lost. love. letters.

lost. love. letters.

red heart on a old opened book
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“nothing now or forever will
replace you, my love
for in my heart you ever dwell
forever one or nothing more
forever one or never will”

notes… part of my series (scroll down a bit), I had a dream today, a real feel dream and she, her, the one actually touched me, pinched me, and her wry smile shined, I know, seems cliche, but where she pinched me was not, it was shocking, the whole thing was like being in a different life, a different dimension, but damn it felt so real, like those dreams where you fall and wake up scared, I woke up…. inspired and full of love, of her.

in the hand of providence…

in the hand of providence…

water droplets on black asphalt road during night time
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strange how life works, sometimes the path is laid out for you, literally, not even subtlety, it has been many years since I traveled Chain O Hills road, so many I can not even count or remember, but twice now, in two days time, I find myself on that winding road for quite different reasons, last night I happened to be working not far from my first ‘real’ job in Avenel, the job that was to be my future and lead to my Florida adventure, these do not even seem like my memories anymore they are so old, but they are, the streets all look the same, some businesses have changed, some remained, so many remain as they were a decade ago, the street signs, actually stone posts in that town, the weathered painted letters,  I know all the curves of these roads, then today, today started out or at least in bursts there was sun, then, the aforementioned foreshadowing come as the temperature dropped lower as the day grew longer, and grayer, then the sky turned to a shallow rain, cold, not heavy, but enough to trip the wipers into action, by all accounts I was going to be home early for once, tired, as last night was not the best for sleeping, no reason why, just was, the client today was a bit grating but nothing I hadn’t seen or been burdened by before, my phone rings, an odd time for a call, how we know things are wrong, how our calls are as nearly calculated and reliable as a heartbeat, I pride myself on preparation, on mentally going through scenarios, but even inevitability stops you cold, the words, you have pretended to hear them so many times, like footsteps approaching, you just do not have the bus schedule in front of you, but surely the bus is en-route, so I digest the information, such as it is things always take a moment to sink in and calculate, to percolate, to transfer to the extremities of your internal network, the tingle in your fingers, palms sweating slightly, the situation,  just a matter of how bad and what next, I wonder if I am speeding and have conversations in my head with officers should I be pulled over, am I over the limit? these roads I know so well, my backyard in a sense, but they seem longer and foreign now, in the night, the glaze of rain makes me extra cautious, I desperately need my GPS as my logic is seemingly off kilter, my brother calls, he too is on his way, a deep hardening in my diaphragm is like constriction, a corset, inside, if such a cinch is possible, my thoughts collide, I never want to assume the worst, but as you age and watch those you love age things become more acute, I know this route, I know this route but my mind is exploding with doubt, I wipe my hands, tune to the classical station to find some calm, try not to blow through the stop signs, trying to contain my mind expanding in so many directions, pulling up to the hospital, I just see “entrance” and that becomes a beacon, my goal, immediately, the parking lot is agonizing, a zig zag, a maze, torment, I rather park on the street and walk a block, so I do, I have never been to this place, as far as I recall, so I don’t know where I am going, scanning for my brother’s car, no where, my pulse is sharp, I need a moment to catch my breath, calm, calm myself, I’m at the front desk, and learn from the desk that the Emergency section is actually another street down, a couple of rights, the attendant asks me where I parked, I think, almost as if my ability to discern what she is saying is failing, I point vaguely outside, she hands me a voucher that looks more like monopoly money, a five, in that game, blue, if I remember the details, to put into the little machine and out drops a golden token, I pocket it without even thinking, hop back in my car, go around the block, which entrance is it ? which goddamn entrance is it ? I think I drive to far, and then suddenly there is an ER entrance road, it seems, subdued in subterfuge, while I am certainly not, I weave around the lane with screaming arrows painted past the door, another infuriatingly strangely laid out parking lot, I secure a spot, careful to park carefully, I spy my brother’s car, thank god this is the spot, I approach the door and can see my brother and fiance’s heads in the waiting room window, I nearly well up, not knowing and letting your mind fill in the blanks leads to hangman, another deep breath, a pause, to compose my thoughts, and so we wait…

adult aged baby care
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sitting in the waiting room, waiting, it is what you do there, I know she is OK now, stable now but not the knowledge of the  extent of the not OK, she is in x-rays for what seems like days, my father, finally, a couple of hours later comes out like a phantom, her purse in his hand, looking a bit disheveled and quite exhausted, the word, at the least a broken hip (upper femur crown to be exact), surgery imminent, but for tonight just stabilization, so now my brother and I are afforded visitation even if the room is just a staging area until a more permanent situation exists, my immediate thought, she looks so small and frail now, faded, as if age had caught up all of a sudden or maybe I had not been paying attention, her hand is cold, I notice, so cold, she wills a smile up at us, her two boys, the only mother we will ever know, there are no words, there is no way to convey comfort but with a look, and the words, ‘I love you mom’, maybe with more meaning than the many times before in passing, time spins, as it is time to leave, I whisper “be strong”, have I watched her just wither away all this time? and is this all our fates? the idea of wanting to let go if you are in too much pain, seems so foreign to me, but how would I, how could I know, until I am laying there, threads being held together by medicine and the divine, so in my own way this is a prayer, even if for a time, might she find some rest when the morphine kicks in, for the days/months ahead will be long, and hard, but there are days ahead, I tell myself and for her, there are days ahead.

and you thought traffic was not inspiring…

and you thought traffic was not inspiring…

red light streaks
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I try to distract myself when stuck in the ole traffic, which seems like my groundhog day to various degrees, this morning I had thirteen miles to go, yes 1….3… good old Waze told me route 9 was the way, I know very well where I was going, but I said what the hell, threw caution to the wind (gee, what a rebel I ain’t) and trusted the phone thing to control my life… and… 45 minutes later I arrived, 13 miles… in 45 minutes, you do the math, I just laughed, serves me right trusting an app over my personal local knowledge, but man alive everyone swears by the thing, tomorrow, I will see what it says… and take it under advisement only…  in the meantime, on the way home, I took a better route, made good time, and some words popped into the ole noggin’… these would be those…

traffic hypnosis
a concrete bed for me
the subtle lullaby
as I drive by
light posts
every measured feet
shadow cast
blinks past
spokes of the sun

so yeah, traffic might not be all that bad… sometimes… rarely, mostly the bane of my existence but I might as well muse as I measure distance…

the act of creation…

the act of creation…

blue and purple sky with stars
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I would like to think I am the genesis of the wellspring of everything that flows through me, an independent force unseen in this ancient universe, but am I? is the act of creation, of this writing, a whisper in my ear from some nearby spirit, when I dream of sailing upon the sea is that some ancient mariner’s lingering energy passing through me, a temporary vessel for a ribbon of life’s energy crossing the branched rivers of time and crossing me, does science yet tell us things are so, creation as a bang, that sudden instant of inspiration that bursts on the scene like a never ending inferno, except this inferno, this heat, builds rather than consumes, the only thing destroyed is the once empty space the fire now occupies with thought of mind, what if I am simply a conduit, but yet a pen with own purpose, for even liquid poured through different devices produces different results, surely these molecules were part of some other part of the universe, tracing back to the beginning, my origin, your origin, was within the big bang and we have been recombining in mysterious a million ways ever since, matter can not be destroyed or created, we are told, but thought ? endless combinations to our minds, but there is no endless information, an event horizon of knowledge, is there an edge to all this, a cliff that keeps running outward but still exists, a dive off into the before that was utter nothingness but something has to be there, sense says so, but how will we ever know, that land exists outside of all we know, touch, feel, once we expire in our combination in this time we are broken back down and recombined into something else, a kite, a comet, a frog, a goblet, who knows, maybe we have been all these things and they inform our dreams, whispers in our ear of all the things we have been, down to the molecules we hold together in these bodies, run by electricity and plumbing to temporarily give us this human vehicle to interact with the everything, the everything from which we all sprang, those billions of years ago, every spin of every star, every nova and black hole far, those billions of years, the result is you and I… 

thoughts from the porch…

thoughts from the porch…

close up clover dewdrops droplets
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just cleaning up the yard, gathering up the victims of the wind that whipped through here the other day, they say 50 mph gusts, I don’t know, I just know it was windy and my bamboo was thwacking against the bedroom window, bamboo is great for privacy, tall, thick, elegant, and a whipping knock knocker during a storm, who knew, plants don’t come with a guide book, but I suppose a little forethought could have prevented this, but visually I love the darn plant, so in it stays and my sleep will went… I wheel the old trash can out to the designated curb spot area, and something grabs fishhook my eye… so I look down, bend the knee, and examine…
‘winter clovers’, well, that might not be the scientific name, probably is not, but anyway, that is what these little very green clumps in a mulch mound looked like, with all the trees bare, and a nice warm winter sun out there, these types of things tend to  jump out to the eye, I bend over to try and find a four leafer, shouldn’t I, don’t we all look for that lotto ticket or magic moment regardless of odds or logic, that wellspring of hope just tingles your soul, we all do it, dna? instinct? fool’s gold? perhaps, perhaps all these, to witness how life fights to break in regardless of season, terrain, the odds, the same odds that made me possible, a contemporary to these little plants, sometimes called weeds, not to me, not today at least, I wonder if I have that same innate desire to survive, breed and keep the whole assembly line moving along at pace, or do worldly distractions shield me from the most basic of things, perhaps, my friend, I should recall you, and the lesson spent, from a little patch, of seemingly insignificant plant-life, life, I must remember the humble nature of the winter clovers, they sure are braver than me, at least this day… but at least I noticed so I must remember…

(part of my porch series, it is not as advantageous during the winter, but today, today was OK, 45 degrees seems like summer with a breeze compared to 20 degrees just the other day), music… well, Yvette is insanely talented… I bow to her talent.

orphans…

orphans…

something I do from time to time, I post works I have abandoned or not finished (to be honest I just am not good at going back, I like to create in the moment)… maybe they will spark upon the mind of someone else, or maybe they were actually finished unto themselves… so, here are a few, snippets, if you will… thoughts? always appreciated.

silhouette photography of mountain range during nighttime
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(1) “jumbled”
for-give
for-get
to-give
to-get
the words have lost all meaning

(2) pure and incorruptible
true love and children
the fuel that ignites the soul
the hope
the future
all within

(3) do I reach the bottom wave
and feel the beach
upon my brow
succumb
until I drown

(4) sapling in a frisbee
just being this form
does not mean
you were meant to fly

yeah, I have posted it before… but man I love this album to pieces, it is a mental exercise, no, a relief, it checks all the boxes and guides me to interesting dreams…

erosion.

erosion.

horseshoe bend arizona
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and the river rages, at times calm as a picture perfect glass pond, but always moving, erosion, time, the invisible taskmaster, ever pulling, ever moving, ever forward, the river carves, the wind bares down, edges begin to dull regardless of their noble origin, time bends all wills all walls, the longer you survive the more experience you accumulate, to navigate within this flow, the change happens cosmically in a blink, but for you this is a slow tide rising, a lifetime, you do not notice, or maybe do, rough edges invariably fade, hair runs grey or runs completely, slowly you are rounded out, becoming grains of sand, for you will, but in the midst of all, erosion of the body and the mind, until… until you are just a soul outside of time…

I wait, I pause, close my eyes, I can’t feel it, I think I can picture it… my consciousness glowing pulsing inside the shell.

and she devastates me so effortlessly…

and she devastates me so effortlessly…

photography of a woman holding lights
Photo by Matheus Bertelli on Pexels.com

‘rogue’
lies with the eyes
if only I was so talented
she levels me without speech
destroys all my reasons
shatters my walls
crumbling
knees buckling
not literally but underneath, she knows
consciousness wrecked
suave turned sweat

notes… you’ve been there, helpless and stopped cold in your usual bullshit, the bullshit that works with everyone else but not her but she likes you anyway, it is more a perception, a feeling, a tingling, that “ah ha” moment, she gets it, you, THE YOU, you can stop pretending…. but you don’t… to a point, you should…

 

lost.love.letter.

lost.love.letter.

fire in fire pit
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dearest,
I can not wash, forget, forgive or absolve my mistakes, sins and regrets. They wear on me like a poison, an eventual death, certain. But even with that – you must know, I must tell you, with desperation, as life fades with every moment passed, that I will love you – always, time and distance has not healed nor forgotten nor dulled, and now may you know this, you will be the last name on these lips, the last gasp of my air shall be yours, the last sound I hear, my last thought on this earth, will all, all be of you, as I pass, my love, you will be all.

notes: in some strange or even perverse manner I am speaking to her, in my mind, like she can hear me, if she is even the same person anymore, or am I even, or does it matter, maybe I am speaking to a memory only, I just need to speak to something, maybe somehow in the mysterious ways of the universe, maybe she can hear me or feel my sentiment if in even just in the evening breeze for a brief moment upon her skin…

aberration…

aberration…

aroma art bean black
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change. the constant. the irony is, we are literally hurtling through space, spinning around but we manage to normalize this insane fact by twisting about in our lives, making familiar in this fishbowl, and believe you me I am as guilty as most or more, the comfort of routine even as we careen into that end, our own sunset, sometimes it feels like a cruel trick, all the people I will never have met, all the stories never said, all the lives, I was driving to pick up thai for lunch today, saw a woman walking with her child (ok, that is an assumption, I hope it was hers), pregnant with another, just two more souls on this merry go round, who will remember, even with that single strand, that common bond, to be created and torn down all in time, this time, as these words write, we share this fate, this space, this air, this dirt under our feet, unseen rays and forces pulling us in unseen ways, hurtling through space on a routine, our planet lulls us to sleep with cradle consistency, sure, the weather changes, we even have disasters and tragedy, but mostly we can gauge these things, and the longer we inhabit this terra firma we are reading them better, not very long ago a trip to Europe would have been quite the endeavor, these days the equivalent might be the moon or better, we have made a tourist attraction of one of the highest peaks around, and even travel deep underground in crystal caverns, the deepest of depths are being measured, and life, life finds the crevices, the will, the stubbornness in all these places, the will to be, and to turn the miracle into routine, round and round we go, summer, spring and fall, winter now but only up here, tilt-a-wheel, hard to wrap my head around the whole ball, I try to imagine watching it from the outside, an eye in the sky, casual observer, space is numb, quiet, cold, silent, I am missing everything, even if within the sphere I miss a ton, at least I am hearing some, some of those stories, tales, wonders, trails, smiles, laughs, lives…

whether I be a volume, a chapter, a paragraph, a word, a single letter, or a footnote to a citation, at least, in the very least I have been part of the story, of humanity.

for this meditation, mediation, consternation I choose one of my favorite ambient masters… just listen, and ponder the universe, look up at the sky and  enjoy….