from roots to ruins
from roofs to moons
dead rocks orbiting
hollow worlds – hollow moons
locked in solitary confinement
celestial infinite loops
.co-dependence./.
Category: Space
an affirmation…
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.
a little prayer of sorts…
“I pray to the sun –
for guidance
to the moon –
to ease my mind
to the stars –
as a reminder of infinite possibility
to all these –
as all humanity once does once has once will
may the light become my pathway
until my heart beats still”
notes… not a religious thing, more of a spiritual thing, the more years I hang on this familiar mantle I try to just look out and observe all this around me, it is astounding, and yet so nothing compared to the everything, what a dilemma, but it teaches you to love what you have – not what you can never have, does it always hold? hey, I can only try, this is my first time at life (as far as I know), nothing is perfect, nothing is always 100% right, but damn there is beauty in this world I endeavor to enjoy…
‘wish upon a star’ (no, not the song, more like contemplation, an idea)
what if, the beams, the light, the starlight we have all known since we could look skyward at night, what if the light was actually a stream of information, a story, a history, an encapsulation of time, maybe it is but we have not the tools to access the data or comprehend the language, as we know – light from the stars we see now could be thousands or if not millions of years old by the time it pierces our eyes, so what if that is somehow a series of photographs captured in a light stream, an album, snapshots, a step by step catalog of a star’s life above from the past until the moment that instant penetrates our eyes and enters into the ripe groves of our minds, think of how generations of imaginations have looked up and wondered, since human kind began, is this all coincidence? the constellations drawn upon with lines, connect the dots, why? the draw, the fascination, perhaps our subconscious is reacting to an underground radio station broadcasting beyond AM or FM, there are parts of the universe far older than our young civilization, what fantastic tales might these reaches bring, stars are truly brilliant torches of inspiration swimming in the vast darkness… but are they more? so the more I look, so the more I yearn, to know, and in there lies hope, for all that, beyond our own.
notes… one of those things that bounces around my ole noggin being a space wonk that I am, the sky is easier to see these days here in suburban Jersey, although the views in rural Maryland where I disappear, er, I mean vacation at least once a year, are just spectacular with the naked eye (although I ponied up this year for a telescope, hopefully photos to come when I get good at it), but think about it, digest it, mull about it a bit, when you see a star you are not seeing a light bulb you just turned on, you are literally looking at the past, something from thousands of years ago or older, you are not looking at ‘now’… pretty mind blowing that just the night sky itself is not real, or at least not current for the most part, imagine if you walked around every day with eyes seeing ten years ago, 100 years ago, or so… well, we kind of forget that is what we are doing with the stars above… so chew on that for awhile my friends… oh and listen to some space rock care of my favorite Canadians (RIP Piggy, but the new guy is pretty damn good, this was the crux of Piggy’s guitar work imo, not that anyone cares but damn I will sing his praises until I’m gone, I like unicorns, so be it)…
an extended hand.
if I could reach out my hand, as a receptacle, a device, a receiver, across the entire world, and touch all cultures, would I gain the answers? I imagine – I can out stretch my hand, more astral than physical mind you, outward, into the universe, as far as my imagination tethers or allows, for surely I can not imagine beyond my own imagination, even though the cosmos must probe past those regions I can not fathom, if I could reach out toward and into that infinity, even just for a glimpse of that all reality, what would I see? would that knowledge satisfy my human curiosity or make it billion fold explode, I wonder, all there is to see out there, in between the dead space, space, like death itself a web that holds us all in, a trap we can not escape, but life persists, even in the darkest of dark depths explored, and that is just here, on this one little sphere, I wish I could know more else, other worlds, other selves, surely life is out there, how could it only be here? if I only could outstretch my hand and touch the universe as a whole, I wish, and I dream it so.
The Marvel Marble…
so behold, that bright marble, a miracle, just another globe in a pantheon of globes in a universe of spinning discs of light, glass encased perfectly situated ball locked in an invisible dance, trance, with a sun and her children spawn, in the outer regions of one tendril of a galaxy’s arm, all racing along a hidden path with purpose, the macro, from afar, a small blue dot winks on the horizon of the heliosphere, and zoomed in closer reveals, an ant colony scrambling about with seeming importance, unaware of perspective, distances so great that they can not be measured nor traveled yet we bustle about, about this marvel of a marble, and from the down here we look out, with our clever inventions and intentions, our human projections, so slight cast out into that great expanse, the art, the gallery of god, strewn across a canvas so massive we will never see the whole cloth, or even the fabric onto which this vision is projected, the strings, imperceptible stitches, the concepts, all tie time together and flow, we can not be alone, for just the ornaments on this holiday tree alone must have some sliver of this gift, this life, so many forms travel on just this little darling of a marvel, this fascinating rolling marble, suspended by magical natural forces, we take them all for granted as they blanket us in wonder, whether designed or natural happenings, the definitions of impossible are quite shattered by our mere presence, there must be more out there, if even we have not seen all the flavors on our own planet, the depths, the dark, the corners un-found or lost for generations, drowned in magma, locked in miles of ice unseen, how much has been before and how much more to come, we are but a footnote in the grand procession, the thrust, the flow, the river of life as branches, arms, reaching in every direction, even to dead ends and new beginnings, life carves through this valley forever changing the landscape as we ballroom dance swing around mother sun, destructive nuclear fire, that yet brings life and desire, our desire, to thrive, inhabit, love, all on this, the blue, marvel marble, floating endlessly in the sky, in space, a womb of the most precious thing of all, life.
“my mind can venture where my body can not”
black-light footsteps…
might all my steps, all since I have first roamed this earth, all my footprints, in hind new sight, become like glowing beacons under black-light, neon green pathways of where I have been, to see it all mapped out like that, a cartographer’s delight, a story, lines, paths crossing, intersecting, leading, tracing, back and forthing, the mundane, the unusual, the one timers, the two timers, the everyday worn down trails, what patterns they might reveal, the common or the familiar, pointing to family, friends and perhaps strangers, cousins or a dog park, the beach or just a long walk, meandering, spinning in the rain, peeking around a corner to spot a local deer, or standing quite still as the baby jack rabbit passes slowly, how many miles all these years, and I have never changed the oil, surely I am overdue, but I guess when I am due the engine is over, how many roads have I traveled, how many vistas toward have these feet drawn my form, all these neon zig-zags all over the floor, I wonder if some wonderful pattern might appear, a talisman, a mandala, some secret ancient symbol I have been drawing all these years without knowing, and then I might pull back, and rise up to the sky, looking down and seeing my creation from way up high, and the humbleness that will imply, as I see only over a few states my pattern’s eye, how much larger the world, or just this land is than I, I whisk the globe with my hand spin, seeing witness to all the lands, I have not been, and might never not be, the seas, I imagine walking the equator once round, just for the story, and back down, gently back to my grounded self consciousness, and look around, and up, no trace of me in the sky, one day I think, maybe, one day… I might become a constellation…
notes… one of those things that just came to me, and you don’t believe in inspiration ? you silly thing, what causes it, what moves it, what moves us… strangely, we have no idea, why does art exist ? what is the point? it does not feed babies, it does not raise cattle.. but yet… it persists… and always has, so the canvas, is the universe…
the act of creation…
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…
stitches, musing, and the day moon (I know, does not exactly roll off the tongue)…
days like today are a welcome respite, the thermometer taking a break from the grasp of winter (albeit a mild one so far, I must admit), the temperature reaching up spring heights, the sun blazing down more like June, the sky that lovely shade of absolute pure blue, ah yes, today should be different, will it ? I doubt it… Monday… glorious Monday… we dance… our dance…
I take my lunch break at the apportioned time, and begin to muse, or doze off, or both… head fades back into the pillow, or head rest, which is not as poetic…
so I bend to inner thought, are stitches just stitches or paths for where the fabric should go, all the arrows, the lines, the signs, all around us guiding the chaos, in this, this petri dish of our existence, from the smallest germ, up through the grass, into the trees, to humans walking these streets, to the birds that rule the air, sharing space with massive water vapor arrangements, up to the brink, the clink of glass, the sky ceiling, space and the companion nothingness, suffocation beyond the gate, now onward, up there, the lack of anything, the possibility of everything, a juxta-pose, all out there that lies beyond, and days like this, the breed of hope, the seed of new thought, just overlooking, you, day-moon, so out of reach, a silent observer, a constant distant friend, a constant reminder, for night is your usual domain, or so we perceive that haunt to be, but to you, locked in circles, lock stepped in orbit in orbits, a procession dance, at a glance, caress the tides as you have watched as very continents divide, the rise and fall, from molecules to dinosaurs, and to these eyes, upon close examination, your face, shaped by the memories of universal sojourners across the wake and landed, impacted, and even we, this tiny race have spent time on your domicile, our, you, our closest neighbor just that far beyond our life cocoon cradle, left dead staring as a reminder, or to inspire, as your one face faces us un-tired, stranger in the blue, day-moon, I feel as if I can hold you in my hand, up to my ear, and listen carefully to unveil your memory, and know of all things that happened here, watching life spin, just, out of reach…
and we look upwards…
in the dawn of man
in the first of light
our ancestors looked up
towards the sun
from there imagined
past this life
and now
with all our knowledge since
we look outward
to the stars
to find life
past our own
notes… to me we always and still look to the sun, the light is a dominant force in our life, and yet we are just a little system out on the fringe arm of a galaxy among millions, we can see past our little neighborhood cosmically, how often do we really think about it in our daily life? perspective is an endless lens that asks questions. poem wise I was going for pace and syllables, seems silly playing among the stars… but it is what I do, to be me, or am me….
Shades of My Garden 