we are made to screw up.
so how do we aim to not screw up but know that we will screw up?
this does not mean we abdicate to the worst of our nature, I suppose that could be one strategy, but that would not benefit humanity, so, what to do?
Honestly I should have thought about this more years ago, or listened or read or … anything but carry on my own baggage like hooks in my flesh year to year. carrying guilt around does nothing for you, regret is a lighter cousin and perhaps a pool to reflect in, of course we all ‘know’ we can not change the past, but there is something about what is carved in stone that we can run our hands over, even aged by weather and years, those markers are still there, and will always be, but there is ever landscape evolving in front of us, so in this new year, go ahead and make some basic resolutions if you like, there is nor harm in that-
but-
forgive yourself for things you have done, if you can make amends to those affected, do so, whether they accept or not is up to them but make the effort, this does not absolve you but at least it opens the door to let light in, and that in the end is medicine for the soul…
incarnate and re
in a dog’s shell
the fly-by raven
might I be the only mammal
to drown in the earthen waters
drawn to the four corners
all in this world of wonders
I could task buddha for another ride
and never touch the grains in tide
the wishing shells
somewhere on a wire
lines across dunes tell-
of stories
of lives
of loves
some broken, some beautiful
all strung and hung by human hands
old and young
here and gone
as you walk along
and absorb all the stories strung.
This is about an actual place, I think I want to shoot a short movie here, “The Wishing Shells of Laurence Harbor”… great title right? (I like the play of wishing shells aka wishing wells… yeah, I think like that)
Well… back story, I travel around my much maligned state (New Jersey) in search of every little nook and cranny… and there are many… especially since we are one of the oldest states in the union (I know, not old compared to you people across the world… but I work with what I got). So… there is this almost non-descript, kind of beat up beach, but along the dunes, seemingly out of nowhere, you come upon them, a bunch of clam shells, written on, painted on, scribbled on… with messages, with names, with memorials, with all sorts of things… and I think it is pretty damn cool. Perhaps this is a copy of some other place in the world, I would probably guess that, maybe it is somewhere in a south american country as there is a large hispanic population in the area ? who knows… but either way it is a nice idea… just a few pics to give you the flavor…
weights of season, words of meaning
I suppose I just never thought about it… the very names, words of the seasons (speaking purely as an english speaker here), the actual words have weight and meaning that makes perfect sense. Today is of course the first day of Winter in these parts, the word win-TER, so tense, so terse, so curt, so blunt, like the cold incarnate itself, there is no in-between, no hesitancy in this word, like a chunk of ice, “winter” stands there, like a pillar, no negotiations, “Summer”… also short and defined, but so much softer and warm in the middle “mmmm”, “summmmmmmmer” as the heat drags on and wears down, and only one letter from simmer, but that vowel swap does make the difference does it not? I also though about the affinity of these two months, the non in-betweens that share the same similarity in word structure and power… both “er”s. while the other twins are completely different animals, and as such, their names are more of a fit for them, “fall” and “spring”… looking at them seems so obvious, but such words are so ubiquitous to our daily experience that we might fail to take a look at them as something more than just a throw around term, they could not be less alike, opposites in fact, but they also contain energy (or the draining of), the terms are loaded indeed, “fall”, there is no happy connotation there although there is no inherent “bad” either, but to fall is to fall, top to bottom, up to down, you can not fall up (at least I don’t see how) so the word itself is loaded with weight to drag down, the word has no stop sign, no end, the end of the word is only “winter”, the same is true in the other direction with “spring”, the physical spring, a coiled one, is kinetic energy ready to be released and at some point has to but it is all expectation, once the spring has spring that burst of energy is spent and gone, the spring is uncoiled and becomes the straight line of summer until it falls then shrinks back due to the cold, compression, to be released once more in spring, words and weights and meaning-
street lights in the rain
I noticed the curb in a serpentine bend, an illusion, a simple matter of a natural prism on end, now to notice, when the rain has stopped flow, the street lights in the rain, like walking on a mirror, a mirror made of mirages that so closely command disguise, in a dream of dali might I find such sights, but noting that dramatic, or static on canvas lies, for right in front of me, I can walk on the moon, stroll among the lights, splash in the heavens with the delight of a spare seconds flight, flourish in the splendor of the thought as the reverse onto the street is broadcast, street lights in the rain –
ma·laise /məˈlāz,məˈlez/
I love words… is that apparent? Sometimes a word is just perfect, you don’t need anything to dress it up with silly accoutrements (another fabulous word), but such as the subject, I have a general malaise, I am not depressed, I am actually a an optimist by nature, but a realist by the gauntlet, a strange balance, but lately, I can’t quite put my finger on it, just a general blah, I take the time to observe nature and revel in such moments, lost in the splendor, but somehow, maybe the time of year, the amount of darkness (literal) of the sun setting at 4:30 in the afternoon, I keep looking at the page of hourly weather waiting for this to change, and watching the wane or wax of the moon, which usually I pay no attention to, I feel like I am waiting for something, waiting for a change, I’m not sure, just a general feeling of a cycle spinning, a rut, not bad in any way shape or form in comparison to some, you would think decades on this bicycle doing laps would achieve some sort of universal understanding, but I feel like I am standing, not sinking, not shrinking, just standing, waiting, like at a bus stop, but there is none, never had been, am I know this, but wait there anyway- as if, there is something different out there, or here, for me, just that feeling, usually I love the rain, today? just an annoyance of traffic building muss and puddles and floods… maybe I am reflecting the very day, malaise.
time passage
the passages of time
the corridors of mine
or a ship upon
a river more
and when my script ends
to the bottom I descend
a postcard
a screenshot
a bookmark
an old scrolled map
of a once vibrant town-
now gone
I often ponder about the nature of time, I pictured tunneling through a tunnel of light in my one direction and how that might look like from the outside, like a burrow, my burrow, but then I always also think of time as a river, this churning mass of water ever moving forward, oddly, I never picture this as some serene winding creek, but more like a mass of raging waves against the back drop of stars, a river flowing through the universe itself, how we are carried along and then – just stop. but the river flows on, is there a bookmark there? it was a moment, which is now outside of time, stuck there, because it did happen, we are here, we happen so that can never be erased but there is a an end to this thread, and what if the universe bounces back, like a rubber band, from expansion to contraction, it would seem the nature of things, would my perception be reset and begin again? this is what was going through my brain today at various stops along the way…
peace.
gather me up forever-
in your arms
to forget this place
and revel in your warmth;
upon eternal peace.
the eternal neighbor…
radiant!
bathed-
in the stolen light
of our dying sun-
hollow eyes ring dead witness
to all life come,
a cosmic-cultured pearl
if ever there was one,
faces turn in fades of shadow
until the new born phase rises
as once again
this stone broadcasts light-
begin transmission.
trials – and errors
depending on your holiday situation, coming off this weekend is a nice feeling, even for me, which I will get into, but then how to navigate “getting back into the swing of things” at work kind of intrudes our world, especially on a Monday, I can’t say my Thanksgiving was a train wreck or a glorious time, it was great to see the family and such, to see little ones running around, a couple of dogs, the chaos of a full house, football on for the men folk to gather round, but something set off my allergies, to the extent I have not endured for some time, full on can not breathe both my nose and lungs, not a fun time, had to step outside even, I must have seemed like a curmudgeon or just stand offish but I was just miserable, not even able to enjoy the food (and I love turkey, I know many don’t but I certainly do), I even had rashes on my arms, well, the one good thing? I was not working and don’t mind a day off even perhaps suffering a bit. I try to remember people always have it worse off so complaining in the moment or not gutting through it was not an option for me. I tried to focus on the joy of others around me, and sure enough that was enough.
So here comes Monday, my commute was not bad, I missed being stuck behind school bus routes (bonus), no place to really park at the office (unusual) so I had to hike a couple of blocks, luckily I had the time, although it did cross my mind that things started to seem to stack against me… I tried to ignore this and just focus on the task at hand, letting the stress not get out of said hand, of course two of our administrative staff (that handle the phones) called out today (sweet), and I was the first one at the office (even better), I think too much of our environment is not meant for our mental health or designed with that in mind at all… not a shocking revelation, I know, but whatever personal space we have can be arranged to assuage this obvious design flaw, be it a plant, a poster, a photo, something, not a block, or a book, or a wall plastered with post its, something like a window, or a window into a moment past, a place, a being, a portal to transport you to another land – if only for an instant… this can be most anything, but the important idea is to make it something, to have it available, like a mental stress ball, to flex your mind fingers and all when the world begins to swirl, as it will, as it must, I wish I could say I have perfected this art, this thought, this meditation, of sorts, but I have not for I surely would have patented such a thing, bottled such a thing, packaged such a thing for 4 easy payments of $19.95 and sell it online, or late night on TV, or through QVC before the world was done with me… so I struggle to find that talisman, that perfection, or maybe that is the problem, perhaps Monday requires one distraction and Tuesday is a different beast to tame, let the solution vary, but seek that solution daily, for me, sometimes it is just looking out the windows and seeing clouds, other times it is getting outside that window to see them for myself, or perhaps just finding a quiet place, a park, a pond, a path, for even moments past, eyes closed, imagining the origin of every sound around, a deep breath, or back in the office, turn on the sound of the ocean if you can, or the trinket from a vacation up on the shelf and recall, take a step outward, inward, to the side, but take that step, the wheel will grind regardless, best you take care of yourself for at least a moment.
Shades of My Garden 