June 13, 2020

On the grand scheme…

There’s nothing new under the sun. I don’t mean that there are not unique voices. As humans, we often ponder the same mysteries. The ideas that arise out of watching the sunrise or lying under the stars all lend to reflection, scrutiny and brilliant observation. Any mind that ponders gratefully, with awe, finds itself at one with a grand and mysterious consciousness, as if it’s the very first to figure it out. One is included into the very essence, there is no time or space. The moment is just for you and new because of you. Yours is the first truth. It doesn’t matter what has come before, who has also dreamed this dream. You’re not common, you are instead, the one who living was made distinctly for. To consider the immense, to be with the eons as those before you, puts you in grand company. We mortals can’t help but find ourselves thinking similar thoughts. The world provides such vastness and we can wander endlessly in our imaginations.

On a photograph…

The photographs of the soldiers stare out at me. They had a before and after. They had voices. They believed in something so completely that they donned these uniforms and carried weapons; left someone behind, taking a memory of a home, of wildflowers, of dust; a memory of a sky in spring or the friendly company of a dog. They paused for one minute in their seriousness and regalia, without names, their only history the present moment of the photograph. They walked out of the frame to the rest of their lives. Someone remembers them, maybe. Our human concerns are probably much the same. We all have eyes to see the world and hearts to feel its turning. Maybe they died that day, or lived to go home, with a heart more honed to hate from the witness of a cruel and random mortality. Or maybe full of forgiveness and hope for renewal, if not for the world, then maybe for themselves. We’ll never know. All our effects are left and forgotten. Only the art remains.

Sea Stories

April 22, 2020

I set off across the water with no goal in sight. I’d had enough of land. Enough of ground and dirt and the solid memory of a life that had grown increasingly dull. My friends worried about their money and their houses. My family worried about its quarrels and their impending death. I didn’t care to listen anymore to those that never smelled the flowers or stared at the swift moving sky. My boat is not sturdy but then either am I really. Dreamers have holes in them where the breezes blow through. Many times they are carried away altogether. We recognize each other by our stillness, from the space just past the eyes. Sitting on park benches or in pubs, on trains and buses, a dreamer rests until something pulls them out and off into the very scenario they dreamt of. That’s how I find myself in this boat. I’m a pretty good oarsman and I brought water and snacks. Soon I’ll find another shore and step off into something different. I’ll order a beer and a fish dinner and listen to the talk. On this boat journey, I’ll travel into the night. I like the lonely blackness of the water, the stars above, the sound of a late bird singing. The soft velvet sounds soothe my quiet stirring. Some would be frightened and I too could let my mind wander down dark pathways. But nothing hounds me tonight. I’m just passing through, the water moving beneath the boat.

Paris

April 21, 2020

Luxembourg Gardens

Again, I sit in Luxembourg Gardens. I fed the pigeons my bread from breakfast. The single green metal chairs lining the path carry such weight in their emptiness. They are holding down the ground. One gets such a sense of presence in them. I love their random fluidity. All of us sitting here are silent. There is a welcome November sun. I’m under a tree next to St. Genevieve, patron saint of Paris. The sky is blue with clouds. Paris whirls around me, the Eiffel Tower is in the distance. I love these metal chairs, strewn about, they have lives of their own, a purpose and a whimsy. We are all together.

Rain, golden leaves and the divinely peculiar arrangements of the green chairs. Yellow mums against the gray sky. The rows of trees, straight then diagonal, always changing perspective. Black benches.

The trees in Luxembourg Gardens are bare and the streets are quiet. The glorious green chairs are mostly empty on this darkening day. Still, grandpas and children are at the park, strolling and playing.

NATURE'S WONDERS

April 20, 2020

A spider’s thread catches me as I ride through the black soft night. No sound of anything moving; my bike, the toiling insects, the chatting people, all silent. The wind breathes lightly on my skin. I breathe the night deep into my lungs, savor the emptiness and peace of the moment. Sometimes one is handed unfettered, silent time and that is a most precious gift. Be still with it. Keep your eyes open, ears attuned. Pay attention as you walk through the calm wet air. Feel the almost imperceptible adherence of this spider’s thread to your skin, stretching across the expanse of silent night unbeknownst to the world.

The other day, we visited a forest preserve sanctuary. In cages, were the usual creatures one would find in the woods. They were there to heal from what befell them in their dealings with humans. Up close was a fox, a coyote, a raccoon, a red-tailed hawk, a kestrel, a squirrel, an owl. The place was surrounded by the very forest they would have come from. A forest completely encroached upon by development. I’m so awed and humbled that these creatures keep trying, find food and shelter while we constantly destroy their world. I’m sure they were wishing they could jump the fence. Ironically, a free squirrel sat right outside the cage of the captive squirrel. I’d never seen a fox up close, and the coyote was pacing, lean and fast and edgy. The hawk flew, only to hit the roof. They were so alive and I felt such empathy for them. The power of their aliveness was palpable. Inside was a talking crow. “Hello, hello” he cawed, so wanting company. He put his beak through the wire for me to pet. He stayed still as I pet him, his eyes staring directly at me.