‘the idea of color’ (observational pause)

June 20, 2020 by David Koblentz ♥ 2 Comments

optical glass triangular prism — Photo by Dobromir Hristov on Pexels.com

given the prospect of being blind or deaf, I would not choose either, I can not imagine the world as other, I suspect it would be ‘better’ to be born that way then to know of the fruit and then be denied it’s sweet taste, how often do we ponder the good graces of the basics, sight, and more specifically color, something we all take for granted (not wagging a finger, myself charged guilty aside from moments of clarity such as this), just the idea of color is an amazing thing when you stop to wonder on it for a moment, and the mere spectrum we see is just a hint, a shadow really, of all the color actually out there, I suppose we do not tend to think of X-ray, infrared, ultraviolet and microwaves as ‘colors’ but they are in wave form just the same as ROYGBIV, but they are not recognized by our eyes by design, who knows what the future may bring if we leave this earthly thing, or become more bionic than human… maybe someone will be painting in microwave one day (and heating din din at the same time)…
holding a prism and breaking light into a rainbow swath of ingredients, a hidden cascade locked in every light, except when the rain and sun meet, we marvel at those natural rainbows but what is color? visible light, if you look at a strawberry, it is not actually red, the surface of the berry is merely reflecting red light, absorbing the rest, that is what your eyes cast and catch, so therefore “strawberries are red” even when they are not, color is simply an interpretation of what an object is sending back to your optical receptors, but these calculations, happenings, actualities, we process millions in a daily breeze with no effort, just the sheer idea of color shows the sheer wonder of our creation and ability to sample the world provided around us, truly amazing, a palate built for our exact imaginations…

‘birds in pools’ (a quick moment phrases)

June 4, 2020 by David Koblentz ♥ 1 Comment

close up photo of gray bird — Photo by Monique Laats on Pexels.com

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…

threading the loopholes of time…

May 20, 2020 by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Canary_A2002186_1155_250m

a needle’s guide, finding the eddies in everyday life, break down to now, trimming to shape one of my bamboo bushes (bamboo comes in many forms not just the tall stuff you see those ultra cute Pandas chomping on), anyway, seems so mundane, doesn’t it? but (you know a big ‘but’ was coming sirmixalot), BUT this leads to that space, a sort of zen space, my version of bonsai time I suppose… some describe time as a river, always moving (assuming no dry season, I will have to parse that one out with Einstein on the other side I suppose), there I times when I have imagined, if there is a bank, if I could swim on over, grab a branch, some downed tree, and crawl up on the shore, even if for a moment or more, to be outside of time as it were, or was, or is, or… well, you get the drift (pun intended), finding the eddy, putting your finger in, being aware you are within the counter to the norm, the space where time seems to stand at attention, or still, if you will, now certainly I am no fool (contrary to reports you may have heard, perhaps she was right in some regard, regardless), time does not truly stand still (ever), anyway, finding those activities, hobbies, proclivities, situations, permutations, active participation in the moments where time finds a way to slip your mind, to fall away from any perception of the moment in hand, or on hand, or in your hands, like a flame dancing in your grasp without burning you, because you are the owner of this momentary reality outside normal parameters, thinking outside the box that there is no more box, for you see, there are times we are virtually occupying these spaces, usually without realization, so… trimming my bamboo, slowly pulls me into an eddy of calm, I am not even dawned upon that I am gone, the world is still moving about, surely, but I am lost in a sea of my own tranquility, unknowingly, and when I realize, then, of course, the moment is gone, where did the time go? sped up? “impossible” we’re told, why? that is the best we understand at this rest area of the human mind, but surely, and of this I am sure, the road goes on, the river does not cease, but every rare once in a while, the cosmos, god, the essence of life provides, a door, an escape hatch, a slide into temporary reprieve from the ponderous heft of time, so be sure to notice and thread the needle through the loophole’s eye, and look, and breath in the free space that was created just for you…

“lawn angel”

May 14, 2020 by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

blade of grass depth of field environment garden — Photo by Matthias Cooper on Pexels.com

the unbridled imagination and lack of restraint of children, sometimes the sweet refrain of those days swings back into my mind like a welcome coup de-tat, never as pure as before the realizations of life, the consequences, the daily race, whatever we like to refer to adulthood or post childhood, such dreary dreadful days lately, working from home and sequestered alone physically takes a toll mentally, not every minute does the bright sprite of the simple joy of living suffice to uplift the spirit, sometimes a little bump from the outside needs to meander in and plant a boot firmly up our patoot for motivation, finally a day like this, sun cresting nearly to late summer levels, rumors of eighty degrees circulate through the trees, and… the feeling is infectious, sure, there is hardcore science about vitamin d and the like, but this is not that effect I might think, this is a culmination, breached with relief, a balloon that was stretched with ill breath fed let go, fluttering about like a headless chicken sounding more like a flapping lips engine, until, without a doubt, all the air is let out, and utter relaxation, returned to form, release, just to sit being, in this moment I imagine myself lying on the lawn, and doing that angel motion, waving my arms, usually reserved for snow, I know, but it seems to match the situation, the freedom of it, a child would not think twice of jumping in, I think of grass stains and bugs, trivial but true, why not do a lawn angel? “is this a thing” I think, an internet search does not come up with much but apparently sand angels are a thing (makes sense really), but the thought of a lawn angel to just rejoice in the warming sun, silly fun, the release of a time long gone, but somewhere in here (pointing to myself), that child is still in there (somewhere), I need to just strip away all the ‘important’ things for a hot minute and listen, or perhaps just feel… did I do it? I have to admit, no, but the thought was a release in itself, and perhaps next time I will delve…

thoughts… from the porch (my porch, or perch, or… whatever, free form thought, give it a spin, you might like it)…

May 11, 2020 by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

abandoned grass light merry go round — Photo by Levi Damasceno on Pexels.com

in the distance I can hear children faintly playing, yells and screams evoke alarms inside instead of joy, in these abnormal times, my instincts, reactions, daily actions, all come into question now…
Ring-a-round the rosie,
A pocket full of posies,
Ashes! Ashes!
We all fall down.
I wonder if a simple child’s rhyme will outline this stretch of death one day, that, of course will come after, not in the teeth of the pathogenic strife, I have always believed I was a patient person, certainly not a short fuse bomb waiting to happen, just when I do reach that limit I feel like I am up on the absolute edge of a cliff, no other side, no bottom, no turning around but leap… I picture that my candle was great and tall like a fortress castle wall, but burning down for so long now, my wick surely has not much longer to go, and the dawn, I am not a candle-maker, maybe I have to be, or learn to be, I do not know, or should I strive to deprive the flame of bright oxygen, I can not cap all the air, even if I tried my subconscious thoughts would betray and supply, a traitor I harbor inside.
This is much easier, today, sitting here on my porch, no mask (aside from the ones I always wear in that other life), no gloves, no one around to be socially distant from, I suppose Fear is taking a nap, he had a busy week with me back at my office, and certainly he plastered my inner walls with doubt, but all seems calm now, with a deep breath, I exhale as much of the negative as I can muster, I envision my candle now, small flame flickering inside my sanctum, the wax of the worn melted drawn out onto the wooden table, the newborn pool of spent liquid wax reflecting a dancing twin, “slowly, slowly” I mantra, “this will all end” with a hope wrapped in a prayer

onward goes, this strangest spring, awaiting the salvation of normalcy to arrive into these harbors overflowed with a cargo of hope… and renewal.

https://youtu.be/6CBjJhDDunQ

thoughts from the porch… (rain revelation)

April 4, 2020 by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

close up of silhouette against blue sky — Photo by Lum3n.com on Pexels.com

there is something about that first drop of true spring rain landing upon your bottom lip, strangely, the top lip impact is just not the same, kind of a drop hanging off a rooftop edge, or sliding off an umbrella’s side like a slug, there is something mystical about that one first kiss on the lower lip drop serenaded by the conversations of the spring birds that abound, such an up-swell of renewal that even ponce would be jealous of, this is not even proper rain, more like a hard drizzle, and then the inevitable patter of cloud siblings as they hit your outer wear, that distinct acoustic sound, a singular drum tone you know so well, no tune you can recall but a beat and rhythm you know so, so well, and then to the eyes, you can see the physical drops racing by, more like bolts and lines than drops really, the word ‘drop’ has such a specific look to the conjuration, rarely do you see actual drops of rain if you care to think about it, I desperately want this to be a pure baptism of spring, wash away the winter and all the dire darkness shrouding the world in the now, the subtle reminder, the tap on the shoulder, the realization, this is April, a gateway, there is a corridor and an ending lest we lose view of it at times, there is a spring, be it a metaphor or a tangible fruit to bear and then pick for sustinence forward, be sure, spring is there, pushing ever up against the dam of this damn winter, gathering such weight behind the barrier until winter can only relent and burst, this is the way of things, regardless of our cares, cars, cities, quibbles, arguments, tv shows, sports teams, skyscrapers, all of it, just window dressing against the never ending machine of this small earth confined to the laws of the expanding universe, size and scope is all perspective, and sometimes the little details need to realign your vision or perception, to bring you back to actual reality, the way of the world and as it will be, when the winter is undone as it always will be.

notes… inspiration is a tease, a master, a slave, all these, I am trying my best to bend to the wind in those sails and write everything as it is… to me, that is, if you expect someone else, well, that’s silly, I am just trying to be the me, feeling better these days amongst the forest of deadly disease that has surrounded my whole existence, today was not my day to go, hopefully not soon either, but you never know, I am trying to encapsulate my thoughts here… on this little blog, and I would be remiss, without thanks, to whatever god there is or not, but I would lean towards “is” because why do all this if there is nothing, there could be nothing, yes, there could be, but there could be more, so I would rather plant my flag in that land without colors on that flag, just the flag that says I am here, I was here, I am…

spring his here, just ask the birds…

March 14, 2020 by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

silhouette of mountain and birds — Photo by Kunal Baroth on Pexels.com

pausing all my human being
I stopped –
to listen this morning
the birds tell me this is spring
and so tell me in their song

notes… I do not need a calendar, or an app, or other some such thing, for the past three days I just paid attention, the birds are singing paying no mind of the utter panic playing out below them or around them due to a virus that effects us humans, nature has it’s own way, and goes about it the same, we’ll blink and all this will be in our past soon enough, but nature, this is her turf, she moves on regardless.

the act of creation…

February 11, 2020 by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

blue and purple sky with stars — Photo by Frank Cone on Pexels.com

I would like to think I am the genesis of the wellspring of everything that flows through me, an independent force unseen in this ancient universe, but am I? is the act of creation, of this writing, a whisper in my ear from some nearby spirit, when I dream of sailing upon the sea is that some ancient mariner’s lingering energy passing through me, a temporary vessel for a ribbon of life’s energy crossing the branched rivers of time and crossing me, does science yet tell us things are so, creation as a bang, that sudden instant of inspiration that bursts on the scene like a never ending inferno, except this inferno, this heat, builds rather than consumes, the only thing destroyed is the once empty space the fire now occupies with thought of mind, what if I am simply a conduit, but yet a pen with own purpose, for even liquid poured through different devices produces different results, surely these molecules were part of some other part of the universe, tracing back to the beginning, my origin, your origin, was within the big bang and we have been recombining in mysterious a million ways ever since, matter can not be destroyed or created, we are told, but thought ? endless combinations to our minds, but there is no endless information, an event horizon of knowledge, is there an edge to all this, a cliff that keeps running outward but still exists, a dive off into the before that was utter nothingness but something has to be there, sense says so, but how will we ever know, that land exists outside of all we know, touch, feel, once we expire in our combination in this time we are broken back down and recombined into something else, a kite, a comet, a frog, a goblet, who knows, maybe we have been all these things and they inform our dreams, whispers in our ear of all the things we have been, down to the molecules we hold together in these bodies, run by electricity and plumbing to temporarily give us this human vehicle to interact with the everything, the everything from which we all sprang, those billions of years ago, every spin of every star, every nova and black hole far, those billions of years, the result is you and I…

erosion.

February 8, 2020 by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

horseshoe bend arizona — Photo by Ian Beckley on Pexels.com

…and the river rages, at times calm as a picture perfect glass pond, but always moving, erosion, time, the invisible taskmaster, ever pulling, ever moving, ever forward, the river carves, the wind bares down, edges begin to dull regardless of their noble origin, time bends all wills all walls, the longer you survive the more experience you accumulate, to navigate within this flow, the change happens cosmically in a blink, but for you this is a slow tide rising, a lifetime, you do not notice, or maybe do, rough edges invariably fade, hair runs grey or runs completely, slowly you are rounded out, becoming grains of sand, for you will, but in the midst of all, erosion of the body and the mind, until… until you are just a soul outside of time…

I wait, I pause, close my eyes, I can’t feel it, I think I can picture it… my consciousness glowing pulsing inside the shell.

it had to be Yew… (a post, revisited)

January 29, 2020January 29, 2020 by David Koblentz ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

llangernywyew

A revisit of THIS post with all my notes, annotation and the like, sometimes my water runs a bit deeper, sometimes I am just an ordinary schmuck…

upon Llangernyw Yew

so you grand tree does thee wait
guard the dead and call them out *(1)
in st dygain’s yard beyond the gate
there you wait, date to date,
on the promise, all hallows eve *(2)
all the world’s ear leans towards that tree *(3)
not wanting to hear that prophetic voice *(4)
and bear witness to angelystor, no, not by choice
for role is the call of the dead *(5)
might your name, might be read
do not be bold and curse the land
for bear you will with Rhobert’s hand *(6)
and know now that halloween has past
your name not whispered cross those limbs
from the depths of that ancient root
you are not called back bound eternity
under that shadow of Llangernyw Yew

First off the tree is perhaps 4,000-5,000 years old, pretty awesome to contemplate.

(1) This is all about the Legend of Angelystor (“The Recording Angel” inspired by St Peter perhaps?), which, according to the Welsh tradition twice a year (once on halloween (2), so I thought emphasizing that was best) the spirit would announce the names of those from the parish who would perish that coming year, the legend stipulates that those who cared or dared to hear the angel’s decree would gather under the east window of the church to hear the proclamation (3,4,5), of course someone does not believe in the legend and fiercely denies it (Sion Ap Rhobert), well, you can figure out what happened to that guy (6). So, basically this is a poem about some tree…

Shades of My Garden

a window into a life, a conversation with a soul, a gateway to a heart

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