rhythma - sean michael imler

Music for the heart, mind, and spirit...


Rhythma Blog

Rhythma - Sean Michael Imler - Home
rhythma - sean michael imler

Music for the heart, mind, and spirit...


Rhythma Blog

Archive for August, 2011

Holes in the FloorTuesday, August 23rd, 2011


I was in the bedroom that I had as a child in my mother’s house. The room was bare but for a desk against the wall. The floor boards were exposed and had been white washed. My Mom and Brad had drilled holes about 1/2 inch in diameter all over the floor. There must’ve been 100 of them. Then, these holes had larger holes drilled around them about 2 inches in diameter, but not drilled all the way thru the floor. I had also noticed that after the smaller holes were created, they had used something very hot like a poker to singe the holes given then a burned look. But then I noticed that a few of the holes were still glowing hot from the seared wood and I thought they were on the verge of catching fire. I grabbed a hose and started to spray them with water. Brad came in to see what all the commotion was as the room starting filling up with water and then teetering back and forth like the gully of a ship. It didn’t seem like the water was going to stop filling the room and by now was a couple of feet deep, swishing up on the walls as the room rocked from one side to the other. I noticed a door in the wall and realized that it was the only way to get rid of the water. I trudged over to it and opened it at just the right angle to catch waves of water and usher them out the door. To my relief, the water level subsided.

Work on the StairsTuesday, August 23rd, 2011


I was sitting on a sofa in a first floor room, next to the kitchen of “the house.” The room was bright and cheerful, and yellowish colour with some sort of floral pattern on the wall. I’m not sure what the room was. It seemed that it could have been a dining room because it was next to the kitchen, but it wasn’t done up so. I was going to read some to Kevin but there was a lot of noise coming from the stairwell because there were workers doing some sort of restructuring to the stairs between the first and third floors.

I walked into the stairwell to close the door in the ceiling and ran into one of the workers. He told me that he wouldn’t be able to leave it closed for long because he was going to need to do work there soon. I told Kevin the situation and were discussed going to another part of the house to escape the noise. We talked about the fourth floor. I still had a little bit of a lingering odd feeling about the fourth floor because that’s where the ghosts used to be. I had now been all renovated, painted yellow and white, and the ghosts were no longer there, but there was still a memory of what it used to be liked which I was not quite comfortable with. Regardless, it was still unfurnished so there wouldn’t be anywhere to sit. We talked about the third floor which was still dark because people hardly went up there, but it was nice and quiet in the far corner of the house and we looked at each other agreement that it would be a good place to go.

Heart StringThursday, August 18th, 2011


I was from the eastern part of the US, travelling westward with my wife and son. I was an musical instrument maker, mostly wooden flutes and guitars. I had a practice of using very substantial wood when carving the flutes and the necks of guitars and mandolins. When we reached the west coast, my son was studying with another instrument maker and showed me a technique he learned about carving out the flutes and the guitars and mandolin necks where he made the walls very thin. Next, he would create a very thin and long piece of wood like a very long tooth pick that he called the heart string and attached it inside of the neck or inside the flute. This created a vibrating counterpoint to the instrument that increased it’s harmonic potential.

The VanagonWednesday, August 17th, 2011


I was in a parking lot on a street corner surrounded by junipers, inside a copper coloured Vanagon. Mel and I were going thru boxes of clothes and we were intending on selling. The clothes were very colourful and I was wondering whether I truly wanted to get rid of them. I remember seeing shirts in yellow, bright green, and orange. I recognized some of the clothes and was thinking that I liked them, yet still felt compelled to divest of them. Mel was in a similar situation with his clothing, and there was a lot of it. We finished going thru the boxes and closed up the Vanagon and walked across the street where we met my Mom and Brad in a type of bed and breakfast. We were chatting and packing I believe. I was thinking that I may have left something in the Vanagon and walked outside to the corner and noticed that the Vanagon was not where I parked it. At first I thought that maybe I’d forgotten moving it but then I realized that someone had stolen it. I was shocked. I ran back in to tell Brad.

On Death RowWednesday, August 17th, 2011


I awoke in jail but didn’t at first know where I was. There was a very skinny black woman next to me. She had that “I’ve been doing crack for 20 years” look about her so I couldn’t honestly tell how old she was. I asked her where I was and she told me that I was on Death Row. I couldn’t even fathom what I could’ve done to end up here and was a bit panicked. All I had was a cardboard box with some junk in it and I wasn’t sure where it came from.

Suddenly there was a horn blowing. I asked the woman what it was for and she told me it was the call for lunch. I picked up my box and followed her into a small cafeteria where there were others congregating for food. I look for someone who worked there to help me figure out why I was on Death Row and see if there was anyone from the outside I could talk to. I found and authority who presented me with some paperwork that defined my incarceration. Apparently I was going to be executed because I had accrued $63,000+ in parking tickets. I was astonished that someone could be murdered for parking violations, not to mention the fact that I can’t remember receiving a parking ticket in years. I was paranoid. What could I do about this?

I kept asking to talk with someone but I wasn’t getting much help. Somehow, my consciousness went outside the walls of the prison where I came across Marcel standing there. He had grown his hair out really long and bleached it. He looked quite odd but I told him what was going on and asked him if he could help me.

The LionSaturday, August 13th, 2011


I was standing around an enormous piece of red cloth. It was probably 15+ feet in diameter and there were people underneath it. I was being trained how to work with a lion that was on the other side of the cloth. My goal was to keep it at bay so that it wouldn’t harm anyone. I was asking how to do this but the answer was that it could only be taught in practice. I was basically trying to keep it opposite me across the distance of the cloth and keep it distracted while the people underneath could keep safe. It seemed that I was called to leave thru a hole on one side of the cloth which meant that I needed to give up staying opposite that lion and give into having to approach it. I went over to the hole and laid down at the face of it and curled up to get ready for the lion to approach me. I laid there as still as I could. I could sense the lion approach me. Then I felt it sniffing me and could feel it’s hot breath on me. I waited and it started to walk away. I proceeded to crawl thru the hole and as I did, I heard a loud echoing voice bellow, “Kumara.”


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