Soundscapes from the Mammoth Event Center, Denver on October 7th. 1997 swirl & twern behind me.
14.12
Soundscapes have now moved with G3 to the Lila Cockwell Theatre, San Antonio on October 9th. 1997. A note on the DAT card: "NB On this day initiatives were taken, `phone calls made".
14.47
Ian Cook, horticulturist from Pershore, has just telephoned. Ian has the sense of something about to happen, is unable to do anything about it, even thinks he knows what that future might be, and wonders quite what to do about that.
Actually, said Robert to Ian, I was considering this question twenty minutes ago. I have a very strong hunch the future is about to present itself in a radical fashion. This is my sense: the future is hovering, beckoning, and one day the `phone will ring and the future will fall appear. The advice which I gave to the enquiring Fripp was this: "Set your affairs in order & clear your desk. Then, when the `phone goes, you'll be able to respond".
Ian & Robert bid adieu.
Five minutes after my conversation with Ian, Allyson (who represents Toyah at Jon Roseman Associates) called to book me for a "Songs Of Praise" programme on love. Toyah is already committed, and the producer wants her spouse / lover / partner / husband / obeying creature to be involved, even to say something about their understanding of "love".
15.06
Ian Cook called 5 minutes ago to say that his `phone call bearing the next step, has just happened. Ian's future, the one he anticipated and discussed 15 minutes earlier, is underway.
This is how it happens, when it happens - the `phone goes. Then, everything changes. We can't make the `phone ring, but must be ready and available to pick it up and then respond. Somehow, being ready for the call enables it to be made, I feel.
Synchonicities abounding this afternoon, including stories from Diane.
Meanwhile, a rumination triggered by "Songs Of Praise" and after Reb Zalman - love is not a noun, it is a verb. To slightly paraphrase a sentence from a Guitar Craft Monograph: the act of loving is the love itself.
"Conscience is utterly impersonal."
