a window into a life, a conversation with a soul, a gateway to a heart
Author: David Koblentz
Inspiration is a fickle muse. Sometimes empty, sometimes overwhelming. These words I write are my own but they seem driven by something else (perhaps?).
(this is related to my previous post, quite by accident, or circumstance, or the whimsy of the muse) Oddly enough, as I woke this morning (better than the alternative), when I walked outside to observe my ‘get in the car go to work ritual’, there was a mad amount of noise afoot… crows, in trees on both sides of my street, so this wrote itself (I suppose I can take credit, the pen was in my hand, but sometimes it feels I am just a cosmic means to an end…)
a gathering of crows in twin mirror treetops bookend my block angular shadows pasted up against naked limbs screaming, toasting, celebrating I think of an irish wake and then on a wink, on a wing unison, sync, they fly away on to the next barker’s perch
This Wednesday was one of those ultra blue sky days that almost makes you forget about the cold (almost), hard to erase the visual impact of the season with all the trees with no leaves (well, besides those damn taunting pines and evergreens), stuck in the mud of the mind numbing vortex of traffic known as the NJ Turnpike, watching those more impatient than I dart in and out of the lanes like mad little minnows in the shallows looking for a perfect spot in a lake of no destination, only to advance a few mere feet… (and I admit to a ‘little’ pleasure as I pass them staying in my lane and my ‘subtle’ dismay (grrrrr) when they pass me driving like kamikazes), but anyway I have learned to (ok, mostly) calm my mind among this grind to think of higher things, observe nature even when corralled by this asphalt and steel shackle laid out before me, and so I wrote this in observation (in of course my horrendous handwriting which I had to decipher tonight for this post…)
a formation of crows an arrow, greater than, forward framed, in a cobalt sky, winter underneath human congestion coagulates jealousy, flies away, east
SO here I am driving, pondering, I notice something, a strange sensation invades my thoughts
I feel like I am a pilot in a man suit
all these years spent in this body, this sensation seems like an out of body experience, although I have surely never left this vessel, this feels distinctly like I am a passenger or more rightly a conductor, I can perceive the nerve clusters bundled up behind the orbs of my eyes inside the casing of my skull (the construct), these fleshy globes floating in holes, they filter everything I experience while they are engaged in their designed job, I am well aware of how they actually combine images into one, great software I think, even without the upgrade of my glasses, this is the being behind the console, my soul or collection of electronic happenings all in orchestration, might I have the hang of operating this machine by now in all the subtleties of the controls, knobs, buttons, the vast array of senses to touch this outer world beyond the reach of this inner dimension…
as always I am drawn to the impossible moment that is the now, how all the things in the vast everything of existence had to line up in just such a way for me to be here in this very moment, and write this, and you as well, to read this, fellow traveler, all the culmination of randomness (or perhaps purpose, I do not know) in the sheer existence of all time and verses (uni and other), just even the question of how life arrived here on earth (or sprang from boiling pools of goo, not so elegant perhaps), maybe we are the seed dna of aliens piggy backed on a meteor, or comet, or some other celestial traveler, ancient astronaut theorists say ‘YES’, well, if you are familiar with that show, they always say yes, I don’t think I have ever heard them say no, I find the matter fascinating although the actual proof of the matter is lacking, but either way, whether we slithered up out of a pile of muck or hitched a ride on some alien rock – we are here, almost belying the sheer cruel randomness of even just our tiny slice of the milky way, so very surreal, I truly hope I am just a pilot in this biomachine, and one day may I find another vessel to continue this improbable journey but just in case I should quite cherish this one, and perhaps pen a travel log of my experience for others to enjoy should they happen upon this little story of me…
(an ongoing series, kind of like a picture a week but of my thoughts when I step outside and take the world in, stream of my consciousness I suppose, so I invite you to check it out)
Taking out the garbage, a sunday ritual with no holiday pending extending the weekend, a ritual, a comfort just as much as ordering out from the local, quite average, chinese restaurant, well, it is local, this day (well early night to be exact) does not seem to know what to make of itself, a cool breeze but not a cold one, no ice in sight to pronounce the season, i’m in no rush to rush back indoors, I stop to pause, to observe the world in it’s natural orderly.
I can almost taste the faint of hope in the air, or maybe it is just the slight relent of the choke-hold of cold that has settled into common trend these past months, the tides of spring are surely rising, somewhere out there, past the horizon, but yet, I am quite sure winter has not shed all of her teeth.
there is a great deal more sound out on the town tonight, to my left the semi-distant whizzing din of a busy road, up and to the left the low rumble roar of a jumbo-liner on to a destination, more immediately left (two houses down across the street) children squabbling getting into the car after a night at their grandparent’s house, “stop it L-a-c-e-y!!” pierces the block, me, dumping my recyclables into the recycle bin with a clangy avalanche of metal and glass, my neighbor’s dog Cookie barking at every little thing (I wonder how old she is now?), such a contemplative difference a little slice of time makes, we might just get of this thing alive, I think…
and I would be remiss if I did not say thanks to anyone who reads this, I appreciate all comments and thoughts, I can only process my own after all, how it affects others is a different animal, that I would like to wrestle some understanding from. (oh, and that last line is a doors thing, I am not going to link to it, to easy)
what roots can do to a sidewalk insidious thoughts can do to a man
that’s all, I was walking the dog (OK she walks herself, ah the joy of a 10 year old black lab), and I noticed the bends and bowed concrete sidewalk trailing off to my neighbor’s domain.
sometimes nature does the work for me (she’s good like that)
like a swarm of pine there is the science of ice look at my windshield
Sometimes I like Haiku, this would be one of those times, the Japanese have a knack for, well, some straight up weirdness, but also for being a crucible when it comes to poetic form.
MAME game of the moment : Strider, yeah I am a retro gamer geek full on, with a tankstick, hey, I work hard, I need to decompress sometimes without the nature bug, the snug feel of an old game, a time machine, that brings me back to my youth, which I still feel young but surely am not, in relation to those times, we can only relate to what we have done, experience is a very personal thing.
music ? sticking to the retro game thing… here is some Bit Brigade, they rock out to old nintendo game music (which I grew up with), they play the background music that would be on as someone plays the actual game… I know, super nerdy, but that’s me (vid games AND guitars ? hello?) !
notes: wrote this back on 8/22 and revised it today, time has a way of moving, it seems obvious of course, but as you age you realize the ninja aspect of time, time sneaks up on you, you blink and can’t believe where you are in this now (and how much has passed, I can almost divide my life into different lives), of course time is just time, it does what it does regardless of what our personal self importance wants to bend it too, time is always a constant even if our perception of same is more like a roller coaster rising and falling, peaks and valleys, maybe I need an internal tick-tock to hear, as a reminder, every moment is a moment closer to my end whether I like it or not… that immediacy should be coursing through my veins, but it is not, I have become comfortable, and I should not be…. perhaps it is evolution for us to seek safety, I am trying to fight my own nature…
music… a beautiful acoustic piece that I truly love… to the point…
truth is like a box of chocolates, ummm… nah, that one sounds a bit too familiar for some reason so I will forgo it, thinking about it, truth is more like a perfectly formed square clear plexiglass box, a novel little thing that you can hold in your hands (just big enough to trigger a two hand response but you could hold it in one hand if you endeavored to do so), you can not inherently change it (no matter what you do), however, you can choose to do many things to suit it to you… to hide it behind your back, or take pictures of it for disbursement, make copies and call it the “real thing“, the truth remains however, you may even hold it at a certain angle so only part is visible, or at a different vector to show off one aspect of this cute little plastic box, but the truth – has not changed, you may lash it to a pole and smash someone in the head with it, maybe you hide it somewhere knowing someone will find it later, perhaps it is up on a ledge just out of reach, or just around the next corner, maybe you do not even know what it looks like, on a map X marks the spot, or left alone in the yard, half grown over with ivy, bury it for one thousand years in sand, paste glue popsicle sticks all over, hand print paint turkeys on the side…
but it remains, a simple box, square sides of even dimension, clear plexiglass from all sides when revealed, the truth.
“truth is what holds our feet to the very ground (whether we like it or not).” – me
“truth will ultimately prevail where there is pains to bring it to light” – GWash (some guy who founded America)
“Truth will always be truth, regardless of lack of understanding, disbelief or ignorance.” W. Clemrock
“Truth is ever to be found in simplicity, and not in the multiplicity and confusion of things.” I (the original apple) Newton
maelstrom
the divine path
might I lead,
divine wrath
I might reap,
the divine spark
to light me through
this fierce storm in the wake
in the pursuit of the only grace
I surely fail
as humans break
as does my will
at times will fail
for all that drains my strength
to find the well that springs again
my faith
notes (this piece was written 1/21, comments today)… faith is not a particularly religious thing for me, we all believe in something, even if that is ‘nothing’ in the case of atheists, I am perfectly fine with both sides, why? I came to a calm in my mind some years ago, I know I do not have all the answers, am I more confident than some in my beliefs ? sure (I am trying to lose that). but I acknowledge the effect of ego and my experience on that belief. My belief does not bring me total comfort per-se as I am in limbo but yet there is some respite there in capitulation to the fact that I do not have the answers, how arrogant it would be for me to look down on those who have found theirs, god could be a goat named bob in wisconsin for all I know, and for all I know I will only be here a blink, so, I should not waste my time judging those that have found peace, so bless you all in whatever form that takes, me, it is just the universe, being alive, being in nature, but I am glad the human brain has the capacity to make movies for all movie goers (I just wish the floor wasn’t so sticky).
music> ? Yeah, I am all about that! here is some acoustic goodness, how this song never became big is beyond me… (of course Summerland (this is a fan cover, with passion) is my favorite song of all time)
I made a pact with myself, when I started this blog, that my goal was honesty and personal growth, part of that movement in the nation me is to actively notice things that I see everyday and check them out (instead of passively passing them by), essentially we should see beauty every chance we get, and I also think history is beautiful, there are ugly moments, sure, but history is a vehicle in which we can gain experience without having to live through something ourselves… and learn. Even in a country as new as this (in the scheme of thing’s america is very new) we have plenty of history, especially here in new jersey. So saturday I decided to check out this place I have driven by hundreds of times…
I have mixed feelings about the place, I like that it is a little enclave in the middle of major roads (Route 4, 208, rt 80 is not too far), there is a nice path from the lot through the park (it splits, I only went left this time), it is interesting that the park literally is in people’s backyards when you are walking, some owners have gates that open to the park, others, well, their fences seem less comfortable if you get my drift, unfortunately the nakedness of the winter reveals the debris and litter of humanity, is it overwhelming ? no, but certainly noticeable, I picked up a few pieces as I always do, but this place is in serious need of a dedicated patrol to pick up the flotsam, a little effort goes a long way, I guess this is the paramus river, I should google it but I don’t feel like it, the roar of the tiny rapids does pose some nice sound and almost (almost) drowns out the car traffic buzzing about and over, I shall check this out further in the future… it did not inspire a thought on the spot, but upon reflection tonight I wrote this (first draft just for this post):
upon red mill the common ground now a park with visions before the founding now nestled between highways and routes older than the country still may outlast the bustle ’bout and shared the land with history books for washington surely crossed this little nook and burr in yuletide of times sure partook certainly before his career paced north to new york and even lafayette on his farewell tour did endure to pass these grounds and now casual walkers, bikers and pavement encircle the visitors of note leave their bags and baubles but I might imagine the red mill will grist for it’s own will and endure on beyond more generations
I posted a couple of quick vids on my youtube account as well to give you a feel.so, that promise I made to myself… maybe I honored it here, but I am still struggling to be ‘it’ all the time, there are plenty of times I don’t stop and admire… or do the right thing, I’m working on it, so should you, we are barely here in the scheme of things, I know it so easy to say that, I know, I am just a guy and I do not live up to my own standards, but I am trying, I want everyone to give effort, and make this world better, step by step.
Shades of My Garden 