8 September 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

G:

1:

I feel alive because I’m being worried, being thankful, being angry, being sad. I feel alive because my English is bad. I feel alive because I have feelings and because writing this on my way to the lawyer to translate another paper for my visa that doesn’t seem to be anywhere close which isn’t really true but still - I feel painfully alive while doing all this paperwork for months, years, decades even and still feel like I’m not good enough for the people who make decisions. I feel very much alive being an eternal foreigner since the day my body was brought to reality in a small village built by white people on a stolen land. I feel alive when people are confused whether I’m Russian, Asian, Georgian, Armenian, American, Turkish, Mongolian, European, etc.

R:

When I start the day I do my best to stop everything… to stop life, to stop the world…

I move my will in the opposite way… back into the foundations of all I believe to be real… My heart guides me into how I would most desire to feel like… if I was united with the body of the whole reality…

Radu is humble and wishes to ask one question. An important one.

How can one attain freedom, to act responsibly in any situation? (Stating the question like this doesn’t do the job…)

So I need to engage all the tools I can find… video, image, painting, text, study…

The mountain is real.

Is it?

True beginning… We are in front of a miraculous beginning. I know what to do to honor it… to continuously purify… clean all the layers and layers of belief… it seems like an impossible work…

idealistic…

unrealistic…

nonetheless, the life that the world tells me about is not so interesting to me. So I do what I can.

mountain

L : SurfaceYou will be here for a year. 

A year. 

A whole year. 

A cycle of four seasons.Things surface,Then sink.Thing surface,Disappearand return again.Cycles.With their own seasons.Put out a plateto sharemake teatwo cupspour teaalways two cupstwo cups make treedon’t ask for anythingjust invite.1 + 1 = 3Every offering is relational.every gesture creates a world.Cycles.Seasons.Tea.Plates.cupspresence.

Return.Again.and again. 

H: today I feel like a feather

drifting every way

I feel rested, yet restless

What journey will I make? I see new destinations, their meaning unclear

So many travels for little birds. Tiny robin, small blackbird, little owl.I just hope she can fly with them all

Not falling, but drifting. Soaring?This new week is full of new things- we can take them in flight.

T:Oh I feel so glad that my tea is still warm, and that I opened a book that finally grounded my mind into what is bigger: Death. We will all die. I find myself editing my thoughts, what is shareable here? It will remain in space forever. Words live on. My mind has been restless today, distracted by what is fair. I needed this sobering up from a bigger system: death.I have not written my will yet.

Feather(ed) Serpent remits me to the god of the half of my lineage that lives in my blood. Quetzalcoatl. The hybrid between the sky and the earth creature. Mystical and full of fire to transform anything it touches. What is in a Myth that needs a Myth to exist and cannot exist without it?I detect a kind of substance that transcends what humans are comfortable dealing with on a daily basis. The Myth transports the mind into realms where it needs to make efforts and work. Myths carry meaning that is not always comfortable and predictable.

This god, deity, vision, animal, kymera, soul carries a meaning that when touched by the mind, the mind gets infected with its mystical nature. For a moment, it transcends death. Becomes its own right of phenomena and has the power to explain things unavailable to the common.This is where I live. In the Liminal space. This is where I choose to live, source and breathe.

E: assembly

I am assembling my wilds as the bubbles of cava assemble on the surface

and explode.

My wilds will also explode. 

sembler, semblage, semblance, similis … kind. a kind. the same kind. gathering of the same kind. Kin. 

How many makers make for lack of kin. (I be longing)

We deeply and clearly resemble one another.

We do not at all resemble one another.

I will stand straight before this straight line and be with the truth of both.

It is the only practice that matters in the end.

The truth of both. 

The truth of both. 

Someone wanted to know what it is to make something real. 

Real and true.

Real and true.

I move my neck like this (real).

I move my chin like that (true).

I open my jaw.

It cracks. 

I wink.

Real and true. 

To be real is to be undeniable. 

I am only concerned with faith. 

And when I say concern, I mean that I put it at my middle the way a squirrel buries acorns in the mud,

the way the waves polish rock, the way the candle wax gradually dematerializes from sight.

When I was a child, assembly was the marching-together to an auditorium for some great display of dignity and importance. It meant something would happen. Something that required the attendance and complicity of every body implicated. (I did not know this word then - implicated.

Nor com-pli-city : the place of being folded together. We fold together. We are folded together. Like the acorns into the soil, and the minerals into the waves, and the soot particles of wax into the air. 

I will stand straight before the nombril of stone that remembers umbilicus. Cast into clay and made floor of the steady of all our toes - soon covered in winter slippers and dark-hour, mug-carrying, log-lighting dearness. 

Similis. Similis true. Similis real. 

ROUND 2

Gosha: 

2:

I am living my dream in a house with friends, animals and a beautiful garden that we tend everyday. I can communicate with people of different origins around the world at any moment. I have a little helping program in my palm, on my wrist and in my ears that reads my body and thoughts, although sometimes not quite right but I forgive her. I operate languages, objects, words, images and code so that other people feel a little better. I have some free time to play games that allow me to feel a little better too by living through fictional characters experiences. Sometimes I even make games of my own for my friends to play with. Me and my friends, we are very different yet we understand each other. I don’t remember all the bad people and things from the past but I remember all the things they taught me so that I doesn’t hurt to face some memories.

R:

I suddenly become mad with the desire for transparency. Total, radical transparency… what else could be the fertile ground for this year of uncompromising friendship, fellowship?

I need to start transparency like this:

I create a giant installation, performance… in which I can fully place all the landscapes of my world, when my time comes to present myself in front of them…

at the end, after I have showed them all…

I should do something like: just collapse everything in a gesture of kneeling. I wish to somehow cry with boiling tears at the feet of them…

this is real, it is not theatrical..

to cry with this meaning: I have all desire to truly honor the outlandish mystery of Your presence here, each and every one of you coming to La Source. I have all desire to honor fully the divine complex body of this entire year.

Nonetheless… I know all the distorted, small, petty, confused types of programs written in my flesh… I am petty and I am continuously pettifying anything and everyone around me.

The pettifier.

So at least I know how to start… to just present my honest apologies and to show a stance of determination.. a body of determination…

that there is nothing I want more to do…

There is basically nothing else to be done.

I will learn from Merce. She is not looking at the moon, like the others… she is continuously on the hunt.She is an icon of attentiveness.. continuously focused, on a hunt.

I will create such a discipline… to continuously observe around me all the signs of pettiness that I emanate…. Every cheap sequence of experience I produce.

L : ​To enter the days when the veil is thin,to witness the quiet life in the steam of tea,in a dancing candle, in the turn of a page;to ask questions without demand,and let what is alive respond in its own way.

To move in such a way where care and curiosity meet,where presence itself shapes and reshapes the world.I want to listen so closely that whatever divides

self and other, life and death, within and without, dissolves.

I long for the freedom to believe.to believe in magicdoes not mean to be an orphan.

​​

H: The being I want to be

only sharpens after I name

what I refuse to becomeAnd I don’t want to be hamster girl.I think you know her. She burrows a nest deep in the ground and goes into hibernation.Sleeping, eating, dozing, chewing. Shoveling down chips and napping for days and nights on end. I don’t admire her, but sometimes she tunnels into my chest

and I feel the weight of her fur, her drowsy paws dragging me down.Time to loose the birds of prey.Be like a bird of prey. That’s a better option. Fearless, screeching and diving and dancing through the air. 

A dance of talons and sky.

Decision made.Stand by it.Hamster girl, stay buried.

I have wings now.

T:Pulling in. Magnetizing. Wild. Courageous. Let me forget the daze of jadedness for a moment and refer deeeeeeeply into my sacred and untouched inner Pearl.

Without borrowing any form of vision. I want to be living a space where real magic, telepathy, creation, high level of intelligent communication, and beauty are being experienced. A kind of interplay of the ever evolving parts of each human available to play a role that sustains, nurtures and gives life to more aspects of evolution.In essence it is about pleasure as a guiding force. The better it feels, the more confirmation that the Golden Era of Life is being had.Architectural genius, culinary extravaganza, laughter abounds and the effervescence of Eros within the pillars of a wealthily conscious society. I want to experience the wealth of intelligence flowing through my system without restraint to fit in. I long to live higher states of consciousness, and engagement with Life that transcends the ordinary. Does this come from collaboration with other beings? Does it come from consciously relating? Does it come from effort? Surrender? Or maybe a concoction of it all. Does it come from being human? Or must we transcend being human altogether?

To emanate divinity from within. And weave threads of golden purpose between us. Does it sound too poetic? How to use language to describe what is indescribable with the current state of affairs?Some call it names like Archetypal.Archetypal Life.Pause.Can the seeds already be existing in each of us?What did the other Golden ages of Humanity look like? Feel like?What if I just completely surrendered to what is? The darkness of the shadow. The striving for compassionate living. The Buddha. What about the transcendence of ordinary life, not by living outside of it, but completely in it but completely turned ON. Emanating the highest degree of luminosity of intelligence on all the levels.I can’t think of fairy tales anymore. The struggle against jadedness is real. I also want to free myself from the confines and prisons of the 6 types of storylines: man against god, man against man, man against nature, man against woman, man against himself or man as hero.The low drama. Is it an intrinsic part of humanity? The dark shadow. The psyche. The unconscious. Enemies. There is one call for solution: alchemizing pain into love.

I want to live outside of the paradigms of man.

E:

“There is no limit here.”

(why this fixation with limitless)

…then there is no evoking of this liminal space that is so cherished by so many who step into what is - let’s just say : the temple ground.

Eli whispers quietly in the intimacy of her own mind to only herself (ha!) “They know - right? They all read it right, right? The Temple Ground. The temenos is the perimeter around a temple. Are we not frightened of this word temple. Are we afraid it will be confused with something else? Are we anxious to be misunderstood or misjudged … Temple. I say it. It asks my tongue to move in special, fleshy shapes of contact with the other parts of my mouth.

A mouth is a limit. 

There are limits all over.

We say temenos. The temenos is a limit. Around the temple. So I want to live this question - what have we placed in this temple? What will we revere here. Will we find the fabled common point-of-reverence. (yes. it’s a pun. I am not above puns.) 

I lap the milk of words like holy, divine, relinquish, and liturgy as if they were never dirtied. 

(I do not ignore the genocides committed in the misuse of these words.) 

Even ‘religious’ is only ‘religare’ - to bind together. Bound together. That’s it. Faith binds us to …

No. It is meant to mean : Vow. 

So this is the longing. I want to hear our vows. I want to find my own. I want to know what we are devoted to in our separate and shared corners. 

I want to wash your feet. 

I want to wash and massage the feet of each of the fellows.

And for that not to be too freakish, or too intense, or doubt-worthy.

Undeniable. Real. True. (trace the lineage of thought. how did I get here?)

I want to do this because I want contact with everything our words cover. 

The vow happens in touch as it cannot happen in speech or the many planned happenings.

(that can happen in the delicate undertaking of planned happenings. but I will not take that for granted.)

I will not be afraid to be judged for these, my longings. My longings to know you. My longings to feel that when the night terror comes at 2am that my door could be a door to knock upon. Not because we are all children (though we are, yes, sometimes all children and thank heavens for that!) but because it is in these moments of needing to be held (which is just needing to feel that our bodies are bigger than the shape and limits we’ve grown accustomed to) that we find a real, undeniable door to exactly the only things that matter. 

The limit. That I will respect. That I will not cross. Until I am invited. 

There are limits

so that when we cross into the temple ground

we know that what we do and say there

shapes the body that is bigger than the one we’ve grown accustomed to.

ROUND 3

Gosha:

My vision will become real by more paperwork sent to the officials. My vision will become real by transcending and abolishing borders. My vision will become real by a sequence of code putting all the constants and variables into collective action. My vision will become real after a long afternoon nap that follows a hearty lunch. My vision becomes real everytime when the sun goes down and all the spirits are out. My vision will become real when I’ll make some offerings to the local guardians and angry souls, on distant shores, singing a song in their habitat. My vision will become real when the clock will tick twelve times and the scene will change.

P: Vision doesn’t become real. It is real, to me. To make a vision tangible, an experience to share with others is my job. Proper form polished to perfection becomes mystical - a material gift that extends beyond matter. It is with others that this may happen. My art resembles the art of a fascia - to connect seemingly opposing elements and direct / generate force in the same direction. Fascia is the invisible web that connects different parts of the human body. Fascia  becomes visible only when it’s not functioning properly, when a wrinkle, a cut or such occurs. 

R: How the vision becomes real.

I am going into the fields, late in the night.

I have found an ancient stone arrow head…

This was a gift from the land. I was with ZO and Eli.

I am walking on the field. It is night, warm, soft. There are others, maybe…

The land is intelligent and powerful. There is immense, astonishing ressource of wisdom, capacity…

The suffering I can see in me, in us, in the world, is also immense..

The equation is simple…

Immense need.

Immense ressource.

I just need to enter the work… engage and unite with the various forms of intelligence, work for alignment, coherence, unity… 

To take these words out of the poetic, hippie, spiritual, dreamy, resonance and make them clear and matter.

L.Wake up in the morning between 6 and 6:30—the threshold between night and day.Make tea. Set up a table with a candle and two cups.

Everything I do is to share.I share my food.I share my thoughts.

I share my grief, my joy,the raw and the weird.Transparency.Transparent Temple.

The other cup is for anyone or anythingthat wants to take a seat,that wants to engage in conversationin any language,in any way:poetic, spiritual, clear, or matter.

Discipline is a love language.To be devoted is a love language.Waking up each morning between 6 and 6:30 is a love language.Courtship the invisible until it feels safe enough to appear is a love language

H: 

The love is in the fields, in the land, in the stones. Whispers of kinship drift  a language almost forgotten.

We share the same spaces, and long to share our thoughts. Through movement and dance, through howls beneath the moon, through gathering places and weaving stories,

we shape a mandala, a circle of experience, a map of belonging.

T:

The vision becomes real by speaking it, living it in my flesh, feeling it, repetition, repetition, repetition… making cracks in the status quo. By surrendering. By uncommitting to the stories. Letting go of the old running mental structures and memes. Sometimes they need to be shaken out with violent grieving.Keep going. I became the vision keeper. My body became the vision holder, the vision liver. 

Daily, there are moments to turn things into gold through deriving my thoughts, my words and my actions. Daily. It’s a daily, moment to moment affair. Courtship. That is the dance. A dance that holds elegance, gentleness, involvement, companionship. These considerations are part of the formula. It is about imbibing the reality with the cultivated emanation of Being. It is equally about weaving the elements of the Result in with the path towards the result.Mandala, a weave of mandala. The wisdom of man-drahla. Drahla as the intelligent positioning of elements in a room. What emanates from an intelligent action is … intelligence. What emanates from a clear thought and orderlines is… clarity.What emanates from the invisible intention of godliness is… love.Weaving each other’s invisible landscapes through conscious movements, together. The dance will pace us towards valleys and peaks. The outer music is dictated by our inner decisions. Something larger is weaving Us. The Us from being together as separate sovereign and reclaimed beings Sourcing individually yet simultaneously sings the dance alive.We are the Mandala of high intelligent Breath. 

E:

Paperwork is not real. 

But the mouse chewing through the internet closet in the library is. 

(I am not allowed to find mice sweet or adorable, because if they come, I will need to kill them. 

They know it’s not personal.)

The vision liver. 

Here - is the vision liver. (I am obsessed by undiscovered organs. My body is full of them.)

The vision liver is a filtration system for unconsented stories. It governs the metabolizing of inherited bullshit. 

Trust is the first step to real. 

So I could ask this question differently : what will I trust this week? 

(and I don’t mean in the indetectable ways of inconsequential, private and indiscernible trust-in-theory, in the “sounds good on paper”, in the affirmations read from a book built to make you feel better, in the if-only-I-were-who-I-pretend-to-be fake-it-til-you-make-it-nonsense…(I could be more tolerant of the self-development industry.).... I don’t mean in the trickery of an imaginary hypothesis.

I mean - what will my actions indicate about what I truly trust. Because trust is love. And love is not a private, indiscernible thing.)

“it has been said: 

Love and a cough

cannot be concealed.

Even a small cough.

Even a small love.”

(from Small Wire…. thank you, Saint Anne. May you all know her soon enough.)

(Wait. I am free. Will they forgive me if I read them the whole poem?

This poem is worth risking their resentment for me taking too much place.

((I am afraid of taking too much place. Forgive me also for this fear. Please. I can see there are people here now who will teach me to take this fear and lure it into the mouse trap with the other sweet things we call pests.))

Small Wire (by Anne Sexton)

My faith

is a great weight

hung on a small wire,

as doth the spider

hang her baby on a thin web,

as doth the vine,

twiggy and wooden,

hold up grapes

like eyeballs,

as many angels

dance on the head of a pin.

God does not need

too much wire to keep Him there,

just a thin vein,

with blood pushing back and forth in it,

and some love.

As it has been said:

Love and a cough

cannot be concealed.

Even a small cough.

Even a small love.

So if you have only a thin wire,

God does not mind.

He will enter your hands

as easily as ten cents used to

bring forth a Coke.

I will trust, this week, all who have gathered here

to give me the benefit of the doubt,

to let me be human and humbled and imperfectly (and overly) prepared. 

I will trust, this week, all who have gathered here

to sharpen their ache into instrument of great generosity. 

(I am fixated on this - art as an act of generosity… not that we do it for the others… because i’m not so sure that real generosity works that way. 

Rather, just that we do it and set it free. Because it’s not only for us. Because it came for us, but not only for us.  (Ugh. easy words make easy trust.) 

Here:

We make the temple and open the doors and welcome all who pray to the same Wild. 

Hospitality - the only art.

To be wild and hospitable at once is a love language.)

This week I will be trusted to know. And all I can do is long 

to share the same spaces, and long to share the same thoughts,

and try. And trust that they will, that you will, know my heart

and its coordinates. The map as it is drawn now shows us only where we are.

We are on an expedition team.

We have a good compass, and vast wilderness, and all the resources of wisdom already packed and slung over our shoulders. 

We each have something the others will need.

I trust that.

We each have something the others will need

for this journey. 

There will be plenty of unpacking.