I ponder such things, musing perhaps, what is the nature of harmony, how to achieve it, how to recognize it, how to capture it for even a time, how to recognize when you are off key – in life that is, I surely would not want to torture you with my singing voice, just trust me on that score, our lives have so very many congruent threads being pulled in all directions, fed by emotion and a flood of other stimuli, so what is this elusive elixir I seek? and the words just popped in there…
harmony is the reduction of variables
maybe that is the crux of my rain walks or stands as it were, just unplugging my self from the usual-verse and reconnecting with the most basic primal instinct mind, letting the wind whisk my worry, the rain wash my burdens, the night sky the blank slate to write dreams upon, to close my eyes and see nothing and listen to the subtle song of the earth moving through time, enjoying the ride, at least for a time, this time I have been allowed to be, in this harmony.
“if for one more time might I hear the songbirds song outright up upon summer’s dawn and feel the warmth of that good sun one last time before I am utterly gone from this place back to the ground to be remade yet might I hear that sound one more time one dear final time to hear that bird and her song”
notes… a little more subtle this week, same theme though, lost.love.letters is now archived on my collections page (if it is something you dig).
This april shower feels more like a november rain, the gentle rapping of manicured fingertips sounding on my windshield, not a down pour by any means, just enough rain to confuse my intermittent wiper instincts, back and forth, back and… forth, forth, back, I settle in medium, I scan the radio digital dial, rise my eyes north and traffic is negotiating with a halt, I keep my foot set to brake, I settle on the classical channel, on comes a violin concerto by mozart, it does not seem to matter which one, tail lights flare and glow, diffused and suspended in this wet prism, organized embers from a thousand volcanoes sizzle just above ground level, and the world seems, to…, slow down, like a well made movie, the musical score underneath sets the tone, the rotating yellow beacon of the tow truck reaches across three lanes, like a lighthouse that has arrived too late, I feel calm, then passing past the scene ups the pace, perhaps this music has me held in a trance, my thoughts drift and float away from the sea of red angry eyes, in fact, they seem more now like a string of xmas lights curling around this asphalt pine,
and inevitably my thoughts wander, to her, wondering what she is doing, if she is merely ok, knowing I can do nothing about it either way, a helplessness not ameliorated by my own guilt or shame of actions, I am cursed with a superb memory, I recall most all things, words, deeds, moments, the feel, that moment the morning I left, that gentle kiss to your forehead, the day my hope became terminal, these are my own monuments hewn by my hands, my own doing, whether that is good, bad or mightily indifferent, matters not in this hour or ever, sometimes the punch of this inflicts an illicit reaction of tears, sometimes a wry smile, sometimes a sheer bathing in the warmth of light, of joy, of rejoicing, I realize, for some never get the chances I have had, I know this, but the road I have chosen certainly has taken a toll and the miles long, long ago. You are still and will always be the most beautiful woman in the world to me, even if the chance to say so has been lost to time. (concerto ends, radio host interjects with some not so clever quip)
another accident over there, in the express lane, another tow truck on the right shoulder, amber lights spinning, I am back to the real world, driving home, under a sky with no stars, a bleak mess I think, and then… it stirs, “but I have to believe, I must believe – there is hope in all things, I am alive.”
Notes… I wrote this like many things, in my head while driving, literally on the go literature (reciting the lines and ideas in my head like a mantra), scribbled down in my journal at the clark rest stop, in the rain, and somehow it made me feel a little more sane, at least for a time. There is always hope… I hope.
music… time to chill out/meditate and turn up the bass ! check it…
notes… written tonight while I was watching the punisher on my exercise bike, yeah, inspiration works like that, I say ‘not haiku’ because this is clearly not in the strictest form, but if you are really into the form it has a feel about it, to me, this has the feel, of course you are the judge, jury and likes-a-cuitioner of that.
So apparent in the turn of seasons, I lived in south Florida for some time and the seasons definitely don’t have the same flair, much like skin things just get olden and golden (like worn leather) over time down there, palm trees with xmas lights are surely a strange site, I guess being born in the North US I just got used to the passing of seasons, seeing the great burst of spring, the roiling of summer with the lure of the shore, and the eventual fall into winter (barest of all). So, I totally forgot I wrote this little poem, again, sometimes you just write something and like it, maybe not my best thing, but it is surely a piece of me laid out in my little notebook in my god awful handwriting…
“born again” 8.28.2018
is there a cleansing pool
in which I may drown and emerge
upon the other side
washed of you
is there a prancing fool
who believes such things
staring back in the mirror
he surely is
no chains, no binds, no bonds,
nothing to break, but might I wake
with a clear conscience of mind
one time –
to see a new day, with these weary eyes
as light bends on the back of morning land
reaching out with new warmth
to begin again –
Music to contemplate life to ? Yeah, I got that covered… some lovely ambient musings.. check out “sutra spin” also, one of my all time favorite ambient albums (it is more active ambient if ya get my groove)