Lurk
Digital collage of recent dream characters, 1995/3/5, by Chris Wayan.
I spent 1994-5 in therapy, unearthing old pain, pain, pain. Nightmares and illness.
This painting's my archeological record of that year.
There's power in those creatures of the deep strata. The words say:
Under theOnly it stopped lurking. The buried monster reared its neck aboveground and moaned--but its tongue is a rose unfolding.
Flowers,
Lurks my...
Buried I.
But all that year I also had ethereal, otherworldly dreams--magical mystery tours. That's why I stuck in all those sexy flower-fairies (I'm not sure how many there are here, but a lot!--rather camouflaged by the loud color).
Just like therapists, Americans, with their Puritan legacy of obsession with evil, are too busy mocking New Agers to see that delicate living flowers are just as real as buried bones.
They nourish each other.
Darkest Root and Silver Flower,And not everything that happens down in the dark is creepy, either. Look closer.
Each doth have Essential Power.
Someone's practicing piano, and two women are practicing fire-summoning without matches, and another is meditating...
...in fact, those dark strata may really represent hard work. Practice. Paying your dues.
The groundwork that flowers later.
NOTE: the signature in the upper right is dated 1915! Definitely a slip for 1995. I'm old, but not World War One old...
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