each street light like a pulse, throbbing sides blazes! like a hostile sun to burn out my sockets dry as I swing, perch to perch pole to pole on the drive home after a languid day of work
notes… sometimes work grinds you down, regardless of your outlook and good intent… I was driving home the other night and every street light felt like a sun burning into my tired eyes, light by light, almost like I was traveling on air but ready to fall, I just wanted to get home, pull in my driveway, dive into my bed, melt into my pillows and… rest from the world for awhile…
the ocean nearly as old as time can tell perhaps on a scale that is why I am drawn here to the subtle simplicity of the waves on the shore much disregard to the politics of man
notes… I have always felt drawn to the ocean, maybe it is the imprint of my youth and fair times spent there, the exploration, the boardwalk, the wildlife, the white noise of the earthen tides… but I do not need to distill it, or understand it even… that is the shade of age, you can just accept things as they are without having to understand the blueprints or plans…
doorways gateways windows; all around us surounds’us in the all, this house; cities, towns; paths that lead in all directions paths forgotten paths remembered, paths in backwards, paths tempered; stone steps into a water ethereal steps into a plane, the same; lately, I have been more akin to sitting and staring out a window, plain to give my travel, my heart a rest- a break- and just watch, for a time.
and I know in my reaction, a fraction… words.. music.. thoughts.. all of it…
flying. no, more terrestrial, have you ever really sat in your car and thought about the sensation, of what is actually happening, such a mundane activity would be incomprehensible to most generations of humanity, only the dare few, he flew, but now, as a rite of passage of some version of your teens, you drive, your body, strapped into a machine, essentially becomes one, as the miles per hour go up, your body is travelling at this speed, but you do not have a true sense of this, unless you pause to pay attention, your body is off the ground, moving at speeds you can not understand, if by foot you would be cooked, but with a pulse of your toes you are blowing by cheetahs at a pose, but do you take in this truth, this sensation, like flying, for indeed you really are, in a car, but your feet are not on the ground, you are cruising on a surrogate, zipping around at speeds unimaginable just a corner past a century ago. so try this. next time you are driving, embrace the feeling of flying, the sensation of covering ground at pace with ease, even easier than a bird gliding on a thermal, you are whisked along full throttle, take notice, and you will feel, the sensation of flying.
notes… this place is tucked in behind a neighborhood over looking the bay. it is very well kept though and although I have never seen anyone there it is clearly visited often. A nice quiet spot next to some beautiful houses. There is a compass on the ground as well so you can see the direction the statue is facing “looking out into”… it gave me a feeling of being at the end of the world looking out into the cast ocean… we rarely think about how more vast the ocean is than our little parcel of land (comfort breeds complacency)
proximity… and time… these are all that is needed to slowly melt your guard, your natural attenuation, that gut feeling on an initial meeting, certainly you don’t want to be judgmental, books and covers and all that, plus past misreads and failures, but sometimes, these primal lines, these inklings, the eye test of I, are right, but you let things slide, perhaps for the benefit of loved ones, you ignore your basic base instincts of initial apprehension or suspicion, and over time, a threat, a beast, lingers, lurks, at a subconscious level you are aware, but time, the sands, the mirage, after all, takes hold, slowly melting away your portcullis, exposing your inner courtyard for siege, and a threat prowls, circles, but accustomed to the menace you have become, and perhaps the trap will never be sprung, inner dialog confirms as such, the lies we tell ourselves are the most damaging to the self, then that day comes, smiles become fangs unsheathed in the darkness, just slightly provoked ill will comes toward you with brutal force from your clear blind spot, the robe is lifted to reveal the truth, a truth you knew but denied, to be kind, or accommodating, to give a chance when you knew where this path will lead, indeed, the bite, at first feels unexpected, the shock, the awe, how could this happen, but the sting does not lay long before the admission, you are the victim of your own attrition, letting your walls mortared with experience fall, your inner sense infected to no defense, yes, perhaps next go ’round you’ll learn the lesson, and trust your self, your instincts, what you know in a sniff, a listen, an examination, yes, worse than that bite is this (realization).
Shades of My Garden 