what a strange turn of events this vacation has been, I come here to escape the masses and now they are here en masse, at least compared to this time of year most years, so where can I escape to? the only refuge left, as the bars and restaurants rev up, as the cars line up, the beach becomes a haven, most folks I suppose look for the sun and sand, I am more for the sound of the shore, the hotel pool bar is in full swing as I walk by, some country song is blaring, I couldn’t tell you which one, not my scene, I get to the boards that lead off to the beach, take off my shoes where the boards disappear into the dunes, no need to get them full of sand, the sand is cold, expected, I walk away from the direction of the town, as the sounds fade into the forward sound of the ocean crashing, I find the line just beyond where civilization has no longer hold on the audio, the beach is still lit from backdrop behind me, but here I am, just deep enough on the beach to blank out the world, only a matter of feet, but that is all that matters, I here some voices here and there in the dark, but no one approaches, or if they do they are mere shadows, what I mistake for a person turns out to be the warning sign for the jetty, all the artificial light behind me, all the smiles, the laughs, the music, all the normal draw, but here I am more enamored with the stars, and even the stardust in between, there seems to be motion, for surely there is, but the earth is also moving, spinning, so which of these is? both I suppose, but only my perception sitting here on the cold sand, I bury my bare feet in, I feel like I am evaporating into the sky, actually perceiving the world draining me into that expanse, something I have felt before, like those first nights of cold as you watch your breath take form, except this is like smoke, mist or steam, streaming off of my soul, but no panic, only calm, to become part of the cosmos, the possibilities, for as ancient as the ocean is, there is only so much to this marble, as amazing as she is, I wish to travel to the stars, in whatever form, past this limited life, there must be more, or I hope there is more, the answers, or even uncontemplated questions out there, up there, I feel the pull…
running my hands through the sand, reminds me of sandcastles, how we would build them on the water’s edge, always thinking we could out smart or out maneuver the ocean, never thinking for a minute we would lose, youthful optimism (some may say naivete, I say no), maybe that is just who I am, or always was, even now, that I know the inevitabilities, I still fight for the sandcastles, dredge trenches to oppose the incoming tide, for what else is there?
the beach looks lunar at night, frozen footprints from those who have been, the same stars, no sounds from animals, the birds have gone to sleep, craters and valleys all around, the same color, the same bland color all around, the only savior, here at least, the sound, the constant purr of the evening ocean sliding beneath the dunes, the tune that surely is the oldest known, to all land.
Tag: Life
.autumn has arrived
“autumn whisper“
leaves of color
the cloak of death
a barren trunk
succumbs to rest
“sssleep, sleep my friend
may your roots bear fruit
in the coming spring again
sssleep, sleep my friend”
and will I… ?
(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
from the seven hills of italy
romulus and remus might guide my way
past the seven twined of istanbul
pass the gate to the holy lands
on to salted pillars of the deadly sea
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…
beach musings part two…
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.
Thoughts from the porch… (travel log edition)
vacation… as a creature of habit I do tend to frequent the same places year to year, I like the familiarity, it allows me to truly unplug and drain the old overactive brain from the strain of work and the everyday, this is what I am doing this week, vacate, quite literally, I could feel all the negative stress flow out of me as soon as I arrived and got settled in, my mind is clear, empty, sure, I keep tugs on the tethers of the other life I put on a shelf for a week, almost impossible to totally disconnect, but now this is like a second home, a refuge, I know the town as well as my own @ home, I know the roads, the lands, the turns, the tides, there is comfort in that, and how just super nice people are here, almost surreal, they all wave hello regardless of what is going on, it takes some getting used to but becomes second thumb after not too long, a day or so, I spend the days walking the beach for hours upon hours, there are more birds than people, my crocs in hand I just walk for as long as the encroaching tide allows, kind of like Red @ the end of Shawshank, except I am not looking to find anyone, and I am not a felon, so, besides that it feels the same, I think of the quote Red (Morgan Freeman) says about prison, about the walls being ‘funny’, and I wonder if that applies to my back there life, the walls are there to keep you in but after a while you depend on them, have I constructed my own prison? for comfort, regardless of it is the best I can do for myself or not? and does this show that sometimes you need a place, fictional or otherwise, to step outside yourself and take a look at your life from some other perspective… in a way I think we all know what we are doing wrong or could improve, but sometimes being able to stop the ride and get off provides a clarity like no other, and I am in that space now… wed night, already? I can feel the creeping twinge of anxiety approaching knowing I am halfway through my time here, like all my good porch time I will try to bottle this up somewhere in the corner of my mind , remember the lapping waves of the bay on my feet, all day the subtle roar, walking along the shore, the sweet soreness in my legs from walking in sinking wet sand all day, the occasional encounter with people and their dogs, the little DYI beach houses with kayaks stacked from summers gone, other ones crook and bent from years of storms, neglect and surf, the majestic grey heron that won’t let me get within twenty yards – every year, I wonder what sort of talisman I can create and capture all this charm, to summon when needed later on.
Notes… I am currently in Scientist Cliffs, MD… I come here every year, it is an unique place if you read up on it. I can not say I am roughing it, there is cable internet (upload speed is iffy so I can’t post as much as I really want to photo/video wise)… and a mere fifteen minute drive into town has tons of dining options, and of course the seafood is to die for… crabs crabs crabs… and oysters, if it was possible to OD on oysters I would be quite dead. This is a Covid desert pretty much (compared to New Jersey) but still not totally open, and honestly I am not ready for that either (doing all take out, thankfully all my fave places have been scraping by and are still here… so I tip them well as I have done fine in this covid time money wise). This is a great place for kids also, if you want any info just shoot me a line, I am glad to share.
a thought on ‘harmony’…
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.
Thoughts from the porch…
listen to the rain
I wonder, what do my neighbors think, do they see me there, standing out in the rain at night, I can not equate the feeling, it is not a symphony but soothing, I hear something in the drops, a feeling, a calming, a washing, tonight the world aligned and I knew a storm was coming, and on the appointed hour, give or take, the rain came to town, and I was drawn outside, away from the tv, slipped on my crocs which are not that comfortable at times as my second toe is quite longer than the supposed big toe, I am sure there is some name for the phenomena, but I don’t care to search for it at present, I turn off my exterior lights, and just listen, listen to what this particular rain is trying to say, or convey, let my mind wander or empty of the daily costs, let thoughts drift in and out at whim, is this meditation? I suppose, a label does not matter, why analyze assassinate and lose sight of the actual prize, turn the damn brain off you fool, just be, the puddles on the driveway have bubbles, like reverse boiling, there is a mixture of bamboo leaves that look like little green canoes, and then next to them the iconic forms of maple leaves in various states of brown, for the fall has begun, for some at least, what a strange mix I think, bamboo and maple, pandas and pancakes, the rain begins to intensify, but this is not a raging storm, in fact there is not a trace of wind, the rain drops are literally in lines driving down straight, rain seems to make everything go away or at least hibernate temporary, just outside my house by a mere foot or two and it is like I have stepped into another universe of sound, the randomness of everything so perfectly embodied in the rain, the drops, try to identify out and listen to each one on it’s own, each drop a possible story, from the hills of great mountains, or some hidden lake, a tropical pond or more cosmic, maybe the sweat of a comet that landed here eons ago, all these experiences pass through my mind effortlessly, each imparting a sweet kiss of possibility, and me, one of those, those random rain drops of what could be, no, random drops of what is, as this is happening, in real time, my time, a performance of storm just for me, as my eyes are literally at this moment the only pair seeing exactly this, in all the universe, that is truly miraculous, rain is not mundane, this is the reflection of millions of miracles in the very day.
.beacon.
there is a deep rooted romantic notion, a call, an ancient instinct, at least felt in the ancestral bones of the northeast here, the coast, the ghosts of mariners and those lost to the great open maw of the ocean lapping, tapping, rapping at our doors for eons, the idea of a singular light, stranded purposefully on an outcrop, a rock, a place of no softness, like an iron anvil itself placed in the corner common of waves, forever to spend days piercing out, a beam of light, into deep dreary days and summoned blackest nights, crashing, thrashing, lashing winds, salty air to breathe, leather skin to dry, the ultimate test of man against nature even if nature always wins, we plant our flag there anyway, as a monument to defiance incarnate, can I summon the same strength and fortitude, and brave out toward that known view, to battle even the stars themselves, to scream my name into the heavens and be known for a time, to stand up to what can not be stopped, to grin in the face of grasping eternal teeth wrought, for our ends are the same, but can I be that beacon upon the land, calling others from the sea, with sacrifice and scars stand above the spray, guide to divinity, hope, and safety, rather than to call a flock for worship but light the way, to inspire the lowest thread of humanity to find the path, might I muster up from the earth, the strength to grasp onto that mantle, and spend my soul as a beam of light, a way, a path, a vigil, one thousand candles focused onto one, that may catch the eye of the troubled, and bring them home to those they love, throw comfort over a tempest, guided to a cove, hear my horn and heed my light, I will bring you home, for may I be a lighthouse, let that be my call.
/drive
the random photo
in the bathroom
the frame is a bit crooked
or is the line of white tile beneath
something is off
someone is wrong
running into the sunrise
a neighbor
directly
black suit
neon shoes
the sun looks more like a gestating star
with all the gases orbiting round
converging into the core
a pure black cat
sitting on a lawn
like a silhouette
prone, ears up
back to me
my luck
I suppose
an accident
on the southbound side
tarp over the car, meaning
mile marker 96 I notice
no, more distance has passed since
I am supposed to feel something
aren’t I?
should I meet such an end
at any time
not the fairy tale sleep I promise myself
traffic is backed up for miles south
over the snake mountain bridge
the sun has burned through now
a jewel nestled in swirls of mist
the empire state building stands the middle piece
the land between
quite unremarkable
but the skyline –
as you might imagine
on a day like this
notes… this was an experiment of sorts, kind of stream of my consciousness in shorts, literally the bombardment of rampart in my mind as I woke and drove to work this am… I don’t record myself I write these in my mind as I drive and repeat them like a mantra, I lose some lines here and there, sure, but I really hate my voice on recordings, it does not match the voice in my mind, the voice I speak to myself always in is not what I hear in there, if you know what I mean…
lost day of lucid dreaming…
today was one of those near prefect days, I always tell people (that from my experience living in Florida) that when a hurricane (or remnants) pass through they generally, like some strange weather magnet, clear the table of all ill, the day after a hurricane is usually spectacular, today, was one of those days, I could feel it coming, did I take full advantage? I would love to lie to you and tell you so, I set my alarm, prepped my pack, but when the morning moment came, my get up and go left me flat, I routinely get up around 7am for work most days, six days a week with nary an exception outside of vacation, but damn my blood is cement in the confines of my bed, softest pillows man can buy, curled up in a blanket like a seaweed encircled rock in tide, the lullaby of a 15 hour ocean channel on my laptop, and knowing these are days I can control my dreams, to some extent, lucid dreaming, a form of meditation for my buck, sometimes I can embark on great adventures, sometimes the past is relived with a different twist, and yet sometimes the feel is so real it becomes like a memory, making me blur what was dreamed and what was past, today, not so much luck, just redundant thoughts of having my pocket picked and my wallet gone, I must admit I am a bit paranoid of such things, the panic in my dream quite gripped me and stole away my breath, not that much unlike that feeling of falling when dreaming, you would swear the real and the experience’s merit, so, when I finally did rouse my lazy bones from their perch, time to go to the store and gather up some essentials to make dinner perhaps but definitely my lunches to have at work, my wallet was not in the usual position, I make a point to put things in the same place, as to avoid such situations, my mind immediately went to where it might be, where was I last? when did I last have it out? who could have taken it? clearly I was being influenced by my dreams, or did I influence them subconsciously it seems,
it is ALWAYS there next to my keys, and try to conjure the rare situations it might dwell elsewhere, like by my computer if I ordered something, nope, not there, I check the car, perhaps it fell out of pocket, I find a receipt from november 2019 and nothing else, where the hell could it be? I start to think the restaurant I picked up from last night surely would have called… wouldn’t they? shouldn’t they? I imagine someone rifling through the bills, excited to find a good score, and also taking my ID and more, just like my damn dream, that was on repeat and I could not shake, I check all the places I just checked once more, still not there, I suppose I was hoping for magic, a quick look in my hamper, I don’t see any pants, what the hell did I wear yesterday? I dig further, and the delightful weight hits as I pull out a pair of trousers, there it is, I run through the contents anyway to make sure all is there, panic fades, my own mind is it’s own carnival some days… bring in the clowns…
Shades of My Garden 