Am I Going?

Somewhere, in the middlin-end of the night, a light shadow flicked across the surface of my brain and I knew it was light moving through legs and calves and feet. Feet wearing oxford shoes, manly-type oxford shoes. Flexed a toe, to feel for new, inflexible and squeaky hard bottomed platforms. Flexed a toe to feel for the groove, a careful bend and give, familiarity, soft scuffles and the touch of the earth terrain–lumps and bumps and LIFE!

I heard rain. Gentle drips and splatters sneaking through the canopy of trees, making the slow motion crash from surface to surface slowing down until at last perching upon the perfect tip with minute point awaiting(of course)the touch of my finger that mine eyes might glorify such perfection in drop, for an hour or two minutes, whichever comes first to mind.

To lick manly fur or drop? My mouth IS dry! I neeeeeed a drink! Such treasure hunts for dew, endling-walks at night. Manly fur it is, good choice, thirst quenched. Now.

I contemplate opening one eye. I practice. Definately NOT the left one first today. Where am I going? I am going to open the right eye, just to see. And then, close it again. And be distracted by the manly scent of fur. And pine a moment for the going, and the coming back again. This moment is sublime. What does sublime mean?

Ah! Too late, I am already going down the stairs and making tea as my feet hit the floor and I sigh and I stretch. And I make the tea, and I check the mail, and I see Janet, asking me if I am going…someplace, somewhere. Janet? I am always full of ING things. I do not at this moment know how to provide a more accurate accounting. I will try to shorten it to, I am always going. How can one NOT be always going?

Morning Trip (61)

62. [Autumn]1
The yellow forest lies beneath the sun
Quiet, although it suffereth decay
The brooklet to the Ocean-deep does run
With gentle lapse and silent(2) melts away,
The clouds upon the evening sky are bright
But wasting mingle in the glorious light.

So, may my soul in life’s declining hours
Like the still forest never once complain:
And flow unmurmuring, adown its course
Like yonder brooklet to the Eternal Main;
And as the clouds upon the sunset sky
Be mingled with the radiance on high.

–Thomas Cole

1. untitled manuscript,
2. silent/softly”

(My own note. This same poem, punctuated differently, carries a date of 1842. The date is gleened from sequence in his writing books. There is no indication how far apart autumn 1 and autumn 2 are in work nor in writing, by the editor, Marshall B. Tymn.)

Stopping for a Red Flag Waving

Some would wish to call the events of my week, the week from Hell. At some parts of it, those were the shortest easiest words to allow to spring forth from my lips to explain what others must have seen on my physical body expression without me complaining nor saying a word to them. Sometimes I like to allow one person that I allow close to me to share what I perceive in a moment to be a burden that seems sooooo vast to me that I begin to laugh at it–which to outsiders appears hysterical or unbalanced. It’s a nice relief seeing that response from others, and provides additional fodder to feed the laughing humor bits of me, and to allow a moment of down time for the rest to gain better perspective and a restart.

This week, two daughters back to college at separate colleges, mold and fire hazard issues in(of course) the dorm that is 4.5 hours away. Then she messaged me yesterday to say, “MY ROOMMATE HAS LIIIIIIIIIIIIICE!!!”

Daughter two, her experience so far was excellent–until…..
(wait for it, wait fooooooooor it)
she walked into her room and roommate went against contract and sprayed room full of febreeze setting off instant bad asthma attack and daughter had only two puffs of her inhaler. She rarely needs it so….

Accommodations meetings with son’s school, enrolled him into online public school, tried to withdraw him from original school and THEN after three years of this…offered excellent stress free accommodations. Dilemma he seems MUCH more engaged and happy doing the lessons online, in fact ‘ending’ learning time, to get quiet for me is an issue. But!! He wants to be able to have this at the old school–the one with the ‘fixed’ accommodations plan.

The body is fed up and has sore throat, the I’ve been beaten by a stick all over, and wheezy thing going on. I’m eating properly, adjusting breathing and health maintenance meds, and going to attempt to lie down and to rest. In order to do so, I’m calling it luxuriating. It may involve a small magazine splurge, including a trash one with surveys!!

I’m laughing now, as I assume that if any of you came to read, you might wish you had not, or you stopped long ago. However for me, this is/was life on life’s terms, I am calling a Stopping for a Red Flag Waving, so that I can keep doing the next right thing. 🙂

I found this neato slide thing on a slow down quotes search. It validates and justifies my luxuriation plot of the day.

Joy(which can also be called solace), is it a way of being? Or simply a break from eternal suffering?

Shinto

When sorrow lays us low

for a second we are saved

by humble windfalls

of the mindfulness or memory:

the taste of a fruit, the taste of water,

that face given back to us by a dream,

the first jasmine of November,

the endless yearning of the compass,

a book we thought was lost,

the throb of a hexameter,

the slight key that opens a house to us,

the smell of a library, or of sandalwood,

the former name of a street,

the colors of a map,

an unforeseen etymology,

the smoothness of a filed fingernail,

the date we were looking for,

the twelve dark bell-strokes, tolling as we count,

a sudden physical pain.

Eight million Shinto deities

travel secretly throughout the earth.

Those modest gods touch us –

touch us and move on.

– Jorge Luis Borges

Morning Trip (58)

Moving Forward
The deep parts of my life pour onward,
as if the river shores were opening out.
It seems that things are more like me now,
that I can see farther into paintings.
I feel closer to what language can’t reach.
With my sense, as with birds, I climb
into the windy heaven, out of the oak,
and in the ponds broken off from the sky
my feeling sinks, as if standing on fishes.
– Rainer Maria Rilke
[translated by Robert Bly]

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

One Shoot Sunday and Noticing–Purple Profundity: Poetry by Elisabeth Connelley

Good Morning! It’s One Shoot Sunday again! The following is quoted to attribute the photographer and the site that supports and encourages The Poetry Challenge of One Shoot Sunday.

“Sunday Photography Interview: Rob Hanson & Poetry Challenge (Part 1)

Rob Hanson is a photographer dedicated to the art of HDR. This North Carolina photographer has moved through a number of mediums over the years, but always with a strong desire to make his images and his work as perfect as possible. Constantly on the lookout for new techniques and technologies to explore, he doesn’t shy away from the uniqueness of the world—he expresses it in his colorful work. Find out more in the first of this two-part interview…

~Chris Galford

One Shoot Sunday Challenge Time!

"Purple Phase"--by Rob Hanson

Noticing
Smooth sheets caressing naked calves and feet

The soft grunted intake of air

Upon bumping a familiar round belly

A sigh and change of position

To spoon one back into sleep

Hands on breast and thigh

Soft sleep warmed lips brushing fur

Smiling

Relaxing into

Familiarity

Significant non-quickening

Careful languishing sighs

Sheer curtains move

As always they move

In winter

From blowing heat.

A door creaks open

Something wanders in

Stares intently,

Observer of a chrysalis

Eyes rub

Feet flex

Toes wriggle

Sheets move

Feet hit the floor

Born again

Noticing

–by elisabeth connelley

One Shoot Sunday and Passion–Purple Profundity: Poetry by Elisabeth Connelley

Sunday Photography Interview: Walter Parada & Poetry Challenge
“Walter Parada is a California man, born and raised, and a passionate pursuer and tweeter of all things photographic. Though he shuns referring to himself as an artist, Walter is a professional that certainly knows his art, and pursues a wide spectrum of the field with precision and talent. One Stop would like to extend a warm welcome to him this week as he shares his insights and his images with us…
Picture Prompt Challenge!
~Chris Galford
Thank you to Mr. Parada for sharing this Sunday’s Picture Prompt.

Picture Prompt for Sunday, May 22, 2011 Taken by Walter Parada

Passion
To live without passion is to strip us of our humanity. Every expression is life! Every suppression and denial is a cut with a knife to the inner flame, the I AM! There is a way to be unique, individual and yet, part of the group of other humans.

PASSION! The ability to taste, touch, feel, see, smell, shout, scream, cry, laugh, fly…

The majority of time that I have seen, grief and sorrow are not seen as a Passion. Passion, for many, seems to denote sex and Valentine’s Day. Other times, passion is labeled to crimes.

Perhaps passion then, is each vulnerable bubble let fly from the spirit, exactly as it is, uninhibited and let go, to watch it until it can no longer be seen in the distance or is eclipsed by the next moment of passion.
–by elisabeth connelley