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.
I saw an older man sitting straight on a bench hands in black jacket pockets facing the cold lake solitary confinement for being outdoors on this coldest day of may
notes... (haiku feel, ya feel me?) this was a record breaking day here, granted our weather records do not go back that far really but anyway, it was cold, I was driving to grab some dindin after work kicked me in the ass and head (you would think I would learn to be able to zen it out by now), and I hit… a squall, as in snow, seriously, my car read 33 degrees, that is pretty low for may in these parts, I was driving by one of my favorite spots in my local little world and listening to the recording below… (classical music is good decompression you know, well, at least for me, and that is generally who I am concerned about, go figure…)
the gallery of the cherry blossoms hung among this, the haunted spring for if march showers bring promise we can not await their offering in the quiet of april showers quarrel more prayers wait for the arrival of the summer sun
notes… haiku feel (for me), sort of, one of those as I say ‘wrote itself’, sometimes I feel like the words come from somewhere else, I could take all the credit, but when I think about it the universe has collaborated to create me at this instant (and you, incidentally)… so, a lot had to happen for this little post of words, and it actually did…
“I look up upon the budding leaves I see the look of blooming stars”
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.
sound, a transport device, a time travel mechanism at least in our memory response, something we all can account for, just now, I was listening to some random ambient on youtube and there was a background sound embedded, buried, a familiar sound, a pinpoint sound, crickets, like devious little natural metronomes, chiming, precise clockwork chirps provide context, surely this is not their true domain, a gloomy rainy cold day, the weather prognosticator already told the fortune of today, rain in spades, or some other suit, but that is the saying, anyway, that pill popped into my subconscious I was already to rue the day, to welcome the disappointment of my appointment with rain, the expected, expected to be understood and ground, I do love a good thunderstorm however, so my hopes were up for at least some rumble, some tussle of spark, a great reminder of nature’s power via rolling clouds of thunder sparked by bolts, yes, I do quite enjoy a good storm, as long as my power stays on, pampered human am I, all the while to watch the tempest from my safe box, admittedly, from comfort, but back to the crickets, I am transported from this somewhat lackluster day to a summer night, by a fire, in the mountains, or even just outside by a lake, but definitely summer, and most definitely night, when the all else of the world is faded, just the subtle crackle of collapsing embers, out past the flickers rising in the sky, the crickets, a constant sound, I could hear that sound in a blizzard and feel comfort, for at least a time, the power of sound to bring my mind somewhere else, sometimes a song, to a place, to a gathering, a party, a wedding, a celebration, I can feel the suit I’m wearing, the clanging of the formal wear, the shoes pound on a dance floor, or maybe just a time, alone sitting watching the waves come in, with a new album on my ipod, a dozen years ago, always connected to that beach, the clear waves of the Key’s lapping my feet, having the dock all to myself, like owning the world and stepping into the scene whenever I like, just a song, and I am there, and there are those who would argue about mystical things… take a listen…
notes… tomorrow will be day three back @ work for me, like, physically instead of remotely, at my office (Bergen County, NJ covid central ground zero in Jersey), granted there are only a few of us there, but I am dealing with all the same things in my head, my brother is helping this week taking care of my folks thankfully, the weather seems to be looking up, at least it wasn’t raining today, my bamboo is booming, as it always does this time of year (you would not believe how much can grow in a day), in my mind I look forward to when it fills out the entire corner of the house like an impenetrable forest fortress of green all year round, that will take years, and I hope for those, those years that is….
PS: found a Chinese restaurant tonight that was open ! yay! NY/NJ chinese take out is an essential thing, something we all (from this area) take pride in in some strange way, there is no way people here would blame them for the virus, I love cooking, but not every night (and only italian places seem open), there is something comforting in getting some wonton soup, shrimp and lobster sauce… and an eggroll, one of those little building blocks of normalcy I can add to the stack.
my love I long to stare into your eyes and never wish to escape to hold your hand your palm flat to my heart, my skin star to star for my heart does pulse only for you my love, mapped out upon the sky so we may dance eternally among the stars
notes… simple sentiment is sometimes the cement… I may wax about science and the universe, string theory and things as such, but the great equalizer, is love… the greatest of these is love…
(sometimes stream of consciousness is just unfiltered observation, this is a translation of today)
a pair of geese fly over, I imagine married, one with a declarative honk, the other acknowledges grunt, and the sound I hear is “yes, dear”, and then they are gone (and yes they were socially distant).
staring at the tuning fork tree, because, well, it resembles a tuning fork, I am fixated on the view between the tines, what if that was all I ever knew, my universe, that little space was my entire world perceived, all the rest is apart from my view in that scenario, unknown to me, but yet, now, I can actually see beyond those tines, what I perceive to be all around, but what might I be actually missing inside the tines of my mind, I wonder, or be gracious for what I have seen, I ponder.
I project to talk with the breeze, not for answers, nor for a conversation, just to say thanks, for the wind is tireless at work, and sleeps only in the escape of space.
notes… went back to the office today, been nearly two months, my desk, well, it’s still mine, and no one stole my stash of hand sanitizer I had (bought way before the pandemic, a three pack at staples of like monster size and also clorox wipes), it was a strange thing, I felt apprehension at times, but those who have been doing this for weeks seemed more relaxed, I guess I will be the same in time, I must admit I am not comfortable at all there, even if we are running a skeleton crew (literally two) but our technicians are bringing back machines/parts from the city every day, that freaks me out, especially since this article today… those are all stores I know, and people I actually trained at some point, damn, it is still hot close here… but I made it I hope, tons of hand-washing, hand sanitizer, wipes, masks, all that, but every cough, every sneeze in the doors just flames that little flame somewhat… my good friend, a co-worker for 15 years, his wife has an auto immune disorder, a real rare one, and he seems ok with all this and she is good, so I guess I should be, but maybe my mind just does not work that way… but I am trying… and tonight was such a nice night it helped me drain out the doubt, a fallacy? perhaps, but damn it felt good…
contemplation. sitting here, watching the last of the day drain out down into the horizon, everything becoming silhouette and shadow until all will be shadow soon save for the false lights, how all this now seems like three days, not just one which I ‘know’ it is, is this apprehension (fear ratchets), tension, anticipation, regularity creeping back in? rewind. I suppose this could have been a day I dialed up, weather wise, weather I would order a la carte of I could, a prescription filled if you would, this morning there was rain, the kind of rain I seek out on youtube for nightly comfort, heavy rain but not threatening, a gentle downpour if there ever was, and this was, no threat of wind whisking water into your window sill, so I open it further wide and tall, to invite in as much as the sound as possible, as good as my sound system is, there is no substitute for pure nature, you get used to the recorded sounds but somehow they are not the cradle in the arms that this is, I just want to curl up like cooked bacon wrapped in the blankets and imagine I am surrounded on all sides by the rain, the symphonic barrage, just hard enough collect in pools on the sidewalk quickly but not buckets bearing down on tin roofs like weighted bullets, no human sounds, no leaf blowers or lawn mowers, just this rain, this is the spring rain, you can almost hear the ground as a mouth soaking, slurping it all in, the thirsty roots, the shoots, the seeds, the spring, feeding on the energy from the clouds, nurturing, I could sleep and dream forever in these fields and this scene, the morning stretches out and feels like half a day, maybe, either way the rejuvenation is the same, and then my phone rang….
Photo by bongkarn thanyakij on Pexels.com
ah yes, still working, I grab a cup of coffee from my little magic pod thing, starbucks hazelnut (it was three dollars off at the store the other day man, who am I to complain), a thomas’ english muffin, toasted with faux butter (I do like it, I have to admit), I log on to my old desk PC (whom I haven’t seen in weeks or is it month’s now?), so I am at work (magically), not a bad commute these days, well, none actually, I can’t even recall the last time I filled up my car with gas, strange…
Photo by Simon Matzinger on Pexels.com
forward. the rain petered out, as did the calls on my call board, and amazingly enough the sun is out, I almost do not recognize the sun these days (who are you?), apparently this was the first april in many a moon where the temperature did not crest 70 even once (in these parts), so maybe all the dreary feeling and dark air was not my imagination after all this impossible month, doldrums, doldrums man, definite doldrums have been beating on me internally but how quickly things spin and come round in an instant, the sun dancing and sparkling in the little pools, reflections bouncing, the fresh green of spring that much brighter, transformation, the birds employ to serenade this new beginning, a celebration, the uplift of souls on a wing, a song, just walking along my lawn soaking in as much as I can, turning my skin into a receptor of the energy of light, of life, wanting to spin like a top and never stop…
Photo by Nandhu Kumar on Pexels.com
present. grind. and the phone rang, am I repeating myself? or am I watching someone else? no, the call is for me, which makes sense being it rang on my phone, after all, my manager, well, one of them, one of the higher up muckity mucks, above me, at least, my services are needed at the office in the AM, is this how this weird fairy tale will end? I almost have forgotten the daily slog and grind of the past fifteen years, this seems like a foreign request, or even a flirt with death, or… I’m just not sure exactly what I am feeling, as I usually do I say ‘yes’, I rarely go against the flow at work unless I really have to, is that the best thing? probably not, but sometimes we are who we are regardless of who we would like to be wired like, so, pining away all this time to ‘get back to normal’, I have no idea what that is anymore, different pieces have been added to the puzzle the past few months, the recipe for normal is completely off, I am starting with fresh steps. current. tonight. so, sitting, trying to listen to the birds, somehow the human sounds have been creeping back in, my neighbor’s cars, his garage up and down, the slow hum of a freight train taking it’s damn time grind, traffic traveling on the main road in town just over a treeline in the bend of my street, car’s racing engines somewhere close, in the neighborhood I think, as night draws in, so I near the entrance to another chapter, at once – I used to think I was writing this tale, this book, but now? I feel just like a character waiting for the author to finish my story arc. and so, tomorrow I may find out…
notes… thanks for all eyeballs and likes and the like if you like, also, if you dig this post this is part of my ongoing Porch Project, a blog ? a diary? eh… sort of, it is what it is, so if you like this check out the whole darn thing (I try to keep it up to date you know)
if I could reach out my hand, as a receptacle, a device, a receiver, across the entire world, and touch all cultures, would I gain the answers? I imagine – I can out stretch my hand, more astral than physical mind you, outward, into the universe, as far as my imagination tethers or allows, for surely I can not imagine beyond my own imagination, even though the cosmos must probe past those regions I can not fathom, if I could reach out toward and into that infinity, even just for a glimpse of that all reality, what would I see? would that knowledge satisfy my human curiosity or make it billion fold explode, I wonder, all there is to see out there, in between the dead space, space, like death itself a web that holds us all in, a trap we can not escape, but life persists, even in the darkest of dark depths explored, and that is just here, on this one little sphere, I wish I could know more else, other worlds, other selves, surely life is out there, how could it only be here? if I only could outstretch my hand and touch the universe as a whole, I wish, and I dream it so.
singular mourning dove up on a wire, tiny silhouette painted against the grey shifting tide, coming storm, pays no mind, doves have distinct bodies, angular, familiar, kind of like a heart if you stare long enough, of course you would have to pop off it’s head, ‘what a morbid thought’. I thought, and so it is but I thought it anyway, not as if the bird was in any real danger, the wire is quite high, I could never reach it, plus I am afraid of heights, also, I don’t own a gun…
notes… hey, sometimes I am in a goofy mood, this would be one of those times… gallows humor is fine to swing on through at times, like this one
Shades of My Garden 