I have met my end-
and it is me
for what else-
could it be?
not always (but often) we are our own worst enemy… puts new meaning to sleeping with the enemy (though not much choice there except the pain in the ass sprite known as insomnia, a fellow I have met on occassion)
flowing, ever flowing
a rash-rapids
a roiling rage of falls-
the slow crawl over a delta;
even the ever stoic ocean
has her tides
her lows, her highs
all in succession,
and such is time
as the two were born at the hip
as one
force we feel upon our lives
we ride,
for what other choice do we have
or drown
but simply one day
there is that – or drought.
notes… water… the lifeblood of life, able to carry and destroy… and we see all sorts on our little short carousel ride here…
be that some unnamed mountain peak, climbed and bent under knee, a breath on top of the roof of the world, three hundred and sixty degrees, a view for few or even a king or a queen, only here and now, on the short pinnacle, the way down, the paths crossing, somewhere down, hidden by height and cloud cover, where the under dwells, where our lives lead, the to and fro, while not always climbing, just passing, station to station, aspiration sometimes leads to inspiration, the elevation, but all of this, the lofty heights, the lofty goals, must at once, inevitably – lay down… so take the breath in, enjoy the view, and smile in the sun’s light when you can.
to carve my name upon a stone
buried in an earthen mound
untouched by tides or droughts
to let my blood into the roots
of a young joshua tree
so I might reach into the spires
and praise the open sky
for eons
to drop my note
in a bottle
weighted to drop to depths
and remain until the earth
is once over overrun
to catapult my ash
into space oneself
to visit the earth
and all else-
on the solar winds
until the collapse
of the universe
once over
herself
to survive, in whatever form…
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…
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…
to close my eyes, and bathe in the myths of my age, walk through the rows, the pillars of truth that hold, arise this sweet tent, with pinholes to the sky, pathways to stories, just a passer by am I, or through, I will not know until destination met, how confident and prideful we are, the content of common knowledge, the hubris of assumption, ten or twenty or one hundred million pass, and where is the meaning written, species reigned for millions, the remains of king’s of various ages, just vestiges, baubles, curiosities, collectibles, will our mass be the same, bones in the mass grave that is this land, the fairest arbiter of all, to produce all life and then swallow said whole, to endure another run, I wonder what is worth more, a recipe for perfect chicken soup or the entire lexicon of the english language.
:pause, even here,
in one of my openly secret places I come
the cliffs of calvert
tower above the bay
as always I remember them
except window dressing
now and then, the light, the waves
or a plate of near glass
but in either way, a welcome hearth
I could go a whole universe
and not feel so loved by the earth
in just a coordinate, a spot on a map,
here;
so I pause,
watching the smallest of waves curl in from afar
like a sweeping hand, over and over arcs
a consistent caress under our single star, warming late summer
I see and hear the clamor of the bits of broken shells
for the whole ones stay calmly together, for now
I pick a piece up, for no other reason
no impetus, but for the random chance
and see the lines, the stark colors
the circles and invisible lines, and I think of the sky
the planets
how even saturn, or jupiter or
the other less famous suitors of fame
the hue’s house of colors,
the patterns, the swirls, the same
all right here, like little broken dull mirrors
lying about on this gentle shore
for me to find, and realize
I need not travel far to this wonder far
and feel the rush and thrust of creation
in all the broken pieces, out about my feet
as they are wound down to once more become
again recreated,
perhaps stardust for another beginning,
here, in my hand, all of history from death to birth.
Notes… although I had a terrible sinus infection most of the week I still came back from my annual trip to the cliffs a newly charged battery, perhaps a little wiser, smarter, calmer… until the grinder chews me up again, and then I will be due for my yearly appointment to those shores… a calling.
do you remember?
the other day?
yesterday? (it seems)
a decade ago? (in reality)
a lifetime ago-
how it all seems,
my love, still- still–, always-, my love, I love you, even more, now.
notes… I had a very lucid dream about her today, we went on vacation for a week or so, and we were driving back, we were in the back seat, her legs over my lap, I was rubbing her feet, looking into her eyes, and we were both so utterly satisfied, and she said “you know this was one of the best weeks of my life” and I nodded, and she said “and you know I am still not the right one for you even with this perfect time”… it was both confirmation and devastation… I can not explain how real it felt, it felt like a real test tube distillation of our whole event… I would give it all for her, but never did when it counted back then, a dumb scared kid, I can’t forgive myself, I haunt myself, time was supposed to heal, time was supposed to release me from these bonds but goddamn it it has not… I hate myself but can not hate my nature, I would give it all for her now, even now. Does that make me dumb, loyal, a fool, or who knows.. I guess death will release me from the burden, not that I am anxious to come to that regard at all… god, I miss her, even all these years later…
‘on lucid shore’
a parade at night
under waves
of moon light
on this
this feral equinox;
distant shore
a subtle roar
of diamonds
shimmers… (in the light)
the breeze
a tease
slides over hands
cold sand
insulates feet
toes dig in
underneath
shadows dance
a slow sway
back and forth
a hypnotic stray,
I have found this place
to stay lost
as long as might
my grace
my sleep
with eyes open
on this beach
of or in
-my dreams…
notes…. I imagine a Cast Away scenario… of course without some other guy from Sex in the City sleeping with my Helen Hunt (especially at that time, although she still looks great especially in the movie “The Sessions” (great flick if you have not seen it) ), I just love the idea of being alone on some far flung beach with no one in sight, at night, in the tropics.. I have had this experience, or a close proximity of same, a couple of times when I was in the Florida Keys, alone on a beach, just me, the waves, the clouds, distant lightning lighting up the scene, I felt alone but part of the whole thing, fulfilled, I can not tell you how I miss that feeling, it was like I was part of the molecules of the ocean, as storm clouds came in, in formations, like floating city-nations, the tropics are like that, thunder storms are very localized mostly, cells you can see and track, rain on one side of the street and not the other… I always go back to that, that peace, that moment, a passing moment as all are, I wish I could describe it better to you, the water glistens and smiles, and literally shimmers, the sound of the waves becomes your own heartbeat by proxy, they flow as one, for a moment, under the sun reflecting off the moon, bent light that gives life, even at night, the barely hanging on palms that look like you could poke them over with a finger, bent over the horizon, leaves provide some strange shadows like stripes of a tiger, but nothing is fear, there is just being, I wish I could capture that… and share that… to all, and most of all to myself, but just the recall now… does help… and I remember.
Shades of My Garden 