TERRA NOVA

Once upon a time there was a place deep in the woods, buried in the mountains, adjacent to a lake. Once a year a group of artisans would plan for a 3 day retreat to this place and invite their closest companions and peers. They called the journey they embarked on together, TERRA NOVA. They would come, they would make, and they would believe.

One year, a young poet was invited by a member of their community to share in this experience. He was very dedicated to his craft and felt a tinge of excitement simply from thinking about being alone with his work and away from the thunderous demands of everyday life. His world, like many, was wrought with responsibility, deadlines, interruptions, un-forseen setbacks, heartache, loss, change, pressure, and sorrow. The deepest lines on his faced relaxed at the very mention of the woods, the lake, and the mountains. He could feel the led inside his pencil heat up in preparation.

However, the young poet was also hesistant. He was paranoid about leaving his hectic schedule, and skeptical about the influence of his time. You see the young poet was a spiritual nomad and his spirituality emanated from deep within his core, whilst the community who wished to share this magical time and space, was from another tribe, whose beliefs were all woven together under the thread of Christianity. The young poet had encountered many religions throughout his journeys. His encounters with cultures and with people had allowed him the opportunity to familiarize himself with most of the worlds major religions and viewed them from the lens of a kaleidoscope where each country, each culture, and each language allowed him to respect a wide spectrum of beliefs and views. Furthermore, had learned to appreciate these belief systems, however, none resonated within his heart, his logic, or his exact vision. For this reason, he was weary about the intentions of the retreat. Was it for artisans? or was it for members of the community? Despite the worries, he trusted in his friends' reassurance that this time was for the former and a community that he knew well and loved. A community of artistic warriors finding their place in society. He took a chance.

It felt like the first day of school and the new energy was exciting as he sat and observed the smiles and the talent. But finally, it was the majesty of the surroundings that allowed him to unwind his apprehensions. In the morning brisk air invaded his nostrils. In the afternoon, the cool shade of a mammoth tree sheltered him from the sun. In the evening the moon guided his footsteps to and from the cabin. Drummers rhythms danced around his heartbeat in a game of tag. Singers melodies stayed with him and his soul would sing them back as lullabies gently caressing him to sleep. Dinner conversations to the backdrop of a steep ravine splashed in evergreen kept him present. The lull of a slow walk with no destination spoke volumes to his spirit.... And slowly without knowing it, they were creating. Creating everything. Creating anything. Things they intended and things they had no idea they were capable of. They froze time and space with captivating photos, where the subject became a puzzle and the artist behind the camera used their gifts of lighting, perspective, and what emanated from the human spirit to still that moment for eternity. Dancers who had never met, used their limbs as branches that came alive and told stories. And their grace translated that force called: Music. Poets scribed pages of powerful seeds and in them sewed the truth of what they saw with the power of their voices. DJ's dissected rhythms and opened the palate of audio experience and taste.

Some were inspired, some were impressed. Some were motivated, some were mesmerized. Some channeled amazing things, some were changed. Many things happen, unexpected things that only happen from the vulnerability of the human spirit and the trust of placing the shards of a broken soul in another's hands. The young poet watched grown men speak softly to young hearts, and young hearts create wildly with fearless abandon. He saw beauty laugh at itself, and the heard the wind whisper, "It's okay to cry." He knew that his connection with the things that passed may have been very different from the girl who sat next to him. But so too, he learned that her interpretation of a moonlit bonfire was only hers and no matter who shared her beliefs, she was singular in what she took with her and how she would manifest things that transpired. He forgot they were Christian, and they payed no heed to the fact that he wasn't. He forgot they were - they, and by the same token they no longer saw - him. For as in the beginning of every story, in every religion, and every belief, regardless of the characters, there is only WE. And so it was that we...had a great time. That we: friends, strangers, and artists, shared the woods and the mountains with each other. And so it was that we discovered TERRA NOVA- new land. Me in them and them in me.

I thank the community of Mosaic for welcoming this young poet into your special new land for 3 days and into your story forever and with your warmth poignantly agreeing with the core of my beliefs; which cuts through religious dogma, unites ethnicities, interweaves cultures, and breaks down language barriers:

"what we share, is infinitely and profoundly more important than what we don't."

-A + poet + nomad + ali = Apoetnomadali aka POET

ILL HUMAN NATION RECORDS