Eyes unwound and happy like salsa music blasting through the arctic; he sees nothing but graceful colors between motion and stillness and blankness and black.
Beneath him, a well of dancing butterflies revisit the mathematic. There is something in silence that bleeds light and begs the vibrant shawl to drape the world in shiny metals and dyes, and propose a ceremony for the tired and weak. He sees not madness, but kindness inside them; inside them all; for there are lights that shine beneath, over, and within this shy terrain that cascades in the coy spirit of summer.
The broken servants follow their damp axis in cubes of blasphemous green and charcoal thunder. I understand there is no undoing to this without great tragedy; so close we are… the war of man, and seizure in thought. He has forgiven the apostle who whistles along the tiresome boulevard in promises of renewing the septarium birth, spitting the hanging man and his devout love for himself and his godly book of poems once again from the sea. I’ve seen that man wandering these same streets, begging for spare change and revival; creating stories about himself.
The voice is thwarted. The first and lonely survivor of the new world will be a spiritual one. The rebirth is only a recollection to a previous end. The next great war is coming. The next great membrane will follow. There is no eternity without this essence. The white in the mind is not noise, nor the black silent. There is nothing truthful in who we’ve decided we are. Change is the dynamo of calamity. And still he sits and smiles at them, knowing the confusion will pass… just like everything else.
by LORIN DREXLER
H a t h o r
A b o u t the A r t i s t
Robyn Chance (via robynchance.com) is a heart-centered Texas native of European, Cherokee and Choctaw descent. She is a nationally-published artist of indefinite mediums. A multi-faceted ‘Priestess of the heARTs’, she shares her Love and inspiration with the world as a visionary painter, shamanic dance channel and fifth-dimensional artist, weaving rainbow codes and blessings into her dreamcatchers and mystical regalia. Robyn is part of the second wave of Indigo children born of the 1980’s. Having a gentle yet rebellious disposition, she found beauty and validity in the dark and colorful aspects of everything. Her work derives from a well-lit emotional journey through the uncharted territory of the subconscious mind, and a conscious choice to paint a new vision of Empowerment, Sacred Relationship and Self Love. After thirteen years of esteeming, expressing and discovering herself as the Muse in the glamorous entertainment industry, a near-death experience eventually led her back to her mystical roots with a deeper sense of responsibility to her creative calling. Within six years of her NDE, she lost a baby, got both married and divorced, lost multiple priceless works of her art, performed before hundreds of thousands of people and pleased and disappointed many. She shed the excess, went all natural and rooted herself into the Big Island of Hawaii (in winter of 2012/2013). Pele transformed her to sharpen and attune to the creative fires of the womb, birthing forth magick and a child-like vulnerability in her creations and in their message. After exploring a life in Texas, NYC, Los Angeles, and on an International Performance Tour, Robyn has settled in Kailua-Kona with her Beloved; and continues to seed, blossom and integrate herself as a wild and sacred vessel of the Divine Feminine Creative Fire.
What is Gen Society?
Gen Society is an art space blog for visual art and creative writing collaborations, and other randomizations. Hosted by writer and musician, Lorin Drexler, this online venue is an expressive experience for those interested in the world of the arts. It is a literary journey through the hearts and minds of contemporary artists in practice and a reflection of those that have long passed.
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