e·qui·poise /ˈekwəˌpoiz/ balance, the easiest to understand and the most difficult to master (if such a goal can be truly achieved), the word (equipoise) reminds me of horses, for obvious reasons, and that may be a lesson, for the truly great ones combine speed, strength and stamina, of course that is for racing, and perhaps therein lies a key as well, knowing what race you should be in – or in a race at all, for just as fortuitous as a horse that carries a cart, or lovers in the park, a component of balance is finding your talent or at least the zip code in which it resides, for there are probably too many of us enlisted in races unsuited for our particular gifts, for horses are not alike, so many types and breeds, dancing arabians, driving stallions, brute clydesdales and more, those little miniature ones that are all the rage, can we find balance in general when we are galloping on the wrong path? yes, at some point humanity is the same boiled down set of DNA but in a day to day sense we are our own countries, and if there is a tempest within your borders you surely can not reconcile with your neighbors, so I wonder, how better to chase the ideal, this equipoise, maybe this all culminates from realization and not overt relation to society at large, to learn to quell our own little city-state, to be truly happy with the construct of what we are rather than chasing what is told to us about the gilded castle tall upon the hill, let the fields overflow with the wildflowers of our unique nature, for trees to grow in anyway towards the sun, let the world interlock like puzzle pieces fully formed, but only until we reach a balance, an honest brokerage within ourselves.
we are the masters of our own domain, we raise the walls, we setup the defenses, and yet we may be betrayed by our own voices and impulses, maybe this tale is true, men lying in wait inside a glorious now notorious gift, or perhaps it is one of the greatest metaphors of all, troy did not welcome the horse with open arms, so I’m told, or so is written, there were voices of dissent, and those who chose not to listen, so we are troy, perhaps easily repelling an overt invasion, but persuasion, the soft penetration of sophistry, seduction, the art of deception so you hang on your own noose, sounds preposterous, and so it is, on the face, but how many of our proclivities may overrun, maybe they do not open the gates all at once and let the enemy pounce on sudden corpse, but more like insipid poison, gladly taken in with wine filled glass-fulls, glad gulps of our own demise, all in the name of feast and compromise, for are we not beasts that reside in the cultivated fields of temptation, so far removed from plains and migrations, somewhere that lurks, we are not a patchwork of circuits, flesh and blood, no matter what we may think or elevate above the other species, flesh and blood begets the same, as virgil says (or so quoted) “Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes” translated to: ‘I fear greeks, even those bearing gifts’, for greeks are merely the name of that day for the malady lying at their own feet, for many years I have always thought of the story as a great tale of war and beware, but more these days I fear I may have written this chapter on my own lair many a time, eager to hold up a trophy minor victory or none, hold my name up to the sun, or worse boast to fly closer like an icarus run, this all seems so clear, so obvious now, how fallible and foolable this form can be, me, how can I be my brother’s keeper with my own loose gate, so maybe that is the avatar, the symbol, the meme to remind me of fate, a hollow horse or not so hollow horse, to keep me on course and remember that I control the comings and goings of my castle, there is the one enemy out there that will surely flatten my walls, pierce my defenses, steal, no silence my last breath, witness as death plows this whole effort under the ground, but until then, I shall think of the trojan horse and question what I let happen within my own domain as to maximize the health of my inner hearth, heart, sanctum and mind.
notes… and you thought there wasn’t a thrash version of the Beatles classic “Eleanor Rigby”, silly rabbit, thrash is for kids…
“I look up upon the budding leaves I see the look of blooming stars”
notes… even in this dire time (at least here in NYC metro area, covid ground zero) this is still spring, life can be about perspective, from the smallest atom to the most massive objects in the universe, there is a line that connects all… the wonders of the universe are all at play right in front of us all the time from a moon to a lowly dime… keep that in mind, when you can.
I sit out upon my porch, my usual place, do I wish to write about the birds, the coming spring, the buds on trees? I’m simply not in the mood, while all of those things are certainly true, instead, I close my eyes and imagine everything is slowly fading into nothing – revealing, phasing back to the way the world was, before this land was torn about and put upon, all to meet our needs as a species, assigning and asserting our assumptions upon the landscape, but now, in this dream, I am sitting on a rock, viewing out upon a chain-o-never ending hills, golden grasses swaying in unison in the breeze, local fauna in all manners of splendor, maples and oaks left to roost in their own glory, a world certainly alive with the madness of squirrels and chipmunks, tides of birds flowing in and out of frame, deer in packs like herds roaming in thousands, lynx on the prowl in the shadows, and bears the kings of all they may see emerging from their winter burrows.
I was digging once as a child, in the backyard, as children do, well, at least before smart phones, and came across what now I realize was clearly a river bed, perhaps river is a bit strong, but surely this was the work of water, perfectly smoothed rocks aligned in a basin, a sorted bed, harsh rock edges worn away by the constant water flowing over time, I even found a fossilized fish inside one of these rocks, so perhaps my (this) projection will not be historically accurate but no matter, this is a mental exercise not science or archaeology, I can put them away for today and dream, such as this, so I imagine this brook running through what was once (or now) my fence line, how the water must be clean and clear like the finest crystal in liquid form gleaming in the warming sun, yet ever cool fed by a natural spring, and this dream, there are no sounds here, for whatever reason I can only hear the visuals, the calming water, hypnotizing me, in this dream… and with that, shatters, in comes actual sound to break this meditation, the gravely churn of a big wheel approaching, a car screaming down the street at speed for no reason, and the quibbling of the robin who was patrolling my lawn but had to run off across the way to avoid human interaction, sigh, at least for a moment, at least for a time, I lived in a dream of what once was, not that I mind the now but I certainly didn’t mind the escape. so I withdraw back inside and bid you a good night, my world, thank you.
I often wonder would I like to live in more primitive times, to be an ancient as it were, the television would be the sky, the logs my corridors, there is an allure to that simple life but perhaps only if you hadn’t dipped that big toe into the now know, but I try to imagine what the sun and moon would mean not knowing the spin cycle that is the reason for their being in motion, sure, the celestial bodies are still a wonder, but imagine seeing these spheres magically appear and change over the course of a year, has the moon lost some luster ? has the sun lost some bright ? doubtful… just tonight looking up at a cloudy sky, just one note color, but there, a fuzzy diffused bulb just hanging, close one eye and reach up with a hand circle spyglass, and you could almost touch the thing, even knowing in reality only a handful of humans have actually touched moona firma, and that was 50 years ago, half a lifetime these days, perhaps only a third of a lifetime just down the road, so is our wonder gone or just refocused ? does technology and knowledge disconnect us? I might imagine what it was like to be the guy (or gal) that figured out how to create fire on demand, the veritable steve jobs of their day, pimping Ifire, bigger Ifire, Ifire portable, but I imagine people got tired of Ifire when the only difference in Ifire 10 was charcoal briquettes, so I suppose, in all this prose, what I might be trying to say, it is all relative, all generations thought they knew the most, think of those that found all the coasts and what a revelation that was in those times, is the feeling the same now when we find a new exoplanet? or is it blase-faire ? I often find myself sky gazing these days during the day and star gazing the night when the sun is away. and so I muse…
tonight I find myself standing among a forest of naked believers limbs raised in praise upwards to the heavens vibrating in the breeze so I may look there and agree, with no roots holding may I ascend up into the stars to continue this journey into the celestial bounty
Music ? how about some space ambient… I listen to this stuff all the time…
I don’t always write haiku, but when I do it is is, well, haiku silly… I generally like to not have form but sometimes I like it, so what the hell… I was sitting on the beach, listening to the surf, and these words, and syllables occurred (because I do always think of her, wherever she is, I think of her).
entrance to the beach
the thousands of footprints down
none of them are yours
alone on the bench
ocean breeze washes over
do you think of me
streetlights long shadows
strangers walk, conversations
I am here alone
stars shine down as fixed
couples on bicycles pass
am I being judged
take a picture of
my very shadow being
I leave nothing here
I read an article, that suggested, we walk around with barefeet, to feel more connected to the earth, I’m not sure, but worth a try, first things first, I notice not everything is as smooth as you and I may think, a driveway, a sidewalk, full of kinks and angles, so used to shoes to smooth these out, not particularly painful, just an odd sensation compared to the old sensation, and then there is the grass, a seeming tickling epiphany of senses, fibers reaching hands to massage my toes and between, heels feel soft with deadened blows, on this green carpet ride, (I try to forget the bugs) or dirt underfoot, I imagine – just the sensations.
I am taken back, to my youth, I quite remember well, being a little barefoot devil, I guess I did not know ‘better’ then, or care rather, (memory), especially the shore, the beach, I could not wait to emancipate my feet from the burdensome shackles of flip-flops and race across the scorching sands into the quenching surge of the tide, twisting my feet under the surf, until I felt the danger of no escape, of being pulled under further, the cool sinking quick sand enveloping my toes, my soles wiggling, chasing crabs, kadima balls, flying kites, digging holes to nowhere, all under the watchful eye of summer sun all the while making my neck red, all the while with no shoes
barefoot feet, I suggest, you give it a whirl, travel back in time, in your mind, to simpler things, where shoes were a mere nuisance
This was written in response to an article I read from Laird Hamilton, sure, he looks amazing for his age, I found it a little presumptuous but also interesting, the great thing about an open mind is your store is open 24 hours for new customers to come in.
note: this is what I call free form, there is meter in there at times, at times I am just talking to you in my mind, the words… they just come out this way, especially this one since I had to go back and transcribe this from one of my journals… man my handwriting is ass… I think I captured the gist of things mostly, but like all of life I won’t hit a home run that often or every time… just have to keep stepping into the batter’s box I suppose.
As is my habit (not the nun uniform), I like to post some simpler thoughts on the weekend, just some snippets, notes, scraps of thoughts (little tidbits and crumbs from my journals over the months), so…
as the sun shines, I know your smile
your eyes, I am lost at sea
sinking into your midst
washed up on the shore
the sun warms, once more
grains of sand
into the dream
of your love.
empty park bench
not a squirrel nor a bird
just the wind
shuffling through the trees
alone with my thoughts
carry my words of love to her
“time blinks” 7.10.2018
my precious time
and to be honest
I do not know
where it has gone
or where it went
“morning joe” 7.10.2018
a sleepy soul
I will go out of the box for a minute (as I am wont to do…) with a movie recomendation… real old school goofy 80’s comedy that I think is vastly overlooked (the where’s the beef lady is in it !!!! cmon now! – almost as cool as the parts is parts commercial)…
I wonder what will become of my dear old friend patience (I really should thank her for some great advice over the years), I do worry about her these days though, she is a tough old girl but… surely she is not quite dead (yet) but are her days stained with scarlet numbers (the type that are counting down)?
Let me step back for a moment, and set the table (so to speak, no forks involved, maybe a napkin), I often (or sometimes) think this is an absolutely amazing age to be aging in, when I think back (using snapshots from my view-master) at the little spark that is this (my) life, simply in my lifetime we have gone from rotary phones, to huge cell phones, to flip phones to well… no need to remember phone numbers at all (or even type them! and who can keep track of all the area codes), the same crazy train goes for information, what will happen to the poor Alex Trebek’s of the world in a world that trivia is merely a swipe and a command? I’ll take obsolescence for $2,000 Alex…. daily double ! sweet! (but I forgot to answer in the form of a question, dammit, I always liked Pat Sajack better anyway…) The sheer instant nature of information is astounding. You want a pizza or a piece de resistance – we have an app for that, instant gratification of the stomach and the hungry mind. We carry the world in our pockets, well, until it crashes or runs out of batteries and we frantically scramble about like someone needs CPR when just a USB port will do, the panic induced by premature battery termination is palpable when you are present in the presence of same, the abject sadness on the faces of the inflicted as they must endure the utter hardship of disconnecting from the social universe seemingly like the loss of a limb (for a moment in the blink of life)…
and here is where patience may come in. in a cracked screen, in a waterlogged phone (well, they get around that too these days), in that time your OS decides to not be a friend, in a time when a friend you never met but exchanged 10000 messages with decides you are not a friend, in the time your signal is not quite 2 bars and those photos absolutely have to get through (I mean they are so damn cool)…
Take a deep breath… (try it now), please remember my poor beleaguered friend patience, she has so few followers these days, but she has been around, she will make a come back, she is a classic… after all.
I am going to go obvious musical drop on you all (well, at least for me, child of the 80s)…
My porch series, tonight’s entry (and after that a bunch I forgot to post here, I think I posted them on Facebook, my bad… but just click on the porch series link to see them in order if you would like):
9/23/18 (porch series)
I thought it might be a clear night
but it is not
there are no stars
just a muddled shade of black mixed gray
the only light, artificial
from the light of my porch, behind me
usually under siege with moths
but not tonight, the fort is oddly quiet
the subtle chill is no longer on the breeze
as there is none this eve
the subtle chill has settled, into being, no need for a vehicle
time pushes the notch hand towards harvest
all the year’s resources spent
on a last bounty of the fall, before comes
as close as the world comes to death
the time as life bears down to hold
hold on, to dear life
wait out this coming cold reign.
and some will emerge, into the March
and others, will be lost, buried forever by the calming frost
swept under the sea of seasons
written into the ever revolving story,
maybe I should move back to a place
where the seasons are more
hot and blazing, less humid or raining
would I miss these reminders
these stage backdrops changing
the season’s play, performing, before me
brings both terror and inspiration
just cause to outlast the procession,
knowing one day the curtains will close (not just for intermission)
for all those, those who pay attention, or merely attendants
and, for me,
in which of these would I prefer to end?
as if I have some choice
but – if given a choice?
a blanket of snow, or the warm hand of august sun?
the miraculous burst of bloom or the flash of fire across autumn trees before the fall,
might I be a greedy soul
I wish for – all of these.
7.31.2018 (porch series)
a july breeze, warm and inviting
darkly clouds wavering, breaking – heading north
framed in against the tones of the setting sun
reflecting onto their cousins
illusion drawn on a cloud pallet
as the minutes draw the light, dimmer
I try to perceive the breeze, as an image
as it casually weaves through the leaves
all the life, in this little window frame
this tiny capture of my eyes
this valley of my perception
all struggles to survive
the trees, the flowers,
the mosquitoes having at my legs
but our minds, our mind’s reason
we know, like seasons – there is an end
to what end – ?
I do not know
I inhale the breeze
I absorb the gasp of the sun
to inform me
to give me answers, for I have none.
7.24.2018 (porch series)
the world is spinning, in complete control
clouds moving, sliding on, the lake the sky
while others seem still
but yet we are perpetual motion, unaware spinning
ever held, down, by gravity
this, our normality.
if I were to describe this to a stranger,
not of this place
they might think me mad, or just perhaps
of great imagination
a story teller for the ages
but these are our facts, we accept
we are born bound, by this, gravity
feet firmly, on this ground
for so few of us, will ever know space
or anything that lies beyond.
6.3.18 (this was really the first one I wrote.. I think…)
sitting on my porch alone
neighbors all around
bustling in and out
of noisy cars and busy homes
sitting on my porch alone
listening to birds they sing
in foreign languages
foreign tongues, to me
a rabbit pays me no mind
a robin retreats
the wind bends and sweeps
sliding waves of leaves, calm
I want to leave, and go back
correct the mistakes, of my past
I sit on my porch alone
there are people inside
I surely know
Did you really!? get this far ? If so you have my sincere thanks. I would ask you to follow me if you are so inclined and kind. Comments are always appreciated and critique is coveted above all, insults are cool too, any input is great, I am just running this thing off the cuff, a nut and his laptop… set loose on the world.
Music? well… I play guitar (not great) but I seek out those who do, and this cat? whoboy… he is just fire on the ocean imo…