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.
notes… morbid ? 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…
the ship has left port, many years now, on the open ocean, never can tell how long the voyage will last, never can tell how vast the ocean really is (although theories have been floated for all of our years), just that at some point, it ends, there are tales and maps of some mystical magical land, but no man has returned hence, only rumors, hope and despairs, should I as well follow this folly? what choice might I have, to sail in circles, to try and double back to my original destination, no, I point to the horizon, for what good is traversing already traveled routes, yes, I know them well, and any dangers in them I have navigated before, there is calm in the comfort there, but I seek more, I only have what I have brought, in my hold there is so much stored up these years, boxes of inventory I probably could no longer identify, things from far and wide, foreign lands, foreign hands, but all have gotten me here, so should I lighten the load, and forget these forgotten things? maybe in the mess is really pandora’s guess, I could be hatching all the mistakes yet once over again, or do I risk rising over the same ones by not reminiscing in the failures once passed, the balance in the ballast is a constant task, so many have come and gone, but yet you are left all alone to make the decisions, all the wisdom that lies beneath this sea, brilliance and wickedness all washed underneath, bathed in the same waves that rock back and forth for me, and toward the north star at night, so bright as to catch all imagination of eyes, a call to attention, to the world, to humanity itself, for these eyes are not seeing anew, they are seeing the same as all the travelers will, future and past, parent to child, for there has been no columbus as yet unfold, but yet we must be bold and push further, out to the setting sun, past the rising light, break the curve of that said horizon, to find the light, the land, the promise, the hand, that might reach out and touch the domain of the everlasting.
notes… hey, I am child of the 80s, ok maybe an odd one, my first musical love was Duran Duran, then I got into Def Leppard (I would play air guitar on my newfangled Prince racket that was all the rage), Metallica (being into metallica back in that day was not cool/normal by the way), Voivod (touted as the fastest band around), King’s X (the most underrated rock band of all time), Testament, Exodus (that song is a lost anthem), Anthrax (fun band)… and always classical, I was the preppy nerd who was friends with all the burn outs (the kids in black metal shirts who smoked)… it was a simple time back in high school in my town…
morality religion not twins nor siblings often confused as lovers but they are quite something other
notes… just a thought, there are those that post on high moral standards using the crucible of religion. you do not need religion to have morality, I am not discounting religion, that is a personal choice, and I am good with that, but those of us who do not believe in said religions can still have solid morals, I used to be that snobby northeast agnostic who looked down on religious folks as dummies who believed in a voice in the sky (an easy position in retrospect, just a way to dismiss), I don’t claim to have the answers so who am I to think myself superior in some way to those who have found their answer, I don’t, I am not them, I am not you, I am me, and I respect our differences, I would love to have an answer, the big answer, that would really quiet the storm (and fear) in my mind, I do think I will die without the answers I seek until they confront me in that ultimate time, and maybe that will be to late, but I have to admit my fear, my panic, my scrambling, do I have faith? yes. because I try to live morally as best I can, if that is not good enough for my soul because I didn’t follow a book or a man? I have to be accountable for that, so I am….
the song of spring awaits the gates of winter passing slumbers under forests waking snow is melting eyes now rise bulbs bear bursting
the song of spring awaits the grass the birth of seed for those once lost a sweet reprieve
notes… I could delve into the layers I was weaving, but nah, I am still working six days a week through all this covid madness, and back at work physically every other day, my job intersects the poorest and richest communities in the tri state area, I will literally be in Bed Sty one day and Franklin Lakes NJ the next (many NY Giants/athletes there – Go Giants, sorry, couldn’t resist, glad my parents were not Jets fans) … talk about interesting… and my specialty, self check outs (NCR), orders are out the door these days as you can imagine
we all have them, perhaps we are aware of some, some creep up out of nowhere and make themselves known, well, of course we do really know from which they emanate, from our past, our experiences, life’s little moments or big ones or those in-between, I am always fascinated when one pops up from under the ether, today was one of those times, I was off in my social distant preserve, well, ok, even pre-pandemic this little corner was always a lone go, if I saw more than two people in a given day that would be a record, there is this space here in New Jersey, only a 15 minute drive for me, that is rather unique, a winding park where a brook (non babbling, more of a give and take conversationalist) carves through ancient rock formations and is constantly washing fossils into the stream, and it is 100% free and legal to meander through the entire thing and look/dig for said fossils, this is not a common thing, anywhere that is, so the privilege is certainly there, being alone in nature, especially on a lovely day such as this, well, that’s a bonus, so, I travel there to escape the normal world, to unwind, listen to the micro waterfalls and birds sounding all around, I go there often when the dial hits above 70 degrees, so why was today different? Sassafras for the uninitiated, or people not from around these parts, I will give you a moment to follow the link and get the basics… (waiting…) … … OK, that’s enough time, but man Dave, can you get this thing back on track already? eh, you’re right, maybe I should call this blog “tangents” at times, but this post is “triggers”, so back to the matter, sassafras has such a specific meaning for me, such a direct correlation than just some random tree, if you see one (they are easy to spot once you know, three different types of leaves), if you see one rip off a leaf, rip that in half and then again, then sniff it all in, it is a singular smell, like lemon and pine adopted a beautiful child, you can even make tea from the leaves, BUT! that smell, that experience of ripping the leaves and the inhale, transports me back instantly to day camp, my first experiences in the wilderness outside the woods of my town, taking the bus up into the Watchung mountains (tame mounts by any count), tree forts, corn stalk fields to run in, bug juice (a cheap version of Kool Aid/Juicy Juice I think), hunting for salamanders under rocks, the pop of box turtles as the bus ran them over and climbed the hill to camp (not the most pleasant memory I admit but it was so distinct), day camp, the first time I was really away from the folks for any length of time, everything seems like an eternity at that age, every single day was a complete enclosed adventure, and the next day, start over, tighty-whities with your name sewed in, handed the brown paper bag lunch with the same stuff, board the bus, anticipate the winding drive up, run out like a dam burst, claim your cubbyhole, and frolic about, I even got to sheer sheep, looking back, maybe not a skill I would need, but making macaroni necklaces isn’t exactly a vocation either… so sassafras, it brings all this flooding back, in an instant, like a flash flood from my subconscious, things I have not thought of in decades, from just that simple scent, that singular scent, all wrapped up in past experience, I have a sudden hankering for bug juice…
joy! with joy! the uplifting the song of spring played up on Vivaldi’s strings the germination of possibility a rebirthing machine the seed shall touch lead forth to harvest then of joyous host this is the entrance, the start the promise of life from a new born star
notes… I went back into my notes from last year and found this little thing, spring was certainly different last year, and I suppose this reflects that, I must admit it brings back the memory of the glory of spring, the feelings, they were so muted this year, they are slowly creeping back, with a mask of course, kind of dipping a toe in the pool before moving forward… it is easy to forget how in a short time all this will be behind us, it will.
I woke up drowning caught in the undertow so normal now the flow and I am lost to the surface to the sun I wonder under without struggle further, further down from the sun surrounded by depths a siren of fathoms the light stretched hand spires in flight can not even guide these hands, lost hands no grip, no will, slides down a hole why was I asleep at all I would rather never have known
notes… I have said it before, but it bears repeating, I had some serious asthma attack when I was in my teens, I am talking turning blue and barely making it, being pumped full of adrenaline so hard that I walked around my house for 96 hours straight without sleep, no complaint, that is barely hardship compared to some but damn it made an impression, breath, we take it for granted, even me, but I have been on the other side of it, and I expect it to kill me honestly, I think we all romanticize our own death, slipping away in our sleep while whispering to our loved ones, it is rarely like that, I waver now and again, sometimes I want to be the wolf in the face of it, knowing what is happening and fighting to the end, I used to want to die in my sleep and not know… but reality is… I will have no choice how it goes.
birds in pools, well to them perhaps, backtrack, why do I find midnight rain so soothing, just the sheer sound shrouded by the darkness, better than no sound and just the dark I suppose, the intermittent rumble of distant thunder, how distant, I could count the seconds and do the calculation but I would rather drift off into autopilot, and so the night goes, window open, the constant humming of rain, ebbing and flowing in volume and strength, the occasional flash, and so I am carried off by sleep arriving @ the sunrise, to my morning eyes, this has the blueprint guise of spring, the stolen spring, the spring that seemingly never was, maybe just a late arrival, fashionably late, nature does not take to my time table even though she is old reliable, for at least this little slice of time, my life that occupies the now, and having been groomed to know the expectations of four seasons in episodes, this morning, birds in pools, or puddles really, frolicking with the release of abundant energy not seen for awhile, what seemed abandoned is bloomed, or maybe I am projecting on them, or trying to capture what they have and transfer same to me, that first burst, the first trip to the shore, the burning hot sand on soles, that first burst into the surf, the enveloping rush of cold early summer ocean waters, head first, a semi cannon ball of sorts, the rest of the reality world just slides away, a momentary lapse of all concern as flesh is baptized by the simplest of actions, splashing, soaking up the sun without burning, dancing, spinning, splashing, maybe that is why I adore the midnight rain, the sensation, the shower, that moment of washed over sensation, so many memories…
awash in the whirlpool of life, the little details that spin your head and move your focus round about, this morning, such the chore, taking the car to the dealership for a required check up, they open at 8am and I am no friend of the early morning, well, at least until I grab a hold of a large cup of joe, coffee, that is, to the uninitiated, I must have been feeling fancy this morning and went to my keurig with a starbucks hazelnut blend, I usually just bust out the bustello, my usual friend, but I do love a little hazelnut now and again, the dealership is nice enough, tucked up in a corner of jersey (denville), there are all these little negotiations we make in the daily dance, do I put my mask on … now? do I go inside? or just follow the sign that says ‘enter on green arrow’ by the garage, I’m second in line, so I think the pressure is defaulted to the person in front, but they are not stirring, 7:57am, so close now, everything looks closed, the website says 9am open but my info told me otherwise, 7:58am now and not a creature is stirring, my mind races for no real concrete reason at all, but tell that to my mind, 7:59, I think I see someone, a shadow at least milling around inside, 8am, as if on cue, as if by magic, or just an utterly mundane tuesday morning, the garage opens and in rolls candidate number one in front, do I pull up? do I wait? what, am I negotiating a multinational trade deal here, get a grip, so I do, on the radio dial, but the top of the hour is all news, yawn, no thanks, time for tunes, the blessing and curse of the modern, hundreds of albums to choose from, maybe I am better off turning the radio off, maybe the coffee has had more of an effect on me than I would like to admit (I have to say during this whole pandemic thing I have not been hitting my fix of caffeine as often as I used to), so, perhaps that is what is on my edge this morning, a catalyst for neurotic notions, so I need to… relax, I admonish myself that this sure beats being at work, doesn’t it? and then the clouds part, I’m waved in, no doubt about it, I pull up to the appointed place, company car, company appointment, I pretty much don’t have to do squat… but squat out in the waiting area outside for awhile apparently, socially distant rules apply, a younger guy sits at the table next to mine, he brought his laptop, damn, I should have thought of that, they surely have decent WiFi, there is only so much I can do on my phone, so time to wait it out, the threat of rain looms, I play some games, watch the car carrier unload, time seems slow, I am not sure if that is my car, I mean I am at the dealership, there are tons of ‘my car’ there by default, and there, in the corner of my eye, something moves, fluttering on by, a meandering pattern, well, not a pattern then, a meandering flight, up-down and mostly right to left, a moth, stark perfect white, I do not know why, nor could I tell you what, but I felt surprisingly alive, a moment of confirmation, all wrapped up in this mundane everyday situation, snapped back into the realization of life, life! just a simple thought, from a simple moth, a little nudge from the outside… or above… I’m alive, I am ALIVE…
so here I am, rock you like a hurricane, here I am… sorry, 80’s flashback there, so, here I am, sitting outside, waiting for the reported storm to come, the wind has been kicking up for a few hours but is oddly quiet now, cliche, I know, the calm before the storm and all, but what can I say? it applies in this case, the sky has darkened but not to doomsday levels of bleak black, just darker than it should be at this 7pm hour, the kind of dark you experience like a curtain slowly dropping a storm in, a dimming of the lights of sorts, and then begins, the sound, the subtle pitter-patter pacing, the approaching, hearing the footsteps, slowly creeping closer, then building volume while shortening the distance, leaves being gently prodded then a few moments later pelted with droplet heavy hammers, ever closer, waiting for the invisible dam to explode wide open, and the then, a pause, the thought hit me, the actual ‘idea’ of rain and what it is, I understand all the variables as I was taught them at a young age, and the actual science of same, water vapor and the cycle of water through the atmosphere, and I feel robbed, in a way, by the knowledge, the wonder is lost, the sheer amazement of this amazing thing is lost, I imagine, or try to feel the naivety of my ancestral form, looking up into the sky and wondering where this water is coming from, surely clouds, surely one would make that connection with no scientific anchor around, but beyond that, imagine water just appearing from the sky, the sheer amazement, the sheer why, the sheer wonder, how can this water be? maybe I am a romantic when my mind comes to nature, or just a dreamer that prefers to think of the sky as wonder, to dance in the idea that the sun is carried across the heavens in a chariot, the moon a nearby companion, the stars a map of constellation figures… and the rain now beats harder, to the drum to move my bum back indoors, and maybe listen to the drops beating against the window, and perhaps… to dream a little more.
Shades of My Garden 