Indigenous to the soil of thought

           Nature's silence is not the only thing I have in common with her.
           By observing her she teaches me her methods and how they can enhance and complement my own "natural" inclinations.   She tutors me about the character of my own thinking and enables me to think symbiotically toward her.  Her enthusiasm toward growth finds an equivalent in my creative energy - both have a will to be.

           Her organic methods are similar to the organic features of contemplation - evolution in nature finding its parallel in the evolution of thoughts.  Evolution's dependence on the environment is similar to state-of-mind's dependence on perception.  There is an interlocking there that gives birth to form - either a form of life on her part or a form of vision on my own.  Nature influences me, my choices and thoughts influence me, and in turn, my choices impact nature.  The way I think, then, is vitally important.  If my thoughts evolve in a manner that is tutored by Nature then my capacity to care for her is enhanced.

           To me her eruptions, and my own, are not signs of evil, but symbols of a passion for life.  Her eruptions and tornadoes give shape to her diversity, creating unique and varied terrains and environments so the diversity of flora and fauna can flourish on her skin.  This passion and diversity informs me, not only about her temperament and "personality" and how it is given to express itself, but also about human nature.  Human eruptions and tornadoes give shape to cultural diversity, creating unique and varied personalities so the living diversity of human potential can flourish in society.

            Ideas are like bulbs or seeds planted in the soil of my mind in need of nourishment, pruning, and weeding to grow with enough strength to expand into the sunlight of conscious thought.  They emerge from the depths of my mind like fragrant narcissus, indigenous to the soil of thought.  They naturalize in a fertile social environment crowding out weeds of discontent.
          Sometimes quite literally, I will dig for indigenous rocks in the dirt of my garden, shopping for them, paying for them with movement.  My thoughts are no more easily won.  Sometimes when I dig it is difficult to discern between rocks and malnourished soil until they are cleaned and exposed to air.  Thoughts are the same.  Some thoughts expand when pruned, responding with new growth.  They press against my mind begging to emerge as three-dimensional form.  Others are like naked roots traumatized when exposed to air and better left buried.  

          I give objects space on the canvas not only as a means of compensating them for their captivity, but out of respect.  I respect their need of space to grow and move about in the same way I respect the need of a thought to have space around it in order to give it full consideration.  A thought cannot be littered with opposing notions; it cannot be properly studied if obscured by random ideas.  These cluttering thoughts must be removed like weeds around a flower or parasites on their stem.

          Mind weeding needs to be attended to as a form of mental gardening, removing intrusive thoughts having recognized they encroach on the growing space needed to cultivate vision, their roots competing in the soil of my mind.  I pluck these thoughts out, collecting them into the compost pile of a journal.  I want long-stemmed aromatic ideas growing in my mind.
          I link the diversity in shapes of the physical world with the diversity of thoughts available to my mind.  There are as many thoughts available to consider as there are shapes to ponder.  The desire to synthesize the diversity of physical shapes with diversity of thoughts propels me to paint in a concrete manner, giving ideas physicality - a physicality as concrete as the shapes I ponder.