Morning Trip (103)

“The Poet with His Face in His Hands
You want to cry aloud for your
mistakes. But to tell the truth the world
doesn’t need anymore of that sound.

So if you’re going to do it and can’t
stop yourself, if your pretty mouth can’t
hold it in, at least go by yourself across

the forty fields and the forty dark inclines
of rocks and water to the place where
the falls are flinging out their white sheets

like crazy, and there is a cave behind all that
jubilation and water fun and you can
stand there, under it, and roar all you

want and nothing will be disturbed; you can
drip with despair all afternoon and still,
on a green branch, its wings just lightly touched

by the passing foil of the water, the thrush,
puffing out its spotted breast, will sing
of the perfect, stone-hard beauty of everything.”
–Mary Oliver

Computer Finally Died

I really cherish the multitude of exposure to new perceptions in the literary and visual loot that I stumble upon during my trek at WordPress. But, for now, my computer has died and I will not be able to post and to visit, in the way that I have done for quite a while. When the computer is broken, I typically feel angst, as it is my social connection with other people AND stimulation and organization for a mind that, to be well organized, requires vast amounts of input.

I have tried to get myself to a computer at other times when it has been simply ill, and I tend to get upset and have a resentment over the process. My photographs and writing are all, often stored on my hard-drive. If I have a creative spurt while on a gratefully computer, I have no place to place it. This is viewed and felt as restrictive to me and can change my entire outlook.

Of late, real life here, around the creative has feel stifled and awful. Some days the physical body agrees with that assessment, which was even more ew. I am glad to be released from a hovering maybe about the when the computer would die, something on the motherboard was leaking and fans were broken and even the switch wished to rest.

Instead of focusing upon sorrow or stifle, I’d rather continue to work on clearing out my own person clutter, material, metaphysical, and otherwise. The lose of the computer has somehow aided this. I have no excuse that I MUST simply sit down and check or engage or create. Parts of me cannot use this positive conversion of what might not be going well in life in order to get rid of nor to hide bad feelings. To hide that I have a life on life’s terms, no matter how far I’ve come in my thinking, and how far I have yet to go. What happens when being spiritual means a self imposed ideal that involves perfection? What happens when a bad thing occurs and I want to cry or to rage, to act out on a defect of my character, instead of working out the next right thing to do when all around seem not to notice nor to care for their own side of the street? I feel like I’m rationalizing being abused. I KNOW, that I’m only cleaning and changing what I can, but the result can be that I appear like a doormat. When I expand to allow and to encompass other’s being just where they are…well that can just become clutter and be bad for me. So, I’ll be working on that. Again! 😀

This starting point, ending point sort of thinking does help one to amass what is required to get to a destination, but more always comes after. Perhaps the job is done when we die…and even more fun, I think it continues after we die!

So, happy travels, I haven’t forgotten any of you, that I know of, and if I do, I do my best to make up for it, even if I do not tell you so. I’ll be back if God sees fit to decide to provide me another computer, when He is finished with the current items He’s offered to me.

Morning Trip (60)

“I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind’s door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends.”
— Joan Didion (Slouching Towards Bethlehem: Essays)

One Shoot Sunday and Memory Lane–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.

“Greg Laychak is what is known as a documentary photographer. Originally from Canada, Greg has since moved to South Korea, where he created his prominent work, “Fading Voices” – a photo documentary project about victims/survivors of sexual slavery from WWII. Greg’s work often focuses on the concept of identity, a fact that hovers, almost hauntingly, through many of his photographs.

If you’re interested in seeing more of his work, note that it will be exhibiting in London from May 11 through 24 at the Hotshoe Gallery.

~Chris Galford”

Memory Lane
Looking far ahead
from my place
in this
hall
of memories

I live
here,
it
holds
me
and all

that I see
in windows
delusion
or fog
mine

never touched
but by me
things snatched
shoved
placed
carefully
or not
into baskets of safety
and ownership
along my way
and yours

I sit and caress them
order them
change me
and what I think of them
my brothers and sisters
no doors to close
and

I sit
up
a bit straighter
the leaves
on the trees
laugh and chatter
dancing on refreshing breezes
and grinning
lightness
in the Sun.

–by Elisabeth Connelley, Purple Profundity