an affirmation…

an affirmation…

light mountains sky night
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is the price of life
forgetting your past existence

for memories are energy, and there is only a finite amount, sure, the universe is larger than what we can wrap our current head around but everything has bounds, everything has limits, what if there is only so much to go around, kind of a more physics way of approaching the idea of the Guf, a universal recycling program if you will, less ashes to ashes more us to us, obviously you were meant to be, you are here reading this, so that is proof positive, matter is not destroyed but relived or reworked, energy is the same, there is only a finite amount of material, and then pause on the cosmic odds, your life, my life, so strange to consider that stars actually did align for all this, the entirety of all existence is culminated in your consciousness, the grooming of billions of years, bodies in motion, the cosmos endless ocean, to produce that note, that wonderful sound of you, you were meant to be born and live right now.

 

thoughts hit you sometimes…

thoughts hit you sometimes…

brown leaf
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I just came in from outside, I did not notice a straggler, a stowaway of sorts, a hanger on, a single sad maple leaf, wrinkled and dead dried, probably dragged in on my shoe or shooed in by a weak wind, I picked it up and threw it away as insignificant, and then, it hit me, someday, someone will read my obituary and do the same thing… with me.

notesmorbid ? perhaps. true? probably.  The eventuality, the realization, it is all there, an underlying theme I try to ignore because I have no control over it… but it does not erase that it is there… do I look away? do I pay attention? do I subscribe to a belief?  … all of these… all of these…

7am

7am

boy in red and white plaid shirt sitting on green grass field near a tombstone
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I walk outside, barefoot, “barefoot?” you think, yes, we have had this conversation before, unless you are new to my blog, so I can forgive you on that score, the world is misting, at least in this little corner of new jersey, not rain, not drizzle, almost an imperceptible spray, more like when a wave breaks on a jetty a few feet away, definitely not from the clouds, or at least that is the feel, the perception, the world has been more quiet these months (the strange spring as I call it), but more so right now, even with the expectation dams bursting with excitement at the prospect of summer, beaches, parties and the like, but today,  more quiet sets the stage, I watch what little breeze there is twitch the clovers that have ingratiated themselves as citizens in my rock garden, I don’t mind clovers, although none of these are four leaf, that variety seems to escape me, somehow they have a better back story than most weeds, and get a pass in that department, the ground is barely wet, yet there is enough moisture to pool under the front of the car in the driveway, dripping, just enough, and not nearly a pool anything can swim in, there is nothing stirring about, the only sound is a family of birds in a tree up the block, arguing, about what I have no idea, but it sounds intense, but human sounds are absent, there is a solemn tone, or at least that is what I breathe in, perhaps this is more what this day should be about, not frisbees and grill marks, a solemn reminder about souls lost, maybe not every year does the curtain of this need to overshadow and dampen spirits, but perhaps there is merit in this, for at least sometimes, to remind us to reflect, stay inside our comfort, not rejoice in the shining sun unrelated to the meaning of the day, for we are here as surrogates to those who are not, those before paved the way for this day to even rise, so take a moment, and thank them in your thoughts, for a gift, the gift you unwrapped long ago.

a prayer… (for those on the front)

a prayer… (for those on the front)

people wearing face mask for protection
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a prayer for those in the face of disease
for they are the faces we see
when life is most precarious
or stretched out on a bare thread
we look, to them
an army of the courageous
stewards of duty bound
to put aside the self
for the betterment of we
a prayer for you
for strength
for purpose
for divine providence
in these times of great need.

notes… my thanks to those I know in the field, and those I do not. Sports, a multibillion dollar industry has gone silently and quickly into hibernation, that might be all you need to know about what is important to all nations…

thoughts from the porch… (lions on lawns)

thoughts from the porch… (lions on lawns)

silhouette of dandelion behind sun
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my index finger and thumb stained with the yellow of slain dandelion heads, how visceral my hatred is for these little beasts, I can not say the origin or recall, I’ve just known these are the bane of all lawns since the dawn of the great suburbia, invaders, interlopers, never to question that they must be rooted out like cancer cells that threaten the purity of the host, staring down at my yellow fingers I realize all this silliness and history stored within me, items we have just taken, absorbed, whole and then compartmentalized for a lifetime, how foolish, but how human, how me.
instead, these lions should be seen as more, they are heralds, bright harbingers of the spring, even with edible leaves, and then there is the transformation, from a golden disc that sings then sleeps, then without even the cocoon of a butterfly, up rises the perfect disco ball of cotton spires, delicate sphere loaded with airships to transport the future to all corners the imagination or wind or beast can reach, a lottery which odds are obviously good, a simple engine of design, probably will outlast all our technology, the simple dandelion, to be admired, truly.

notes… listen up and listen good, I was there in that audience in 1994 about 20 rows back left of the stage, listen all the way through, you’ll thank me…  just listen… this footage was cut from the official release… but trust me, in person it was electric… and when they did Manic Depression, they brought the house down…

a moment of reflection, a pause from the virusphere…

a moment of reflection, a pause from the virusphere…

images

sometimes life, nature, god, luck, circumstance, whatever you might like to call such things, just sneak up on you, with a wink, a nod, the miracle of whimsy, the unexpected, you just have to be open for the gentle (subtle, perhaps at times imperceptible) tap on the shoulder, take that spare second to pull over in life and look, or just pay some attention to the world unfurling swirling around you, tonight was one of those moments, I could say magical, if I believed in magic, I might just say natural, because that much I can touch and measure with my given senses, there is a strange thing about living in this new bubble, maybe more of a slow cauldron, the din of the news, the bombardment, the virus invading every inch of life closing in, seemingly, the break of routine, the uncertainty, the caution of not knowing what is coming next, for worse or for better, even a rational folk such as myself feels the pressure out there, being nestled next many of the epicenters whether it is one town over, actual deaths reported in the town I work, nearly all of Bergen county shut down, it bears weight upon you, every cough you hear has more gravity, every sneeze you witness raises your awareness and perception, head on a swivel, is it warm in here or do I have a fever? perhaps I just need a valium for relief, but alas, nature provides sometimes in these times, I paused at a Parkway rest area on the way home, to take some time to clean out the car (I travel a lot), starbucks cups, other relics of the comfort life taken for granted on the passenger side floor, I took a pause to stand, kind of arms slung over the driver’s side door, a deep breath, drawn out almost like a yawn, in an effort to let the day bleed out of me back into the ground, release valve the pent up anxiety, almost sunset, a slight cold onset in the longing shadows, and then, this curious little fellow just brazenly dropped into the middle of my frame of reference, a robin, well known in these parts of course, nothing to write a blog post about I thought, but as in many things my initial thoughts betrayed underlying truth, this little thing was pure bravado, heck the robins in my yard at home run off from nearly the threat of my shadow, not this one, this is a ‘jersey rest area robin’, a different breed, you know, jersey strong, or so the fantasy proceeds, but he (or she, we’ll just assume ‘he’ for the rest of this tale, for convenience) looked up at me with seemingly no fear, bouncing ever closer, I tried not to move, to be a statue as I thought this little guy was mistaken or had no clue I was there, ever closer he bounced, was it something I threw out that caught his interest? I thought I might let it play out, five feet to four, to three to two, I was sure flight was a mere flinch away, but I moved anyway, nothing sudden, and he could not have cared one spit less, jersey strong indeed, so close now I thought he might hop in my shoulder for a spell, that would be cool, so close I could see almost upside down eyelashes and all the minute details of his face, I can’t recall ever being this close, the brilliant red radiance of his breast, quite puffed out for show, lavish and bright against the worn green of winter grass and empty trees, and then he just bounded by, right in front of me, one foot out two, three to four away now, to pick on some tasty morsel or so I guess, paying me no mind, and I realized, my piled up alarm day anxiety had been swept away, all gone, from spending a moment with a rest stop robin, with a nod and thanks, I left.

notes…. in all this craziness it is not a bad thing to spot a beam of radiance… I can not explain the mysterious power of the Parkway and my writing but often they are inextricably linked…

the act of creation…

the act of creation…

blue and purple sky with stars
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I would like to think I am the genesis of the wellspring of everything that flows through me, an independent force unseen in this ancient universe, but am I? is the act of creation, of this writing, a whisper in my ear from some nearby spirit, when I dream of sailing upon the sea is that some ancient mariner’s lingering energy passing through me, a temporary vessel for a ribbon of life’s energy crossing the branched rivers of time and crossing me, does science yet tell us things are so, creation as a bang, that sudden instant of inspiration that bursts on the scene like a never ending inferno, except this inferno, this heat, builds rather than consumes, the only thing destroyed is the once empty space the fire now occupies with thought of mind, what if I am simply a conduit, but yet a pen with own purpose, for even liquid poured through different devices produces different results, surely these molecules were part of some other part of the universe, tracing back to the beginning, my origin, your origin, was within the big bang and we have been recombining in mysterious a million ways ever since, matter can not be destroyed or created, we are told, but thought ? endless combinations to our minds, but there is no endless information, an event horizon of knowledge, is there an edge to all this, a cliff that keeps running outward but still exists, a dive off into the before that was utter nothingness but something has to be there, sense says so, but how will we ever know, that land exists outside of all we know, touch, feel, once we expire in our combination in this time we are broken back down and recombined into something else, a kite, a comet, a frog, a goblet, who knows, maybe we have been all these things and they inform our dreams, whispers in our ear of all the things we have been, down to the molecules we hold together in these bodies, run by electricity and plumbing to temporarily give us this human vehicle to interact with the everything, the everything from which we all sprang, those billions of years ago, every spin of every star, every nova and black hole far, those billions of years, the result is you and I… 

thoughts from the porch, ho ho ho edition…

thoughts from the porch, ho ho ho edition…

burn burnt candle candlelight
Photo by Tucă Bianca on Pexels.com

been awhile, my mortar friend, mostly used you as just steps lately, tonight teeters on forty degrees, so I can stop and catch up, I won’t be able to stay long, I already sense the temperature drop, as important as I remind myself to be observant, to take a moment and breathe the world in, and see what I see, that is a lot easier thought and easier to accomplish in warmer weather, but catch a window when you can like a ray of light, so here I am, contemplating life, I covered the late shift at work, I’m not religious and someone else, someone with people to go home to wanted off, so, to me it seemed like the right thing to do, winds up this way most years anyway, my prize was an easy drive for once, no traffic, just the occasional left lane interloper that requires passing on the right, which I hate to do, technically illegal to, but no malice tonight, no glare, no rage, everything is notched down a bit, I picked up some chinese and the only other busy place in the strip mall (or open one) was the ATM kiosk next door, got some gas, I don’t actually pay for gas, company car, fifteen years now, I tipped the guy thirty bucks, he is always nice enough, and cleans my back window from time to time, he was generally appreciative I think, so I drive on home with no major streaks, my street is lined with cars, both sides, but yet… so quiet, everyone is inside, usually such parked traffic has a bit of an audible buzz, but this is more cozy, or maybe I am, I sense something in the air, almost like someone is burning those cinnamon brooms you see outside store doors this time of year, no, that’s not it, pipe tobacco, definitely, I imagine my neighbors are sitting in their backyard, out of my sight, probably a few who broke off from the main party, to shoot the bull on this moonless night, the smell is intoxicating I must say, funny how I am surrounded by buildings, cars, people in their homes, and I am isolated, as many are this time of year, alone on the holidays, even if it is not your holiday really, the whole world seems caught up in it, like a wave you can not stop from washing over you even though you are not near the beach, “just another day” but everything else around you tells a different tale entirely, but I already received my gift, whether I be the amalgamation of scientific randomness, or the very touch of divine spark to my forehead in utero, the universe, in all these billions of years, whether by accident or design, has aligned in such a way, that I am here, alive, right now, as are you, regardless of belief, this is the gift, a gift so great that everything follows the unwrapping, need not be delivered by st nick, or some other myth, this is the truest fable one can… live.

a prayer for those
at home alone tonight
for know you well
the universe
and all time that tell
you were chosen
the greatest gift
you have been given

rejoice in life.

The ruins of our times…

The ruins of our times…

upon christ of church fairfield township nj cemetery
for all for now
for all seasons kept
be by brother be
for here I lay
laid to rest
bound to ground
consecrated in earth
soul released to soar
to higher temple mound,
a marker, a name engraved
crumbles, to time to fall
tracing words, fading stone faces
temporal worlds, flight drifts away
embraced, in softest warmth
bathed, in most divine light
eternal grace, to triumph the night

notes… these are the ruins of my state, people who settled here before we were even a country, this cemetery is near ruin but not in total ruin, I drove by a few times and just was drawn to call to attention this place, these were all lives, loves, stories, people, all enshrined here, many hundreds of years past, that fascinates me, because soon enough this will be me, on this plane of existence at least, dust and dreams, we all come to this road, this destination, regardless of any declaration, or any direction in which we wish.

Music:  a little heavy, a classic song in this person’s opinion…

observational (simple) poem…

observational (simple) poem…

architectural photography of white and green church bell tower under clear sky
Photo by Dan Whitfield on Pexels.com

stoic white church presides
night black back country road
saturday night
quite alone

notes… sometimes I see something and want to capture a moment, I call it observational poetry to convey a feeling or a thought, I was driving through Franklin Lakes NJ, Ewing Road, through all the mansions up there but right before the reservoir there is a church I have passed many times, but the singularity of it struck me tonight, for whatever reason, I suppose the calm before the storm as Sunday is the business day of god, or at least houses of same in the catholic faith.

post script, looking at this, reading this… kind of Haiku feel… ya feel me ?

music: