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The spirit of life crawls into a peach - by accident;

the poet pushes hard on her pen but a song trills out instead;

the hit man hiding in the alley knifes the disguised king by mistake;

the thumb of an old man grows on a gnarled branch.

Goddess dances in Cancun tonight, high on the high tide of love;

Zeus was to fill in at the wheel of fate checked into an old folks home;

therapist ask why;

while the first vagabond with the shopping cart takes command.

This is the sermon on the desk top:

don't listen to anyone - me especially.

Make your own decisions!

Teachers know less than students - forgetting they don't know.

Soon this world will be owned by a chaos of insects.

What horrors will come before who knows?

Can you harness a single memory of gladness?

Why waste a day reading poems?

Posted Sat Aug 18 22:49:07 2018

A tree fell at Abrams Falls Road, hitting other trees, pulling down smells to my nostrils that had been captured in the single file order. A couple days ago, I walked my dogs out on that road and thought about how it must have been when the trees came tumbling down. Probably the hemlock was the first to snap, and it tore off a piece of the Tulip Poplar and a portion of the bank.

Leonard Koren said wabi-sabi is an uncharacteristic feature of Japanese beauty close to the English word “rustic” with a definition “simple, artless, and unsophisticated or earthy, and unpretentious. Broken down, sabi means withered and wabi refers to the misery of living alone in nature away from society and suggests discouraged, dispirited emotional state. Today wabi means sabi in Japanese and visa versa.

I seem to have strong opinions about wabi sabi. People seem to want to apply it to often to human terms. I find wabi sabi in nature, like the scene at Abrams, where things constantly are changing and taking changed forms. Also discussing imperfection people often say things like "you have a beautiful crookedness to your smile. See even without braces you have a wabi sabi imperfection to your smile." To me that is misusing the expression entirely. It's as if they still aspire to be conventionally beautiful, and they read Cosmo magazine, but since they are not perfect by those terms, they are like "I still love you even though you are not perfect."

That is not wabi sabi. Wabi sabi is most applicable to natural things because most human traits are to entangled with these standards of what is thought of as generally beautiful. When you start talking about perfect traits with humans it becomes an impossible cycle, a catch 22, a loop that never makes sense. Even if you say "I love the imperfect trait of yours" you still are allowing perfection, this outside system of beauty description to overrun your analysis of the beauty.

That is why I stick with death and decay in the natural world as my wabi sabi beauty. To each their own tho.

Ode to all of the sounds that our water makes, though I cannot help that I feel alone. But is a drop ever alone? It might seem like a million years of confinement, but falling from the sky might be the best thing that ever happened to me. When water is dropping from the sky, it sings a mute song. The pedestrian walking home on the Abrams Trail with a skip in her stride sees the rain coming, the layered sheets that always seem to come in her way.

Maybe one human alone in nature gets to be wabi sabi in my world.

The canopy should not be overlooked.  You can scour it for toddler scooters, mated shoes, random chairs, twenty feet up, perfectly placed.  You are reminded of how small you are and how blind you are in the large scheme, the mystery.    Then it's the last houses, the tumbling rocks behind your car.

Visiting often, you remember the water, the foamy days, the murk after rain, the typical but excited cry of the kingfisher swooping the length of that little bridge. 

It takes much longer to know every tree.  A tree falls in the forest, toppling partially onto another tree.  Roots again, clinging and sucking still for life.  In fact knowing every tree is an impossible task, for someone sticks their head in the badger's hole or fish flow on constantly.  

The only way to snap a picture or memorize a wooded acres is knowing its impossible to capture anything.  I challenge you to catch a launching flock of turkeys, then show me the flock somewhere.  What was will never be again, by nature all things decay and move on.

Posted Sat Aug 18 12:08:56 2018

Me: I have been so depressed. I don't think I will ever feel normal. It's making me feel horrible. I missed my medicine and remembered it in time for it to not affect anything but Dani recommended I treat it like any medical condition and get a medical alert bracelet because I think I would completely go insane if I went a week off meds. But now I just feel so horrible about having to wear the bracelet.

Daddy: I have emotional problems of my own. In fact I have to get a bracelet of my own, but it will say DNR.

Moral of the story: Don't get in a watermelon seed spitting self pity contests with elderly parents. They win every time.

Posted Fri Aug 17 19:21:26 2018

It happens in a surprising instant

the woman with the purple dress

passing the iron weed

notices its almost matching hue

and for just about five seconds

she pauses

like the gap

between a mediative breath

that little place

on the soul of the foot

that passes gradually

into the Earth.

Then like a heaving sigh

she finds her footing

down the hill

where time has caught up with her

and she is no longer

a girl

but worn and wrinkled

in the garments

of tomorrow.

Posted Tue Aug 14 13:36:09 2018

The drippy faucet

holds back full sentences

guarded against plumbers.

Full moon men

are all the same

cursing my flow

yet quenched by me.

Maybe the day will come

when nix the metaphors

of plumb.

Posted Sun Aug 12 02:18:07 2018

Late fall

tired flowers with mute smiles

as petals drop.

Posted Sun Aug 12 01:21:06 2018

We are wabi sabi truth

We are the beauty

of decaying natural things

we are impermanent

our youth fades

we grow older

we cannot move as easy

some prefer not to think about getting older,

aging or imperfections we have

that send us to therapy

yet we are the tenth goose

yet we grow older

yet we waste away

we lose our potential

we become fallow weeds

once sought after wildflowers

but it doesn't have to be that way



what does this mean?

Posted Sun Aug 12 01:12:23 2018

I was writing to my Friend, Pat, who used to attend the same Quaker Meeting as I went to in college. I said to her "I need to be there for myself as a Friend sometime" then added "like tonight".

Some people say they are intimidated by the idea of becoming Quakers, like Quakers might hold them to a higher level than they would hold themselves.

Personally I don't know a lot of Quakers in the Tricities. Not people who want to worship this way. I have been going to a fantastic meditation group and getting a ton out of it.

I do not have a regular meditation practice in my life. I need one, and I hope that this is my first day of a real pattern of new honoring of self. But all I can be sure of is this moment.

Tonight I plan to pray, off computer, off phone. I will have the my eyes open to the world some so I know what time it is. I will be with myself an hour. I will be there for myself as a Friend for one hour tonight.

I invite you to be there for you too. And we will go forward from there.

Posted Sat Aug 11 23:14:39 2018

William Carlos Williams wrote his poem

About the red wheelbarrow

On a prescription medical pad.

Give me an old tattered scroll

or the dirty wall of a tunnel

or threads that I can weave into words.

Posted Thu Aug 9 17:53:54 2018

Today the ocean visits my mountains.

I sit outside the library,

Knowing that the brick walk could be sun crusted sand,

The puddles of freshly fallen rain could be

pools of water,

the maple leaves floating here

could be sea weed.

My bench is a boat, and swaying in the rocking sea

It is the gusty wind that both

Connects me to the ocean, so far away,

And reminds me of where I am today.


Posted Tue Aug 7 23:31:31 2018