the traveling.

the traveling.

And this same wind that roars across the land, never tiring, resting at times, sure, furious in others, but humanity does not stand a chance against such an unrelenting advance, for the same wind has blown across the earth for all the time there has been such a place, in space, this space, our space, what a strange thing to consider, our little home, has made the whole universe bend around her will, the will of life, for if that is not a signal of the sincerity and sheer gravity of life, what is? Just random gases and molecules that cooked and baked in the primordial gestation of the planet, to coalesce and crawl out, for us to emerge, you and me, unfathomable time to even read the tale told on a grain of sand from the grand story that is just this one world alone, cast into the vast there is some actual finite point in that infinity so far beyond, utter dimensions when we struggle with just the perception of a mere three, like a raft we are riding through time on the universe, a river, rapids, falls, calm lazy bends, a moving planet both spinning and flying outward, bound, by chance, at just the right distance, to a sun, what was the sun, the ra, a god, now a member of a countless family, but his is our helios, or heaven, or chance at this life in all the possibilities that could have been and ever where, this exact moment in time, or this chain binding our souls to this here and now, how? For as old as the wind may seem, roaming the earth, as we do now, one day, will gasp, and expire that last breath into the universeand dissipate…

notes… ah, the irony of life, and what is considered important in the day to day… there was a literal wind storm here tonight after I wrote this earlier… well, not a wind storm per se, a storm, with lots of wind, to let me know my temp greenhouse was certainly not boss, I fixed it up after today it came apart earlier, when I came home I put it all back together, honestly it was not in that bad a shape, I have at least 50lbs holding the thing down, just a temp space to spare some of my more new exotic bamboo the rigors of below zero temps their first winter here in Jersey… but then the real storm came, picked the whole thing up like nothing and deposited it 10 feet away… I had to run out in a torrent of rain, nearly horizontal rain, to pick up the pots (think about 3 feet wide suckers) and shimmy them over next to the house, I think one of my plants is dead, the chinese fountain bamboo, which for this plant was winter #2.. but my leopard japanese and japanese timber bamboo seem pretty happy, my planter of black bamboo looks terrible but it looked like that last winter so… (and man that stuff is expensive…). So it was like me protecting my flock and seeing a toll taken in my little world, yes, in the scheme of things this is a small thing, but isn’t everything in the grand scheme of the total everything ? it’s all perspective really. we all value our day to day lives, our hopes, dreams, our circles of reality…

in the presence of the sun… –{{O}}–

in the presence of the sun… –{{O}}–

in the presence of the sun

Photo by Aron Visuals on Pexels.com

among the heavenly bodies we round
cycles
orbits
life rises, drowns and rises again
all in this procession
far flung on the flight wing of a galaxy
cast out in an endless ocean
can this be the only outpost of hope?
of life?
in all this, just a drift
an arm, a wisp of stars
our star, the one
the one we call, the sun
which has defined our direction for all time
such as can be counted and summed
in the presence of the sun
gives us a center
a ballast
a balance, with focus
a singular form in the form we always have known
our nook, our den
our private fortress
this little blue marble of life
a miracle boat afloat
in just this time
in my eye
to our minds
tethered to a galaxy drifting
our fate
lie and awake
open and closed in mother’s eye
all in this –
the presence of the sun.

Photo by Jonas Ferlin on Pexels.com

are we a marker, an outlier, an anomaly, can we be? just this little branch, this dash, this splash of hope dangling off a limb of one of endless-countless galaxies, can we be alone, even in our own stretch of these woods? the possibility, yes, the possibility is there, but I choose to believe otherwise; why? I could argue the numbers, the sheer amount of possibilities that lay forth with such numbers bound out into infinity, but something inside, a gut, a feel, an instinct, maybe foolish pride, maybe I want to believe we are not just dust on a mere wind blowing by, sure, that is a fair assessment, but what else? can we pretend to know everything, in our little stint, our production run here, the perspective is almost hard to fit, not long ago this was it, terra firma, just the earth, and now the discussions turn towards mars and beyond, but these are just the closest neighbors, there is so much more, where the voyagers have now gone, barely a scratch off the heliosphere, can this twist of tiny now fate be all? the trinkets on my mantle tell a story of a life that will be swallowed and gone, blink, and yet, we live on, multiplying, generations like a constant beating heart of creation, our self importance tethered to a rock, rolling around a common star, ours, as if the sun will blink when we are gone, or just continue on, until she too runs out of the gift, the surge, the power, the sheer will of chemical interactions will cease, and then what of these, these stories, these lives, what will survive if not beams, remnants, something beyond what can be held in hands and hearts, something more, something higher, and how will we know this transformation or communicate with the others? or is there nothing, just nothing, perhaps. but I would rather invest in the wavelength, the energy ribbon, the promise, of hope. of life. for we are alive now, nothing can change that, not even the stoppage of time, so I believe, choose to believe, we survive.

‘wish upon a star’ (no, not the song, more like contemplation, an idea)

‘wish upon a star’ (no, not the song, more like contemplation, an idea)

photo of supernova in galaxy
Photo by Alex Andrews on Pexels.com

what if, the beams, the light, the starlight we have all known since we could look skyward at night, what if the light was actually a stream of information, a story, a history, an encapsulation of time, maybe it is but we have not the tools to access the data or comprehend the language, as we know – light from the stars we see now could be thousands or if not millions of years old by the time it pierces our eyes, so what if that is somehow a series of photographs captured in a light stream, an album, snapshots, a step by step catalog of a star’s life above from the past until the moment that instant penetrates our eyes and enters into the ripe groves of our minds, think of how generations of imaginations have looked up and wondered, since human kind began, is this all coincidence? the constellations drawn upon with lines, connect the dots, why? the draw, the fascination, perhaps our subconscious is reacting to an underground radio station broadcasting beyond AM or FM, there are parts of the universe far older than our young civilization, what fantastic tales might these reaches bring, stars are truly brilliant torches of inspiration swimming in the vast darkness… but are they more? so the more I look, so the more I yearn, to know, and in there lies hope, for all that, beyond our own.

notes… one of those things that bounces around my ole noggin being a space wonk that I am, the sky is easier to see these days here in suburban Jersey, although the views in rural Maryland where I disappear, er, I mean vacation at least once a year, are just spectacular with the naked eye (although I ponied up this year for a telescope, hopefully photos to come when I get good at it), but think about it, digest it, mull about it a bit, when you see a star you are not seeing a light bulb you just turned on, you are literally looking at the past, something from thousands of years ago or older, you are not looking at ‘now’… pretty mind blowing that just the night sky itself is not real, or at least not current for the most part, imagine if you walked around every day with eyes seeing ten years ago, 100 years ago, or so… well, we kind of forget that is what we are doing with the stars above… so chew on that for awhile my friends… oh and listen to some space rock care of my favorite Canadians (RIP Piggy, but the new guy is pretty damn good, this was the crux of Piggy’s guitar work imo, not that anyone cares but damn I will sing his praises until I’m gone, I like unicorns, so be it)…

a quote about perspective…

a quote about perspective…

“I look up upon the budding leaves
I see the look of blooming stars”

low angle view of pink flowers against blue sky
Photo by John-Mark Smith on Pexels.com

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.