Lost @ Sea Memorial in Cape May NJ

Lost @ Sea Memorial in Cape May NJ

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)

the taming

the taming

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).

th e va ni shi n g

th e va ni shi n g

so I have read, or somehow know drawn up from the instinct of my ancient soul, that the tough times, the lean times, are when meted out are friend and foe, family and bit players, hangers on and those who are like anchors in a stormy bay, in a moment’s time, in a blink of a life, how quickly the background fades, how silently or not pretenders make a case, whether by blood, or matrimony, or circumstance, the travelers through our lives pass, and some take refuge, or are invited into our homes, but only when the true depth of winter comes, do you know who might help collect firewood -when you have none.

Note: in highs and lows I am in a valley now… but somehow I feel OK, even if the edifice is crumbling away… what can I do? Terrible dark things happen in life but sometimes you just have to be the light, and the better half… maybe I can not forgive certain acts but I am not going to war or dwelling over that… sometimes people let you know who they are, lay down cards that reveal themselves et al… and what you do with it is what determines the future. I no longer invest in money pits of people…

Thoughts… from the porch.

Thoughts… from the porch.

late autumn eve
not many a late november day I can stand outside in shorts, not that this is balmy weather but this is not the bite of winter, by all accounts a miserable day, stuck inside watching the rain, on call for work so I was distracted by customers rather than to dwell on the mopey grey of the day, only now, as I venture outside do I see the pools and puddles from passing mild storm, and, oddly, I am oddly enamored by the scene, the major maple trees are totally barren of leaves, but my japanese maple still boasts deep red extensions, framed against the heavens, well, framed against my porch light, there is no magical moonlight out tonight, so man made light will suffice (and does), as I look to the trees, the droplets reflect tiny colors into themselves, the gentle drip of remnants of rain collecting and falling to the ground, some decide to pay a more personal visit on my crown and shirt, I don’t mind, I listen for the sounds, there is the low hum of human din, almost like rushing water but less wild, a distant horn of a train, somehow always seems to complement the fog, this is not silence, no, there is a constant level of low noise, which in a way, is soothing, the occasional car wooshes up the street, headlights screaming against the whole backdrop, an unwanted interloper but only a momentary disruptor, back to that low hum, maybe it is the major roadway just there past the last street light, I can see the streaks like some particle collider speeding by, something like time lapse sped up film, a blur and still, I imagine if I would be more satisfied in the middle of some pasture, in the middle of veritable nowhere, but no, this will do fine, the home of my birth, the land my feet have known to walk, my eyes grown up on, my ears the familiar, and on the other side of the world, or universe someone else is taking the time to stand … and absorb in what it means to be home.

your. eyes.

your. eyes.

the trust of the eyes
of all our senses
the leader, the lenses
how we frame every still
how we film every scene
these portals
“might you be lying?”
a silent answer
a coy reprise
how would we know
if the very windows to our world
were in fact.

the last line is meant as a rhetorical question…

castle walls.

castle walls.

so do I? stand in the face of the inevi-tsunami, hold up the palm of my hand as if to stop the flow? the instinct, the urge to do so, seems to command me, should I build sand ramparts to the sky, each more impressive than before, only to see them withered and washed, once more, and will each stone of my bones be also ground down, into grains of sand, to use as future armament against future circumstance, or do I stand here, to be washed away, without a fight, without flight, swallowing whole just as jonah might? to what end is the struggle, to what end is the plight? even the most stalwart castle walls will fall, tunneled under, siege towered over, for there is no impenetrable dome or domain as to which I might be aware, but that gleaming dream still comes, still plants, still grows from false soil, or lying soil, or comforting ground, to germinate such foolish a child that might stand with such pride against the tide, from where does this hubris hide, for even fear will not subside, this futile task, to struggle against the vast, against any and all odds, as the house always wins, as ours falls, for just a glimpse perhaps, of our alabaster blinding walls, built with all the muster, the end written far long before done, but just the same, just the same we blaze forward for that brief moment in the sun… before we succumb.

notes… do you ever wonder if it is worth it? life? what else do we have? but the fight… and we all lose.. or do we? what is this hope that is still a lantern in the utter darkness for me? humanity? the will to live? the foolishness? the knowledge that given the vastness we (me and you) do exist… even for the briefest of moments… and a whole world is built around this…

adoption or adaptation

adoption or adaptation

maybe we don’t think of this often, but for some reason I have a clear mental picture in my mind at the moment, words that sound close, in proximity, perhaps even in deployment of use, but the differences, while subtle, can be miles between hills, in my mind this seems like a cosmic battle of luminescent bean bag chairs, adoption is almost like an amoeba, you are taking something in, almost akin to absorption, the forever change occurs within the mass and stays part of the whole, packing a suitcase for the journey forward…
adaptation? on another hand, is the outward reaction to a stimulus which changes you as well, you need not necessarily absorb the stimulus in entirety but rather bend your ways or grow to deal with the difference of reality, more like finding a nice wind breaker from llbean, this also carries forward with you, each of these altering your truth, but in a much varied way, the subtle shuffle of just a few letters in a word or situation, can be the determination of the path of survival or thriving or neither…

contemplation, on vacation, hurricane remnant

contemplation, on vacation, hurricane remnant

I can understand the stories,
the lore
here at the shore
when the wind howls like it does now
something beyond man
a power like that only of god
for what else could whip the seas
into a tempest
such as this?
such fury seems aimed
such fury seems personal
we need to aim animus to understand this
such as this
and somehow I am too enamored
hearing the wails of wind
and the crash of waves
like an other world orchestra
even if I understand the underpinnings of the stage…
no, there is still mystical corners
in our defined world
and so I wish to be a sailor
of the olden one.

https://www.facebook.com/100025033805573/videos/1083596298994671/

notes… so here I am, the remnants of a hurricane have come ashore here in south new jersey, cape may, no shortage of storms I am sure if she could tell me the stories, I have been through worse here, this one is now all wind, no rain anymore, wailing, constant wailing coming through my third room floor balcony, I have only my imagination to think of how this must have been ages ago, to hear that deafening wailing, on a ship in or on the shore on, I find it illuminating… fascinating… hypnotizing, and yet I can understand the fear such a wailing demon must have seemed back only a hundred years or so ago… really not that long… and I appreciate my station, to be able to be here to hear this, so I wish to recall this when I can, when I am in the throes of the doldrums of daily office life, to recall this moment, this sound, this experience and how tied I feel to the ocean right now, right here…

contemplation over a cup.

contemplation over a cup.

sometimes
there is nothing clearer
than having a cup of coffee
on what seems to be
the edge of everything.

notes: this is what popped in my noggin sipping a lumberjack espresso looking out on cape may harbor this morning. being at the edge of the ocean, is almost the same as being at the edge of space, at least with this getting older model vehicle, there is something ancient and infinite about the ocean… and maybe that is what draws me here, maybe that is the calm I feel here…