In late afternoon, stars are not visible.  


Everything arrives energetically, at first.


I wait to see what I’ll recognize, as diffuse sky resolves into points of light and glitter.


When Venus appears, objects are just visible; silhouettes seem larger, nearer; voices are audible at a distance, though words don’t make precise sense.


Glancing to the right of Antares in medium blue, I intuit cosmic allurement.  


Stars arrive non-visually, first. 


I practice to see light in this process of evanescence, like an aroma.


The field of heaven, which operates outside space and time, is formed by acts of other entities, other stars and by people who rise in the dark to look for them and place them.


When mind extends toward sky, it may take the form of a perceived star, because respect is a portal.


When your experience ardently links to an object or person where you live: husband, tree, stone, you try to hold on to the visibility of that object and its location.


Connecting with a geometry of sky gives this sense of security, inspiration.


I ally with a crater on the plain, but also with the comet’s light.




Venus arrives in cerulean; Antares, second star is just visible, then Pico in indigo.


In full dark, light streaks from one star to another like communication, travel.


My husband beside me sees at his angle, a different array.


Every stream of photons is always there to be seen.


Planets line up and turn with their DNA, energy around them, like a web struck by light.


Stars are holes in the dark; when I look at one, I go there, entity contact easing my emotion.  


I ask heaven that we be left with some essence of what has disappeared, that one day we again experience physical beauties no longer seen. 


Remembering concentrates something that works in the present; visibility is like memory.


Dimensions are also; invisible, organizing substrates unify past and present.


They provide a framework that keeps stars in place, cohering the dynamic quanta of infinity, so travel is easy.


This frame does not emit light, nor other waves, nor show itself by absorbing light from hot dust or star death as with a concentrating black hole, nor show how far we extend into its ecology.


Watching is like living on the mesa, while deepening my reception to it.  


Richness I concentrate is not contained; I radiate desert fragrance spontaneously, like receiving an apache rose I saw in my dream.


May we go to that time; I mean, we’ll all see the beginning.





She passed on her observations of Venus and spring dawn.


We did not ask the personal details of her study.


We thought, naturally, object and subject processes connect, that night sky and knowing are undivided. 


Perhaps creativity is the unfoldment of relations between objective and emotion in space.


The beingness of stars onto which my consciousness projects awe is also consciousness as light.


When we expand into any unknown, we use the term origin, i.e., one time.  


Waiting for stars I know is the fullness of time, contingent time.


I go out before dawn to check Venus on my birthday.


I feel extension, pre-space through which dawn will arrive.


There’s an ambience of bird song, cicadas.


I aspire for transparent space to diffuse dissonance inside me to its quantum complement.


Sky lightens.





I see a white tree against black ground.


Its shape is a person reaching up with wide arms, but fuzzy in outline from leaves and blossoms.


I study how gravity, allure, origin create the shape.                                 


Natural law is represented by the dark from which my tree grows.


Night elicits, then highlights the tree, as if whiteness-day, experience-were a flexible substance being thought into coherence, a mold.  


Night is of day as day is transparent, as dark energy is of light attraction.    


The tree attains its most intimate relation with black ground in the context of my viewing.


I perceive the beingness of stars as a kind of visually emotive flow-through.


A woman watching is like a mirror surface on the outermost layer of appearance or her experience of the tree.  


Each of us when we look at stars is the localized reflection.


I went out with him to see The Spiral branching away.


It viscerally enmeshes us in subtle fields of other beings thinking through space in lines of light.


Distance between viewer and star resolves into one experience, point or singularity. 


As you continually generate the transparency of flowing space, it must continually unfold matter that shines.



*”Star, Being” was previously published in the exhibition catalogue Drawing Then: Innovation and Influence in American Drawings of the Sixties by Dominique Lévy Gallery.

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