shadows cast where they may reside measures the distance drawn out from the sun intoxicated by spin
so here I am on the days where they pull longer
notes: do shadows influence us? subconsciously? I was driving to work and this revelation sort of washed over me… I mean I had the time to think about it being stuck in traffic.. but noticed how the shadows have been creeping one way, it all seems so sudden if you pay attention, the pavement is nearly a mirror, the earth does what the earth does… shadows are like anything else of matter, they want more, or is that our own protection, a backup drive for our bodies from the sun ?
(for the uninitiated, this is freeform where I sit on my porch and let the thoughts flow… sometimes they even do)
sitting outside and being able to unpack the day has been far and few between, aside from life, and winter, and all those things, so tonight, at least a window cracked open for some time to unwind, the day struck 80, so I’m told, I can not say it felt that warm, but a welcome departure from the lately norm, but tonight? not as nice, in fact there is a gale warning, so I’m told, but I happen to enjoy listening to the stories of the wind, especially a busy one, and one not carrying rain, more like performance art really, wind does not make noise it simply rushes over the strings provided, slides over the reeds, bends to creeks, reverbs in the hollows, even here, staring at typical suburbia, my neighbor has company, they all drive hondas, but the not so subtle voice of the wind is able to bring me somewhere else even if I remain right here in place, the pine tree is making an odd clicking sound, almost like tic tacs falling on a tile floor one by two, lights dance, well, at least what blocks them is swaying like peekabo with a shake, the wind brings me a reprieve, empty branches reach out like the skeletons of ancient horned beasts, lined up the trunks like sentinels in formation, at least for the time being, nests of antlers, barren like bone, I enjoy the build up of a strong gust, I can hear it coming like a big ocean wave roaring, hard to gauge the direction until you are inundated in the bluster-under, and then gone, I wonder if this land, this home, will retain some memory of me, some piece, some energy, nearly my whole life have I haunted this space, I think of being buried here, or maybe my ashes can be spread here, so I may remain, here, in this comfortable familiar earth, my little patch, shared through the ages for sure, mine for now as long as I endure, and I feel peaceful as the wind has washed the toil from my daily brow, even if – only for now.
(1) climb will I see paris before I die? to savor love upon the bridge of locks hide’n dance n’the shadows of triumph rise in the tower on champs de mars n’dip my bones in the river siene
to see the frozen steps of everest be fed from the kindred spirit hands of tibet brail-read the walls of the khyber pass and flow into the ganges herself as everlast
to witness pink waves of flamingos island hops the flock n’galapagos count time with a tortoise there with an iguana squad scout the surf shooting salt skyward with a puff
may I lay down along the nazca lines and so align along orion’s belt all, before I die, will I see paris, one more time?
(2) stuck on an island divorced from pangea long ago “will I see paris before I die?” I asked the also flightless kakapo “surely you did not expect me to answer, for that would be absurd” I thought the bird might mutter but what is more absurd than a flightless bird? “have you bothered to look in the mirror?, SIR” rocco concurred fair point, for a stranger in a strange land a spectrum island if there has ever been even in this waking dream I keep thinking I might run into a hobbit or two surely up for a brew or some song and more ale or two but the maori tell me of more a place to jump into the hereafter if only I could muster the muster to disappear into the tasman sea
notes… again, I stipulate, that sometimes things just come to me, or occur to me @ random, this is one of those works, just random universe influenced onto my thoughts, I can not explain it fully nor do I care to, at this point in my life I prefer to let it flow, so here it goes…
the road to purity (that is the term that popped into my head and inspired this post), or the better version (or best) of one’s self, is this just a path to destruction or salvation, or is it a matter of perspective, I spent the whole of the week walking along a beach, cradled in a spider web hammock of self introspection, I mean what else do you do on the beach, oh yeah, normal people, swimming, tanning, a touch of volleyball perhaps (I was a bit more into kadima ball and kites I must confess, back in the day), not me, well, not anymore, somehow the shore has become my temple, my church, my place to unpack the world and move in with just me for a time, an extended sunday morning as sunday is the traditional day of rest so I’m told, the sound of the surf becomes a lullaby for an overactive mind, a drug administered by mother nature in kind, just as intoxicating as any chemical otherwise known by mankind, I am truly moved to a different plane of existence, everything just sheds, or is washed away, glaciers sheer off so easily, alone with my thoughts, conversations I should have had long ago, or did and forgot them, or they have been obscured in the so called real world, no shiny distractions here, no plethora of channels of niche information to browse, the reality of life, the cycle, birds, fish, insects and plants – your breath, all engaged in being what they are or what they were born to be, so odd, us humans, we have the right to decide what version of ourselves in which we reside, and I guess I know, at moments like this, I am not living up to my end of the bargain, the bargain of life that I have been gifted in this limited, there is only so many things you can do with this realization, be better, get better or just accept that perhaps you are not quite the lion on the golden hill you might have thought or were told, but am I shorting the world…? and myself, for not going all out, and where down the road does that mate with actuality indeed, as I walk here among all the broken shells, some seem familiar, a pattern of at once perfect forms of life laid now in tatters, all these thoughts flood my matter, no one will ever know, except this inner-verse that I am conversing with now, I suppose it is this way with everyone, even those we think have the perfect life, from the outside, who knows who they really are unless you walk in their skin for awhile, along a beach, see what washes up, hearing their thoughts, wearing their feet.
SO here I am driving, pondering, I notice something, a strange sensation invades my thoughts
I feel like I am a pilot in a man suit
all these years spent in this body, this sensation seems like an out of body experience, although I have surely never left this vessel, this feels distinctly like I am a passenger or more rightly a conductor, I can perceive the nerve clusters bundled up behind the orbs of my eyes inside the casing of my skull (the construct), these fleshy globes floating in holes, they filter everything I experience while they are engaged in their designed job, I am well aware of how they actually combine images into one, great software I think, even without the upgrade of my glasses, this is the being behind the console, my soul or collection of electronic happenings all in orchestration, might I have the hang of operating this machine by now in all the subtleties of the controls, knobs, buttons, the vast array of senses to touch this outer world beyond the reach of this inner dimension…
as always I am drawn to the impossible moment that is the now, how all the things in the vast everything of existence had to line up in just such a way for me to be here in this very moment, and write this, and you as well, to read this, fellow traveler, all the culmination of randomness (or perhaps purpose, I do not know) in the sheer existence of all time and verses (uni and other), just even the question of how life arrived here on earth (or sprang from boiling pools of goo, not so elegant perhaps), maybe we are the seed dna of aliens piggy backed on a meteor, or comet, or some other celestial traveler, ancient astronaut theorists say ‘YES’, well, if you are familiar with that show, they always say yes, I don’t think I have ever heard them say no, I find the matter fascinating although the actual proof of the matter is lacking, but either way, whether we slithered up out of a pile of muck or hitched a ride on some alien rock – we are here, almost belying the sheer cruel randomness of even just our tiny slice of the milky way, so very surreal, I truly hope I am just a pilot in this biomachine, and one day may I find another vessel to continue this improbable journey but just in case I should quite cherish this one, and perhaps pen a travel log of my experience for others to enjoy should they happen upon this little story of me…
Shades of My Garden 