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…
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.
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.
remaining where the mountains go to tender my inner soul capped with snow, a hot iron strike upon my back, the solstice glow- a balance struck a deal in hand as heaven ducks to bow and kiss the land.
one of those where the words just popped in my head, I was driving just looking off in the distance, not even mountains, just where the sky has that appearance over the tree line off by the horizon
as I rise- detached- and upwards toward the terminal sky I wonder why gravity has abandoned me or was it life? either way, my mind writhes with the puzzle as always as everyone and some none the key, to that doorway above; the terminal sky- encircles our world a womb, and beyond- the obvious tomb but yet- the apothecary of life eon and all ingredients- as I drift higher each layer is thinner like an ocean to a shoal- no, not much distance now, no I drift- soon, into that darkness that absence only via the sail of a soul.
Spring Lake NJ… you would think staying across the street from such a place would foment the creative (writing) juices… to the contrary, I am infused with calm, sure, this time of year there is only a smattering of people here… that helps, being near the ocean ain’t so bad either… I walked around the lake last night and was the only person doing so… I couldn’t write anything superior to what I was seeing and taking in… so instead of words sometimes I post pictures…
barriers; throwing random letters at this chain- link- fence- investing in the cosmic madness that somehow- my efforts might spell the word- entrance; but then I pause- what if the answer is really the word: exit.
notes… in my head I was picturing that bridge in paris that had all the locks (there is one in Bay Ridge NY too… not as scenic, over the belt parkway, and probably a host of other imposters the world over), kind of a shame they took the locks down, they should have put up a fence adjacent to the bridge for the purpose… the sentiment was not a bad one… and this world could sure use some nice sentiment locked in…
for this lament- I say to you, dream- the open fields- the rolling hills of summer wheat- the shepherd and his flock, roams the shepherd with his pen, writes to define this world again in kind words and thoughts and show them the way- once more.
notes… these words came to me as is… for once in my blabbermouth personality I think I will just leave them as is totally for other’s interpretation, I have mine, surely, I was the vessel, or vassal I suppose… so it matters not what I think, it matters what touches your soul or resonates in your time.
Shades of My Garden 