wake wash rinse- repeat dress dash dapper- neat; the norm is clocks do wane race racing the norm is- death
notes… am I above the fray? the race? the rush? no… I am awash in it just the same as most, this does not mean I am unaware, I would love a world where I (and we) were all free to just do as we please, but that is not reality. there is no easy answer, I would say my advice to you (and me) is to find your refuge where you can, when you can, find a place either real or virtual or in your mind that is only yours (or those you choose to share with).
delivered from the ether birthed onto this blessed vessel celestial gestation, my ordained time to grow seed to sapling in this world- of- bones; the very light of the only heaven we know projected onto our sacred ground the giver of life our only sun so might I have this chance this moment a miracle – in this- world of bones.
notes: revelation today… the words popped into my head for the past few days “this world of bones”… because that is all that is left, it is not a good record of the amazing life that has spread here, just in my short lifetime, or any time, the earth will be just a graveyard one day, even more than it already is with the dinosaurs and previous life forms… but for us… the bones will not just be our bodies but our buildings and thrivings, it will all end, and that is OK, that is the way of things, I fear for myself, of course, I don’t know how to square that peg, but I am not alone, we all have to meet that end, and so we will, I fear I will be lost to the ether, absorbed back into the universe that has no need for the meaning of me, and I will never know, I will just be gone, I hope, and pray that my spirit finds a place, but even the universe must end, and maybe that is what death is about, even the oldest thing, the only thing, must have a start and an end, this existence, my life, is no exception, but that does not make it easier to comprehend…the end.
(if there is such a thing)… and I would posit there is, if you lend an ear for a moment, there is a definite swing, I have tried over the passing years to bend my ear, sure, the life signs are easy, on the eyes, sprouts, buds, the gradual and then sudden greening just waiting around the corner, but the animals seem to know sooner as told by mother, they are more attuned to that clock, the real clock not our prison-ary twenty four hour capitulation, a slavery of sorts instead of passengers at port, the level of chatter is just that much greater, as if by a snap of the fingers it turns on, the volume is there for you to just listen, the land speaks volumes of volume, and so yesterday was that day, I noticed the uptick in banter, a robin dancing madly purposely across my yard, brazenly claiming a homestead there (apparently unaware of property laws), and even though today could be just short of miserable (a wash of grey and rain), the hope is there, I can hear it, and feel it…
wow…this has been awhile, seems like years since I had the simple pleasure of just sitting out here on my porch, listening to the world’s stories, observing them play out in motion, just letting my brain untangle and stretch out after these months of confinement that define the winter’s constriction, I concentrate on my breathing, a rhythm, a meaning, imagining I could slow my heart down and time itself in the process, so I might sample this, this moment, this all looks like silence, or would should be silence, but no, anything but, while in summer there is the constant harangue of nature, the buzzing of insects, crickets, birds chattering at late hours, ‘munks and squirrels pattering about, no, this is a wonderfully insect free time, and the animals seem subdued by their winter schedule, not yet born free into the renewal of spring, so you would think this would be a quiet time, no, not tonight, tonight is burdened with the soundof humanity, sure, not big city cacophony, but enough to disturb the peace, wind and me, just when I think there will be a break there is one, of the wrong variety, from cars shuttling home, to others seemingly racing to the moon, then, an almost horse hoof click clock sound, in this neighborhood ? Can’t be, but as my ears deceive I might imagine somehow an amish person is quite lost, at least they would be on the right coast, just a state over from lancaster proper, but no, the sound (as I found) was that of a kid on rollerblades, struggling to grind up the hill, it makes sense that there would be a rhythmic gate but I was amazed at how close a resemblance the click and spin of this human mechanism had to the trot of a horse on pavement, which I do hear once a year, down in cape may, and occasionally if I am in the city, so, at least for a moment I was distracted by other sounds, other than humanity, there is probably a lesson in there somewhere… but for now, I am just enjoying being outside without having to hurry inside, how 60 degrees seems like the tropics when just a few days ago there was ice and snow, so I know, to savor the moment, until just enough cold reminds me, a clock jumps back, the sun lingers, soon spring will burst forth and I will forget the dire season.
notes… for the unfamiliar (and judging by numbers that is at least a few million people…) this is a stream of consciousness experiment where I literally sit my ass down on the porch and write whatever comes to mind, sometimes it is profound, sometimes amusing, sometimes maybe not so much… but it is raw and whatever the world reports to me as a conduit…
so she appeared in the now. brilliant room time stops. spotlight on. traffic parts these usual cliches. catch me off guard this does not happen not to me, at least hence my confusion frozen. in a situation I was not expecting; so has. halted breath and eyes lock met; I have to have her when of course she already has… me.
The green night- the dawn will come to pass the sunset will come to sleep (as always) a day’s peak, a night’s keep for humanity shall perish from this earth in the time allotted by the mighty clock no matter what writ or ruin or great constructs that bind the land the green night will come for return, to give back the same in hand the very same blow from which this world was wrought.
And this same wind that roars across the land, never tiring, resting at times, sure, furious in others, but humanity does not stand a chance against such an unrelenting advance, for the same wind has blown across the earth for all the time there has been such a place, in space, this space, our space, what a strange thing to consider, our little home, has made the whole universe bend around her will, the will of life, for if that is not a signal of the sincerity and sheer gravity of life, what is? Just random gases and molecules that cooked and baked in the primordial gestation of the planet, to coalesce and crawl out, for us to emerge, you and me, unfathomable time to even read the tale told on a grain of sand from the grand story that is just this one world alone, cast into the vast there is some actual finite point in that infinity so far beyond, utter dimensions when we struggle with just the perception of a mere three, like a raft we are riding through time on the universe, a river, rapids, falls, calm lazy bends, a moving planet both spinning and flying outward, bound, by chance, at just the right distance, to a sun, what was the sun, the ra, a god, now a member of a countless family, but his is our helios, or heaven, or chance at this life in all the possibilities that could have been and ever where, this exact moment in time, or this chain binding our souls to this here and now, how? For as old as the wind may seem, roaming the earth, as we do now, one day, will gasp, and expire that last breath into the universe… and dissipate…
notes… ah, the irony of life, and what is considered important in the day to day… there was a literal wind storm here tonight after I wrote this earlier… well, not a wind storm per se, a storm, with lots of wind, to let me know my temp greenhouse was certainly not boss, I fixed it up after today it came apart earlier, when I came home I put it all back together, honestly it was not in that bad a shape, I have at least 50lbs holding the thing down, just a temp space to spare some of my more new exotic bamboo the rigors of below zero temps their first winter here in Jersey… but then the real storm came, picked the whole thing up like nothing and deposited it 10 feet away… I had to run out in a torrent of rain, nearly horizontal rain, to pick up the pots (think about 3 feet wide suckers) and shimmy them over next to the house, I think one of my plants is dead, the chinese fountain bamboo, which for this plant was winter #2.. but my leopard japanese and japanese timber bamboo seem pretty happy, my planter of black bamboo looks terrible but it looked like that last winter so… (and man that stuff is expensive…). So it was like me protecting my flock and seeing a toll taken in my little world, yes, in the scheme of things this is a small thing, but isn’t everything in the grand scheme of the total everything ? it’s all perspective really. we all value our day to day lives, our hopes, dreams, our circles of reality…
do not fear the snake if you are a snake be aware to bite first
notes… semi haiku, I mean in feel, I did not count the syllables and obviously this is not 3/5/3 of 5/7/5… but no one owns the rights to the form… (or at least I am not aware of such a copyright claim), and in terms of the content of this post… heck, this is almost laughable… these words popped into my mind while watching Conan the Barbarian (the original)… so art from Arnold.. yep… I was thinking of the snake scenes and symbolism (which is all woven throughout that movie)… so keep your eye out as to what inspires… thoughts?
one can never tell, for we all tend our own land in our own time, in our own way, a hodge-podge of native plants, mixed in with various varieties, maybe foreign by design, others we are informed to plant by the agrarian hierarchy, some thrive, for a time, some wilt, some sneak about like vines, others bear fruit, quite the menagerie when you have some age to till your acreage, a simple stroll reveals the years, the sparkling blossoms, the empty half rotten stumps, some only peak in seasons, to sleep for some time before a return for a short burst run, others are marathons, ever-green even against even the coldest sun, yes, these are the shades of my garden. once I did walk these paths with another, some years ago, where we built our own little section together, certainly distinct, intertwined, more vibrant than just mine, but again, that was many years ago, a pathway I can not even find anymore, and the memories, well, they are all in pictures as the physical representation has disappeared into the earthen past, even to the point where I question if that was real anyway, who was that person, back then, not these same two feet I think, or would like to, so I tend to my own now, again, but I am changed like a river that meets a fork, or perhaps a dam, I would hope to be still flowing out over the open land – exploring, planting as I go, in my own way, perhaps to find another, to share, an eve, for if there is one might I find such a union again. (stream of consciousness post)
notes: so what are your thoughts? can you picture the garden you have created? beauty, beast… and all ?