A gentle haze rests in every nook and cranny of the ridges and crags that stretch out beyond the bluffs. A few bedraggled stars peek out every so often as the moon slips in and out amid fast moving clouds casting a sallow glow around its circumference caused by a shroud of rain- an aura of mystery .
The wind sounds like a rushing train - a harbinger of the storm soon to come. A chill wraps its arms around me as sparks illuminate my pipe and smoke wafts away - quickly, then more slowly and quickly again.
Fleeing to shelter, the warmth of the cabin engulfs me as the candle glow creates an even warmer still ambiance of comfort and provides a glimpse back to times more simple and profound.
This cabin of rustic elegance unencumbered by the modern "necessities" of electricity elicits hope for the dream called Kalein. A place where artists of strong temperament and virile sensitivity can sit on bluffs like these and hear the wind singing their name.
A name that neither society nor the church understands. Artist. Seer. Dreamer. Herald. True names. But names misunderstood and misused from time immemorial.
True names. Named from and by God. Called to a mysterious and "gray as this night" calling. A middle earth of homelessness. But - always heeding a call to draw, paint, sing, write, create and SEE moments of earthliness. Moments others can't or perhaps refuse to see.
Moments that create or rather demand thinking, being, loving and SEEING uncomfortable things. And sometimes, just sometimes - moments of magic. Other worldly conjuring-up of places, people and things heretofore unthought and unknown.
An awakening of desire, longings and lust that can only be described as mystery. Sacrament. A communion between God and man that religion fears and seeks to control.
A communion of artistry that creates a sacramental LIFE. A life best lived outside the shadow of control and its insidious tyranny.
A FREEDOM. Freedom of truth. THE truth. A truth obscured by centuries of legalism and religious control. A freedom that groans to be free as surely as a mother travails in birth.
A messy, bloody, lengthy labor that results in a beautiful child filled with magic called ART.
