3 November 2025

"Seed-Sourcing" is a collective open-writing practice.

These texts are process-documents - meaning they are spontaneous (written in 10 minutes or less) and utterly unedited. They are intended to be read only in the spirit of their context (i.e. - not treated as 'literature', but rather a trace of an immediate arrival in the moment, belonging solely to the shared practice).

ROUND 1

GE

Today my mind is wandering around several points including the nomadic dinner I want to make, duty to write my story for the immigration office, wishes to start setting up the electronic audio/video repair/circuit bending workshop, plans to start diving deeper into French language and an ongoing work that includes editing several books, teaching, writing, planning, communicating, etc.

I’m pretty sure culture is not a profession or an occupation - it’s a field where a person can stay independent, free of burdens brought by labels and identities. It’s a space of abundance, multitudes.

R:

Boring through the

Just go to the tree and stand still.

I went to EM and I said: - You know, at least one thing I have to say to you. Wisdom and vision is a matter of energy.

I vomited out all the conceptions of usual time and common story, all habitual configurations of possibility.

What did you do next?

Of course I started working with Neuralink.

Then what?

I promised Fotia, last night: “It will be either absolute revelation… or space shattering madness. Anything in between is an act of irreverence to the temple of your body trembling with cry roars.”

Last night I had a battle with D. She started threatening me with the only significant question. The body of D is moved by certain spirit morphologies I can discern. So, Fotia’s cries when I left became a scene where D’s stainless steel garment was threatening me, by mimicking the shapes of the only relevant, the urgent, the necessary question.

E:

The rednecks of West Virginia are waving at me from the ridgeline.

My family. 

I have been handed a pacifying story to mask the fire of voices raised on behalf of an urgent call for equity. 

Sweet stories.

Cake-icing scripted. 

Silly and gawkish. 

My family rednecks sold the family farm for fracking. 

They forgot about my great-grandfather’s broom-weaving machine in the shed out in the woods beyond the pond. Where my grandpa snuck to pray with stained glass soldering irons and commune with the bluejays. I used to follow him between the pines. I was a great sneak as a child. 

My grandpa is on the window sill. 

He is never far from the window sill. 

There’s still coconut pie in the kitchen. “Good heavens,” he says and throws his watch on the table. “I just can’t get this darned thing to work.” Next out of the pocket is the folding knife (that now lives in my room with the rest of him). He is smiling. 

I went to a cave in West Virginia with Johnny Minnard. He blindfolded me and left me inside beyond where the light reaches. Because I asked him to. And he left. He left me in there for an hour in the dark. And I couldn’t move, cause I didn’t know the way out or what was around me. And that was good. One hour. 17 years ago. When life was clear under the ridgeline - and there were no more stories. 

I was less afraid than I thought I’d be. 

Johnny wore the same shirt as my grandpa. This made the dark easy.

L.

Can you hear me now?

If I speak with words like feathers.

Can you hear me now?

If I sing songs delicate as morning dew on spider threads.

Can you feel me now?

If I move in the same space as a leopard

invisible, inevitable, near?

Can you feel me now?

If I kiss not only your lips but your soul.

Will you sit with me and breathe?

Will you speak with me like feathers,

and sing to me like drops of dew?

Will you walk on the cushions of your soles,

to not interrupt but join in.

When all that we are

is neither yours nor mine

will you kiss my soul then,

as the world kisses itself awake?

And when we are awake,

will you know me,not apart from you,

but as the breath between our hearts?

T

Start from here. Finding ways to not mention subjects as to create a wider vision and overview of everything that wants to be seen. Gymnastics. Mental gymnastics. Shaping emotional gymnastics.What is friendship? To go or not to go?

What is important to sustain, nourish, focus on now?List of priorities. 

Lists of things to do, to accomplish or accomplice. Was that important? To generate complicity?

Saturn rewards consistency, persistence and discipline.

ROUND 2

GE

In abundance, there’s silence - not much to say, but a lot to write about. A plethora of reasons to bring up some shining stories from the past, polished by countless days of wind, rain, snow, sun, and then dig deeper and see if there’s some hidden gems still buried in the mud, hidden in the shadows. I wonder what would they look or sound like when spoken in a foreign language.

I don’t possess a lot, although it still feels like I have too much of the immaterial. I am an uligershin. GE

R:

What is that question you speak of?

If there is something you long for, you love, well go for it!

What is stopping you?

The truth is that ALL I could long for, desire, wish to live, is right here.

To live consistently in this truth is brutally difficult.

I saw some bird chicks, on an island, that need to just jump off a high cliff to start their lives…

WHATEVER

Just don’t stand in the way of the work.

I don’t need to search for the outrageous, but if revelation is not happening, then I find my refuge in madness.

So my choice is simple, anytime. I don’t need to get lost in shades of grey.

John Malkovich plays Sergiu Celibidache in a new movie. This character says: Don’t settle for anything less than perfection.

I will discover an organ of the spirit, a faculty of the human soul that no one ever noticed.

Today.

E:

I am disturbed by David leaving (and fear it was my rough morning prickliness that surely is here because I do not feel ok. I fear I spread the not ok. And that is not ok).

I am disturbed by the lack of Space-Held in this morning’s process. (but I couldn’t manage)

I am disturbed by my heart wanting to flee (“flee on my donkey”, she says. The donkey is the vehicle of choice). 

This doesn’t feel right. 

What will I do about it.

It is the boldest choice to say nothing. 

Where is the me that doesn’t care. (I haven’t known her). 

Where is the me that doesn’t care. (She’s never been). 

Sophia gave me a red house on the horizon. And I can reach for it with my arms like ladders because I know what embrace means. 

Sophia gave me a sky with every color. And I can gulp it down until the burning in my chest is as cool as a glass bottle of coke in July to an 8 year old. 

The fire started quick today. Physicists say that blue and orange are opposites (because at some point the line of the color spectrum bit its own tail. it wanted to live forever. nevermind.).  Blue of the Ocean and Orange of the Fire. We know who wins in a battle of waves and flames. Waves and flames. Waves and flames. We know who wins. Blessed in water and spirit. 

 In a vision, the disciple of an apostle 

saw several people shut in a house 

on fire, and they were attached to it.

 "Throw water on the fire," they begged.

 They were told that it was impossible to save them. 

The outcome of their actions was death. 

This is also known as the outer darkness. 

The soul and the spirit are born of water and of fire. 

It is with water, fire, and light that the son of the bridal chamber comes into being.

• Gospel of Philip 114 : 65-66

I must face the floating practice in winter. 

I understand the impulse to light one’s self on fire. 

And also the impulse to put it out.

L :

I couldn’t find you.I couldn’t hear,

and I couldn’t feel you.I couldn’t get to that place of intimacy,

that meeting point.

I couldn’t meet you

in all the ways I longed to.

Cracks everywhere.like a landscape of dry desert,

like old paper that’s been folded too many times.Holding on to the alta - in that sticky way prayer clings to the edges of defeat -Talking to myself like a martyr

just to keep from hearing you ask:

“Are you ready to love yourself?”

Humble as you are,

that’s your only question.

Defiant as I am (read: weary and done with running in circles),my answer is yes.Yes, I am ready.How about today? 

I know a mirror lake.I’ll meet you there.

T:

I loved starting to read “When everything falls apart” by Pema Chödron last night for the second time. Second time I read the introduction. She wrote this while “doing nothing” during a sabbatical year she took. That was dignified.I am also currently reading a text by a colleague from Poland, Ewa something, her name is not easy to remember. It’s about how to drop resentment and be the owner of one’s own attention.It’s called “Stop looking at what is not working, get your energy back.”

One of the lines reads: I discovered that I had a whole industrial machinery running inside me, powered by resentment.And then,The story shifted from I’m being drained to I’m the source. And when I became the source, I stop waiting. Instead of scanning the world for what’s wrong, I connect to what wants to be created.

Instead of waiting for someone to do it better, I follow my own impulse.

If I want to have a conversation — I start it.

If I want to move — I move.

If I want love — I am it.https://www.ewaszczepaniak.org/stop-looking-at-whats-not-working-get-your-energy-back/

Zo

Ok

Let’s start again.

There are some tiny worms in the dried figs my mother sent me from Iran.

Just seeing one of them is enough to turn on

a cascade of my thoughts!

Nooope,

I’m not going to eat it,

even after removing it and the area affected!

I was talking about fear of disappointment!

I’m not going to repeat it.

But facing this phenomenon

brings me the image of my mother

trying to convince little Zo

to accept the cherries with worms

as an inevitable reality of life.

Cherries are fuckin’ beautiful,

with those intense, shining red shades.

She always tried to convince me

I didn’t even have to check every single cherry

to see if there was a worm or not.

I was a rebellious child.

I could never close my eyes to things that felt off,

to things I knew,

to the possibility that there’s always a threat—

a worm in a delicious, blinking red.

So, like life.

My mother tried hard to teach me to accept the whole.

And even if not—

even if I was persistent to scrutinize everything—

at least to take pleasure in the rest.

“Just remove the worm, Zo,

and then you can eat the rest.”

She never succeeded.

I never accepted it.

I’m never satisfied with a life

that isn’t exactly as perfect and ideal in my mind.

The fear of disappointment

is crawling beneath my skin,

trying to ruin my happiness.

I see my mother’s helpless face.

ROUND 3

GE

​​In our culture, uligershin is a person who tell uligers - the heroic folktales. It is believed that uligershins are chosen mediators between different planes of realities and that they are blessed by this gift. I do not believe in heroes, but I love folktales, and I do feel blessed having an ability to interpret, translate, tell and re-tell - and responsible for how I distribute my resource, how I keep the sound of my voice making vibrations in the space, reflecting from the walls and objects.

It is also believed that uligershins are great at counseling in decision-making because they remember hundreds thousands of narratives. I’m not sure about that part, although I do remember a lot of things, but it explains why people choose to consult with me about their most intimate doubts which always puzzled me to be honest. Maybe I’m too young yet.

R:

It was as if she continued to ask me:

Where is that outrageous thing you talked about.

No revelation here… so what about the space shattering madness you promised?

Various ways of saying “WHAT THE FUCK?”

- one can raise their eyebrows

- one can stick a knife into the black flesh of the asphalt and say it.

- one can finger the sun and say it

-one can stop for a second with the spoon in their mouth and say it

-one can spread hand cream on the wall of the Morlaix Mairy and say it.

-one can bake a snicker into the oven and say it…

- one can lay a stone in front of Sara’s room and knock. Even if she is in the UK and say it

-one can paint one of ZO’s figs in white paint and say it

-one can hold space in the Monday circle and say it

-one can fuck with the space in the Monday circle and say it.

-once can masturbate in Carrefour and say it

-one can send a message to Thomas with no clear meaning and no questions about consequences and say it

-one can also find their silver spine deep in the ground, take it out and fuck the sun… and say it

-one can also open the door of Gosha room and whistle inside, and immediately leave, and say it.

-One can eat a blade of grass at 3 in the morning saying: NEURALINK three times. And then kiss the computer laying on the ground in the back of the house. AND THEN SAY petri three times. (and say it)

I know other ways of saying “WHAT THE FUCK?” bUT i AM MORE INTERESTED IN THAT FACULTY OF THE SOUL THAT CAN DISCERN THEIR NUANCES.

E:

The welling of eyes, the closing of throat, and the turning of stomach. 

I must go to Primel. 

The wind. The wind is the most important ingredient in the recipe of resurrection. 

(One cannot be resurrected while dying. One must wait til the dying is over.)

If I don’t get to the ocean I will not die. And that is a problem. 

Beloved, you have eyes like foglights today. You have whiskers like a sailor at sea for a year. 

I will wait in the widow’s watch. 

I will wait in the chapel. 

No!

There will be no waiting to die today. Today there will be stones in my pockets. 

More greens on that tree than words can hold. And that says it all. 

Today I will trade green for blue (because I do not trust it. It says stay. Green always says stay. And I cannot.)

One day we will wake to find that all the water of the lakes have formed towers, and all the water of the rivers walls, and all the water of the oceans hives - and then we will understand what home is. 

I will talk to the water today to ask of its plans. It knows what it knows and I do not - and that is surely enough to start a lifetime (once the dying is over).

L:

Is this what abandonment looks like?

Sara and I found abandoned ships - beautiful damage - wasting away in front of our eyes.

I wonder when I stranded, got off, and ran.

Last night, I was dancing in my room, a room that is now a house.I finally managed to create a house here, after Eli gave me a new perspective.

But that’s not the point.Well, it is part of the point, but first, back to the ships, and to me dancing. 

I feel myself coming back to myself now that I have a house, a space to express myself. 

It feels like returning to a desolate place of abandonment that is both ecstatic and furious with my return.

I texted Zo yesterday to say I found a very cool spot and wondered if she would like to do a dance/movement/sound performance there. That There is something in the atmosphere of abandonment I want to explore more — through body, through sound. 

Zo said yes.

I also realized in a conversation with Eli that trying to counterbalance your primal elements by adding too much of your secondary elements can have the opposite effect of what you hope to create for yourself.

Of course, I need to live in a higher place.

That’s why the attic in Belgium feels like the right place to be.

That’s why everyone close to me seems to live in an apartment.

I am wind — I need my head in the clouds to feel at home.

Fire cannot survive in the ocean.

Blue of the ocean, orange of the fire.

We know who wins in a battle of waves and flames.

Everything I’ve discovered happened in contact, in overlap with others.

I loved gathering around the fire this week with women. 

I miss it. I want to suggest women’s circles, especially now that I have a place turned into home to receive people.

Finding your way to and back from the mirror lake doesn’t happen in abandonment.

It happens in mirroring.

Let’s buy a mirror, Zo’s this can be yours after, and dance our abandoned ships home.  

T:

I am lit up that there are opportunities to be different, act differently, think differently, anihilate the fault within of the crazy comparison making, devaluing self. What! I am a vessel of Life. I decide time and time again to allow life to pour through me. Impose myself upon the intrusive nature of the ego’s desires to stay the same, think the same, brood the same.

Ravie is a word in French that to me feels as guttural as it sounds. 

I choose to light myself up, to stay afloat. It’s different than being in a toxic positivity. Why? With the huge difference that this is not an easy job. Saturn continues to send some tests. People, attractions, diversions, my own disturbing twisting of my own image. Ah, and the emotions, those things are fields of tests. They come on at various degrees. Those come at the advanced levels of the game. They create distortions in perceptions. It’s not an easy game to play, but once you’ve gained enough flavor to life, you can take it less seriously (in the sense of being hooked) and be more alert in that the inner battle is on!So, the trick of the magician is to have all of the elements in display in front of his or her eyes. Everything, the tools, the shadows, the torments, the sentences. The magician takes turns in doing nightshifts with himself or herself. In the dark of night, where no light penetrates.Then, after he really gets the rhythm of the anguishes of the automatism, he makes a plan. And has various antidotes for the same fault.

So, today is a new day. I already allowed myself to be killed before breakfast. That’s why I can sit here without turning to all the desires of my ego to run away, to brood, to divert my attention to its own petty desires.

Zo

So,

I’m still in the threshold.

One leg freely in the water,

one leg firmly on the ground.

My mother never knew what to do with me.

Neither me!

Yet here I am,

alone by my side,

trying not to be a kid anymore.

Trying to be free from my conditioning.

Trying to face life as it is—

with its worms,

its sorrows,

its ugliness

and the bitterness of dissapointment.

Maybe then I can treat it?

I was always told,

“You cannot have the date and the donkey at the same time!”

It’s a Persian proverb!

It means you cannot have all the good things together.

You have to pay a price,

you have to give up on one.

I was a stubborn child.

I still am.

There is always a way.

There should be always a way.

R: There is something miraculous about the field, in such a night. Miraculous is also how poor my words can be. I write here despite the fact that this will never be read. If writing is significant, it will have impact without being read by anyone. Because writing, like any other ducking thing, is about practicing the responsibility of creation. Of choice. Our conception of creation, is, of course, related to our conception of time.

The naive, primitive conception of being or not being.

I guess there is a certain mode/ discipline/ field/ logic of being, in which you never feel alone, in which you can trust the total consequences and the complete unity with everything else, in any moment. But what kind of belief is this? Is this unnatural? Is this unrealistic?