The Stone Bearer

While roaming the roads of life, the man of middle-age reached a
stubborn standstill when he encountered a rapid stream. Not able to
amble forward and no other way around, he was unsure of what to do —
for he carried with him upon his back a sack laden with the myriad
stones and rock that he had throughout his journey amassed.

From a very early age and ever on, wherever he went and
whatever he did, the man added ever more to his pack —
some as wee as bits of sand, others as large as the whole of a man.
In time, his bag of fleck and flint filled fuller than full and
was as heavy as the house he had left so long ago.

To the folks that he’d meet in the towns on the streets where he proudly
passed, he became known as The Stone Bearer. For so long had it been that
he was christened as such, that he, too, came to know himself solely in this sense.
And over the scores of years since he pecked his first pebble, the title and
the role with which it entailed would come to define his very existence.

And so it was here, at this time and this place that he was unwittingly impelled
to contemplate his fate. How could he cross the impeding stream and be on his way, while lugging his stony load? The Stone Bearer considered this way and that, backward and front, yet forever concluded the same — He had no choice but to maintain his
course in the only manner mattering to him, with his burden upon his back.

Haltingly he lurched into the formidable flow, each footstep falling further
than the first. He sank in past his knees and hips, chest and chin, submerging
beyond his crown, his bale ever more anchoring him down. Holding fast to the
sack surely would he drown, so in an act of desperate dissolution, he released
his grip and off it slid, the rocks slipping onto stream bed aground.

One by one, the tumbling stones left him ever more light until he at last floated freely to the surface. Making his way to the other side, he stood easily upright, the first he had done so in years. Weightless, he felt, transparent even. He turned and peered to where his stockpile had spilled — strewn about in the current were all the rocks and stones that had once determined his past, and had compelled his foreseen future.

Original painting by Jason Weaver 2017

It was perfectly clear for him to see, that what had initially provided him purpose had eventually oppressed his progress. He realized that no longer could he carry the burden of expectation, to adhere to the limits of prescribed self-imposed concept. Indeed, he had no need to be the stone bearer any more.  “It is time to leave them behind,” he allowed to himself aloud, to the only one that could truly let it be so.

From that moment forth, he would just go, and be, and do — not disappointed by what he had lost (for he would collect no more rocks!) but stronger and wiser for the lesson he learned. In shouldering the weight of those rocks, he now had the fortitude for the travels ahead. And as for the rocks and stones themselves, they would remain forever where they toppled, a testament to the beauty of learning to live, and living to learn.

By Jason Weaver, 2017

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Reality Creation: Meditation, Painting and Life

Original Painting by Jason Weaver 2016

Thoughts
entwine in my mind as though
it was not my mind at all, but rather
the open air, an
ethereal canvas where
they
dart and zip like bees
in……and out
or swing and dip like
leaves blown in on a summer wind,
they
crawl and burrow deep within
the dampened earth and birth
memories
crusted in sap and mud,
love and blood – thoughts
on strings that stitch and sew
every stick and stone herein,
they
lace me to this place
raw burnt bronzed
we are
a confluences of ceaseless streams,
endeavors that begin
and end ever again
turbidity placidity chaos
calm, I must
breathe
in……and out
I must
wake adapt become
the thread that seams
this dream within a dream, I must
BALANCE between
the known and the unknownable,
the fluid and the indestructible,
the part and the whole,
weaving
a tapestry
of reality

by Jason Weaver, 2016

Original Painting, Riacho na Serra (Parnaso, RJ, Brasil) (2015-2016) Acrylic on Canvas (70×100 cm)

Element

Pedras Agua e Luz by Jason Weaver LoveMore Studio

Reduced to dust
from whence we came
I dissolve within the
elemental stream and
quietly settle in between
sun and earth and stone
never more
to be alone.

by Jason Weaver, 2014

Original painting acrylic on canvas Pedras, Agua e Luz (2014) 70cmx120cm by Jason Weaver

as I see it…

no
tippy-toe-ing
no more
to and fro-ing
no doubt will keep me
second guessing
deeply messing with my
mind
no
not this time

I go in
head
prime

As I See It

Author’s Note: Poetic response to a fun, semaphoric (140 character) riddle prompt by Samuel Peralta tonight at Dverse poetry pub– check it out!
Update:  The photograph above is rotated 180º to show the water as it would look if one dove in head first– like in the words above, “as I see it…” diving into LIFE without further ado. ~peace, Jason

On Time

WaterRocks_LoveMoreStudio

now

just as sparkling
autumn afternoon
dims to darkling dusk
and shadows spill
like ink to fill soon
the cusp of forest shallows…

the token limits of time upend
and I sink into a blend of broken minutes

now
where every blink
is a profound existence
instantly bound to infinite instance

now
where every inhalation
is an exaltation
to the culmination of

now

where every beat of my essence
stutters and stretches the seconds
to repeat
and reveal
this persistent presence of present
no real delineation of time from self
merely the constant
continuation of
now

by Jason Weaver © 2013
inspired by and dedicated to my friend Claudia Bustamante

Linked up with the OpenLink Poetry Pub at dVerse-– check it out! every Tuesday for some great poetry reading

Tangerine


Round rigid mount I’d scaled
apace off-beaten trail where
I’d found within
this peculiar place
a bluff of jutted stone

Atop its rough I sit alone
my feet aswing
I eat the fruit of tangerine
and cast its seeds
to the vast ravine below.

Closer to the edge I slip
as citrus lingers sticky-sweet
with drips of salted sweat
‘pon my lips and fingers wet
and dribbles on my chin

Soon
as heat of high-noon sun
batters hard on my unclad skin
therein I seek the heavens clear
and off the peak I plunge

By Jason Weaver

Authors’ Note: at dVerse today, we’re writing descriptive poems in which we use images to describe a feeling, a truth, a person, using primarily surroundings.. in other words.. imagist poems that have an embedded message..Check it out!