“Doubt is a state of the suspension of both belief and disbelief: many people assume that thinking has only two positions, positive and negative, and if you doubt something you are disputing its validity or positing the contradictory position. This is disputation, not doubt. Doubt per se questions the form or content of what has been asserted but it itself is a freeform state of wondering what the general parameters of the issue are and how it most rationally ought to be framed.”
–Kenneth Smith
daily
6:16 a.m. November 16 (What is Elisa Doing Today)
breathing treatment and Chinese Breakfast Tea just
after 5:30 am or is it 6:30 am and strangely dark 33
degrees in the middle of November what do I expect
still looking for Summer 80s breeze resentful laughing
at myself noting the still green grass
cranberry stained glass leaves gone to crumple in the
20 degree freeze of yestermorn now holding stock still
valiant and full of spread smooth strength and obstinance
to cling and to quiver shiver in the dark
maybe not a shiver–a wave hello fellow living thing to
fellow living thing awake in the dark
the kitchen has basil now and lemons bright yellow
lemons in a blue and white designed bowl special
scalloped edges cinnamon scent spirals up into my
nose pearls of tea bumps between my thumb and
finger squeezing free every exquisite and e-wordless
drop into the favored cup between my lips heaven
passes and sighs
–elisabeth connelley
One Day At A Time, One Moment At A Time
You know? (long pause)
Life feels pretty darn unmanageable. (someone in my head says–you are sober ya goober, try a little thanks)
Oh YES! I am really glad for that and wow, what I am perceiving as life on life’s terms just now would, well I don’t even think there is a word for how much worse it would be, if I were not sober. Thanks God for helping out with that, and thanks for tolerating me kvetching at you, sometimes when you carry me I just can’t see what has been moved out of the way and only the things I view as insurmountable. I try, that bit is a work in progress, still.
Well, this morning the body and the house feel just so out of control. Oh look, that control word. There are all kinds of control and plenty of better words and tools to use so that I can see what I can change, things I can do and so on. I just still grab the word control, the world seems to demand a person has control or a false sense of control. shrugs
I decided to make a list of accomplishments, helps me to see past the spin and overload to help me to notice what I am doing and to provide a solid point of focus. The list is already rather annoying me, damn, I do a ton of little things all at once–efficiency is good, tracking it looks…the way it does 🙂
I got out to the Tree Place yesterday. I haven’t been well so my body is so weak that I can get dizzy just going up or down the stairs once. It is too difficult to attempt to shower and to dress and to go down and then out to the car and so on. Yesterday was bright and sunny, and refreshingly cold. I just went out in the state I was in and drove. I weebled out of the car about 100 feet to the tree. It was worth it. I leaned on it for a bit to rest and I thought I might need help back to the car but…I WON! I realized that going out is life for me and that to remember that being perfect and doing the whole walk and the rituals with it and the prayers is too much for my ability right now. I remember years ago when my brain was not allowing me to walk or talk and muscle control was FUBAR. A simple shift of transferring the anger and sadness at not being able, to the same joy at making it outside the front door to lean on the house and to close my eyes and breathe the air and glory in the sun on my face was amazing!
Today, every step, every motion, is one thing accomplished, one thing that says I AM. One gift from my Creator to see that which is presented to me on a daily basis that falls under, yes, I can do. The song, for now, is probably thinking too large for me, One Day At A Time is more like eating the whole elephant. One bite at a time, one nibble at a time works!
Morning Trip (46)
“The water that flows down the mountain does not think that it flows down the mountain.
The cloud that leaves the valley does not think that it leaves the valley.
A philosopher asked the Buddha to neither speak nor be silent.
It is known how difficult it is to shut the prison door? Words and speech disappear.
If mind is not – mind, who can we ask for advice?
The old monk who thinks he can calm the mind of another is
just mocking everyone around him, and he doesn’t even know it.
The sea is calm when the wind stops blowing.
Still, we search outside of ourselves.
One burst of laughter dissipates a thousand doubts.
I yearn for the soul
of marvelous truth.
Coming back to myself,
I walk beneath the shining moon.
Stars move with silent sounds.
The universe is calm, nothing
brings trouble.
Perfect tranquility: nothing
whatsoever is happening.
Everyday thought is the way.
Without walking for days,
one is suddenly at home.
When confronted by people, you can say yes or no.
Words are never perfect.
Even if people stop speculating,
we still have to use things
to point out the truth.
Wake up! Wake up! Don’t let anyone despise you for another moment.
I have a touching story to tell you. But please wait until this cloud passes.
Otherwise, even if I tell you the story perfectly, the distance between us will still be ten thousand miles.
Those who are enlightened
who see through
the eyes of great wisdom,
can see noon at midnight.
The deepest truths disclose themselves naturally,
don’t even ask the hermit on the hill.
Space is one, without a crack:
By what road does the scent of the cinnamon flowers
come to us at the end of the day?
This is Buddha’s examination.
Those who pass the test of emptiness
will be declared winners.
For your name to be on the list of winners, don’t leave blank pages.
– Tran Thai Tong
Koans from the Khoa Hu – Lessons in Emptiness“
Morning Trip (57)
“I’m not telling you to make the world better, because I don’t think that progress is necessarily part of the package. I’m just telling you to live in it. Not just to endure it, not just to suffer it, not just to pass through it, but to live in it. To look at it. To try to get the picture. To live recklessly. To take chances. To make your own work and take pride in it. To seize the moment. And if you ask me why you should bother to do that, I could tell you that the grave’s a fine and private place, but none I think do there embrace. Nor do they sing there, or write, or argue, or see the tidal bore on the Amazon, or touch their children. And that’s what there is to do and get it while you can and good luck at it.”
– Joan Didion
Midsummer Evenings–June First Friday in Downtown Williamsport, PA
Good Evening! I felt forced–I can DO that to myself, can you imagine it?!?! (snorfle)
I went back to the car and got the camera and the parts pleased to have some enjoyment time where all of the kiddos were occupied, smiled at the bright blue sky, hefty camera in hand, and exhilarating and creative evening breeze. The insistent upon forced bit just really seemed to wish to badger me and say no no get to work no exhilaration! And THERE, under the trees was…
Pan laughing at me and digging in his lil goat heels...
And I laughed while frowning at this shot that still isn’t my taste as I’m writing now. And I looked around for an idea to shoot, which if you have read of my image shooting before does tend to get me ‘flat’ images, rather than those that speak and breath life. One important aspect to life for me is knowledge, stimulation, input, and pondering things. I turned, felt the golden light and…
James V. Brown Library Main Entrance
I frowned and thought that two shots did not make a Midsummer’s Evening. I thought to decide NOT to decide what I would post and to simply walk along taking images and let them form themselves or for me to pick and choose later and not tell anyone. Music and art galleries and crowds pulled me to join them and so, I went.
Beautifully Restored Building Downtown
I heard piano music next!
Beautiful Piano Notes Floating On The Air
I was at Bloomington Gallery: Fine Art and Antiques
There were disconnected heads to be decorated with different hats and posh clothes in order to fit impressions, though it seemed the mask had cracked a bit from working so hard not to notice the myriad reflections in the handy mirror, of course just ever so helpfully out of view of the ever so prim and proper head.
Perfect Mask
Mirror for A Mask
I was very pleased with all of the things to see in this place. And the amazing people that I met! An artist was sketching and I realized that she was one of the first people to come and to look at my images at the first of these First Friday Events, when I had a table and JOY OF JOYS!! She remembered me! That felt very nice.
Her name is Aly Mitchell. Tonight, I got to see her works and a portrait creation in progress.
I also met the one sitting for the portait and his friends and family, who are also connected to the owner of the shop, who was out of town for the evening.
The man’s name is Nellie Stutzman. Someone referred to him as “The King of East End”. East End is a section of town. Before I could get more of that story, his wife said….did he tell you about the shirt? And I said noooooooo….TELL ME ABOUT THE SHIRT!
I went and asked him about the shirt…he made his face very flat and he blinked and he said, “I got this shirt at Bar Harbor at an Irish Shop.” I did not write down his exact words, but I was sniffing a funny. He also mumbled about it being a perfectly FINE shirt as evidenced by the tuxedo bits. He kept a straight face and asked me what I thought was the matter with his shirt.
I said oh NO, it was THOSE female type persons over THERE in that far corner. He said oh yes I know them(was his wife) and said…”you go back over there and tell them that I do not like them.”
In between all of this I got pictures of Nellie sitting, mostly still and of Aly drawing him.
The King of East End
I had a really nice evening and I learned that I need to adjust for motion as I go along! Wonder what I’ll find tomorrow night?
Morning Trip (50)
“The man who promises everything is sure to fulfil [sic] nothing, and everyone who promises too much is in danger of using evil means in order to carry out his promises, and is already on the road to perdition.
Carl Jung”
“The road to perdition has ever been accompanied by lip service to an ideal.
Albert Einstein”
And now this, to express the other morning ponderers within…
“The early hours of morning; you still aren’t writing (rather, you aren’t even trying), you just read lazily. Everything is idle, quiet, full, as if it were a gift from the muse of sluggishness,
just as earlier, in childhood, on vacation, when a colored map was slowly scrutinized before a trip, a map promising so much, deep ponds in the forest like glittering butterfly eyes, mountain meadows drowning in sharp grass;
or the moment before sleep, when no dreams have appeared, but they whisper their approach from all parts of the world, their march, their pilgrimage, their vigil at the sickbed (grown sick of wakefulness), and the quickening among medieval figures
compressed in endless stasis over the cathedral; the early hours of morning, silence — you still aren’t writing,
you still understand so much. Joy is close.”
– Adam Zagajewski
Without End
Joy within, even in Perdition.
Morning Trip (45)
Poetry
And it was at that age . . . Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don’t know, I don’t know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don’t know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.
I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire,
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating plantations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.
And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
void
likeness, image of
mystery,
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.
– Pablo Neruda
translated by Alastair Reid
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