9.20.14 this irksome country was born beneath my skin

up early this morning, to the

chill house and the

chillier out of doors that

surprises my very bones 

tomatoes rotting on the withered vines

the scarlet runner beans shrinking back

still feeding hummingbirds whilst the

bean pods slowly turn

dry and  a pale acquiescent brown

the conservation field is alight with a

new reddish grass that has

scoured the hill and

shines in the spilling sun its

luminescents of seeds

glistening as it covers all

while the maples it seems have

all conferred; then agreed, thus their

furthest most leaves now turn

orange; yellow; red

nights colder; cicadas quieter

toads largely unseen

chipmunks readying as the

great predator birds prepare their

annual gathering by the

top of the mountain range

flying about in pairs or solo

contemplating to stay

as their progeny look on

or to go

While some are moving to Florida and I'm

not certain they will return; yet I

know I never shall, by choice, for my

love is for this

difficult land and , listen here

this irksome breathless country

was born beneath my skin and

shall remain there, embedded

always

9.20.14 Somehow, Discovering The Creations Of One More Person In The World

Somehow, discovering the creations of one more person in the world shifts the balance of that which is arcane or unfair or tragic.

NYC Photographer Saul Leiter, taking unusual, thoughtful, slight cousin to Bresson, in that circumstance fuels his unique capacity to capture a certain feel for the life he has found around his neighborhood of the last 55 years. “I’m a person who likes to postpone things. I see no reason for being in a rush. When you consider many  of the things  that people treat very seriously and you realize that they don’t deserve to be treated that seriously. And many of the things that people worry about are not really worth worrying about. “Saul Leiter, Photographer

There is  a unique documentary, No Great Hurry: 13 Lessons in Life with Saul Leiter, whose trailer you may enjoy, as well. It shows him in his home, and studio, talking about being his age, about his creative process. Considering the fame accorded him by the outside world, and realizing it may be nice, but is actually of little import to him, in real life.

 http://watch.innogreathurry.com/

9.20.14 Who Is Acknowledged, In Life

Fascinating, isn’t it? Who is acknowledged in life, and when. Before; or after death? The price of the acknowledgment, or its absence. 

And who, among us, creates or lives or breathes or understands or sings or dances or farms or problem solves or discovers, and is fleetingly, or never acknowledged. 

A reminder that our ultimate and true worth is something we ourselves must engender and cherish.

9.19.14 There Are Two Things That Often Fascinate Me

There are two things that often fascinate me.
One, is that every time we look at a photograph, every person or animal in the photograph is responding to the person taking the photo.
So each photograph is actually a photograph of relating going on between the photographer and whoever is in the photo.
When I look once again at photographs, with this in mind, I can really see it. If you look at photographs of your beloved family or partner , or friends, you can see it in their own eyes. Their feelings for they who snapped the shot. At that very moment.
The second thing I often think about is how much more aware we are of those who have touched us, who have changed us ,when in connection with them.
The impact upon us of their ideas , their interactions with us ,or observing their work or lives.
Than we can ever be aware of who we ourselves have touched.
Whose lives we have changed. By a glance or a word or our relationship or an effort we have made.
Of course, It makes perfect sense. But I think it's important that we realize , and we remember.
And for better, or for worse, or maybe simply, a very human mixed bag, we imprint others.
We leave some lasting essence of our self, that figuratively and literally, goes into earth, and heavens. Our kindnesses. Struggles. Failures. Griefs and wisdom. Creations and best intentions, or worst.
Upon our passing, and ever after, our cells and fragments ; our choices and air disturbed by our breath. Our passions and lessons: all are left to exist ,eventually, alongside the star dust and dinosaur pee we were composed of.
To me, therein lies our immortality.

9 .18.14 Now, As The Earth Repositions Itself In Its Orbit

Now, as the earth repositions itself in its orbit, and seemingly ,the sun appears lower- 
as morning dawns, and the sunlight crests the mountain range, 
spilling all of a moment, down through the forest and farther, across the conservation field-
the ravines suddenly alight; filling the outwaters, The Connecticut. And finally , all of the land.
Now as this begins yet again, I remember other years past.
The ways of the land, no matter the awful human selfishness or greed or damage.
For, certain things shall remain, regardless of our excesses of wants, and our deficits of awareness and right-action.
Still, even when we are far and long gone from this place, the earth will turn.
Summer will evolve into winter. The sun will splash low across the horizon.
And regardless, beauty and nature will reign.

9.19.14 WhenThe House Is Cold

When the house is cold
and the heat not on yet
( certainly not; it's still September)
a hot bath 
certainly is capable 
of moving one
to prayer

9.19.14 A New Version of The Garden Of Eden, Fresh Off The Presses

    This morning, I woke, to an old dog urgently needing to go out. I stumbled her to the door, put her on a rope just for laziness’s sake, as the part of my book that was writing itself last night ,as I went to bed ,took up with itself, in my head, happily : once again.

     There had been a childhood best friend of the protagonist’s, Lilah, who as I was falling asleep, became Lilith. 

      I tried and tried to shut my mind off, and finally was able to fall asleep, only asking myself to remember all of this part of the story when I awoke. And I did.

     After all the dogs and some of the cats and I settled back into bed this morning, around 6:30, pretending, or at least I was, that I was falling back asleep until I had to get up to drive K, Who is already up, showered, coffee, and studying upstairs.

     But the animals were restless this morning, the small feral really wanted to be under the covers being attended to, and so the story woke up again, and began wandering  along, like a small persistent stream.

     Now, I know how a painting whispers when it is ready to come out. How you approach the canvas, or the pastel paper, the watercolor paper, or the sketchbook, to discover and relieve who is knocking upon the door. And as you begin to use what materials you are,  out comes the subject matter, as if you are gently moving photograph paper beneath the developer waters, and watching, as the image slowly appears. I have watched that happen my entire life, as many of us have.

     I am acquainted with the itch and sting and urge a poem makes, inside of you, letting you know with the pressure building, that you need to pull over, or jot down a note, or excuse yourself, and go relieve yourself of that which must be relieved. The editing process is different, as with visual arts: and it brings forth another part of you, not analytical or cryptic, but simply a different intuitive part that feels deeply when the wording is off; when the movement of the song of the poem is not quite right. And if you have the energy and persist, you continue on as if gently adjusting a puzzle, with so many similar shapes that many will actually fit that one space, but only one or two will slip into place, and then you feel …sublime.

     Writing a song on  your guitar is a cousin of the process. The song is nimble, within you, stretching and wakening, the small snippets of tune coming forth- then repeating, and growing into a refrain that moves and cements the union, with the stanzas taking your hand, at the first off, leading you on- whether you choose to go , or not- and then dropping you off at the drop off. To stand, struck, and then ache to begin to hold hands, and travel the small path all over again. That is the writing of a song, to me, words and chords and melody and pull.

     Vignettes are different, also. And something new to me, of the last few years. Where you have an experience, usually a quite small one. And in the experience, you notice quite small aspects. So tiny. So quiet as to almost pass unnoticed. But somehow, you notice, and begin a conversation with them. The spider. The cloud. The passage of seasons in a certain place, over and over, with increasing emotional closeness and response. The wind in the trees, and the song of those trees – that varies according to leaves present, or no leaves; to spring new leaf song, or summer full mature leaf song. To fall crisp leaf song, or to winter, no leaf song, save the reticent Oak and Beech, who retain their leaves, actually for important health reasons. The Pine song, of course, which, from childhood, and their loyalty to my self and my siblings, which strikes me deeply each and every time.

     So to listen to something new was quite a surprise. And of course, I am no spring chicken. I know that when something like a novel begins to sprout small tender leaves, and grow small white lines of rootlings, it is a careful thing to care for. And watch, with wonder, the proverbial acorn, only new, to me.

     So I realized this was a novel, and had no idea why or how it was coming about. What had initiated it. But then, why would I know? Or anticipate? Or plan? Nothing else I had ever created had been involved in any of those conscious choices whatsoever.

     And anyone understands that to mess with it, when one operates in this fashion- to impose order too soon, when the small thing is in the process of discovering what sort of small thing it might be, is not helpful at all. So I have simply been watching and gently waiting and trying to cooperate, when I am able.

      And slowly the protagonist was revealed. Great surprise to me. And gradually, on successive days, various neighborhood characters and their histories and characteristics and present day circumstances became clear. An outline of the situation, you may say.

     And last night, as I intended to fall asleep, I did impose some order upon this rendering, simply telling myself please to make an effort to remember this portion, as it was in my best self interest to think of nothing in particular, and fall and achieve a good and restorative sleep. And so I did, and yes, I remembered somehow and clearly when I woke this morning.

     Of course, aside from the new character’s names and homes and characteristics and story line that revealed itself to me, helter skelter, I did have some questions about the name Lilith, as it rang some bells somewhere in my memory of historical/religious origins.

      So I did surrender to the flitting, bouncing creatures, and before brushing teeth and feeding everyone and getting dressed and all sorts of logical first of the morning things to do, I did

finally give in, grabbing my phone on the other side of my bureau (always 3 feet away from us or more) (mine actually sleeps in the bathroom, turned off.). 

     And discovered or maybe was reminded of some interesting things.

     In Judaic history, Lilith was originally a demon. A magical creature.

      But eventually, somehow, she became, in the Garden of Eden, Adam's first wife. Now, I had recalled that the guy had two wives. Did you? So, listen to this!

     She was made out of the same earth that Adam was. Not his rib. And she refused to be subservient to him, and was tossed out of the garden. Say “Thankyou, Wikipedia.” And off things went, from there.

     I'm picturing her now, kind of as if two parents had arranged a marriage, and then were unhappy with the wife they had given their son, and tossed her away.

      I can see Lilith throwing back her hair, shaking it off, and stalking away with a good grin on her face. Saying to herself "Well that was the biggest bunch of crap I ever seen!" And going off, and making a pretty cool life.

     Maybe she came around every once in a while, because in those days there were no other people.Or talking creatures. Kind of lonely, though I get the sense that she may have had some foresight as to how things would unfold, you know? 

     Maybe she saw God ( originally not delineated as male or white or with beards and white robes and all) try again , by grabbing  that rib ,out of Adam-ouch! 

     And fashion a whole person. Thinking that maybe if Eve  was made out of the guy, maybe she would be  obedient . Pliant. Good in bed. Functional in that nice no-problems way. 

     Hey, maybe Lilith was watching, when Eve got a mind of her own, despite not being created of the same earth as Adam. 

     Adam seems a little slow in the story, you know what I mean? He's always like "Well, Eve, I don't know, what do you think?"

     I mean, it probably was fun.  Naked all the time feels great. They were safe, all the creatures in the garden, food everywhere. Life was good. , We know humans. Better than God obviously. Too much. Too fast. Too easy. Too boring. Just wasn't going to last.

    

     So I'm just picturing Lilith there, on the edge of the clearing, coming by, looking into the garden she was expelled from, just watching, ion  between going about her own survival in her life.           

     And then one day, she sees
Eve is getting pretty itchy and twitchy. When she hears all about the story about "Anything but that tree!”

       And she knows that snake. She likes that snake. But man, that snake is the devil’s advocate, if you ever met one.

      So one morning, Adam and Eve wake up, and everything is sweet and  nice, and Adam is still placid as can be, and will always be ,if he was in that garden forever and ever ,only with even all the plants and the easy picking. 

     And Eve? No way. Getting all itchy. So there she is going around the garden, doing morning things, and comes upon the serpent, the long green and golden creature. Who talks. Mind you. Because no one else does.

      Maybe that serpent is getting a little itchy too, you know? Winding around apple trees all day, eating stuff, lying in the sun. You really couldn't ask for better. But you could ask for a little more interesting.

      So Adam is lolling about, perfectly happy. Lilith is hanging on the edge of the garden, watching with interest, a little bit of a voyeur, but a little bit hopeful also, that  maybe someday she'll  have more friends to talk to.

     The plot thickens. I know. Whatta line.

     The serpent’s had time to think this over, ever since the whole creation-thing-in-the-beginning-thing with Adam,  and then Lilith created out of the dirt, the littlest failure with the subservience thing, tossed out on her lonesome, and then Eve ripped out of the rib-ouch-thing.

     Carefully the serpent, who really deserves a name in the story, but I think has none, slides itself up the truunk of the fertile,heavy with fruit apple tree, rests their beautiful golden and green head next to the juiciest reddest apple hanging there perfectly, for all of eternity. Just hanging there.

     And what do you know! Along comes Eve, itchy and prickly, and  not sure why. With the Adam over there, always seeming so complacent and happy to sit there. I mean, hand him a beer and a wide screen plasma and he's all set.

     And then, it happens. Eve turns the corner on the  perfect garden path, that never prickles your feet and is never too hot or rough or cold, and there is the serpent, somebody interesting to talk to : and there is the Apple.

     The serpent, of course, waggles their eyebrows. (I know. You didn't know serpents had eyebrows. Think Groucho Marx.). 

     He’s pretty sharp. She gets it. She knows the consequences. She knows it's not fair to make a unilateral decision either. But, you know, every day, Adam seems more distant and clueless. I mean, what can she really DO?

     So she reaches out and she grabs at the apple.    

     While the serpent is deliciously  watching, smiling, she raises it to her lips. She takes a small bite.

     "Wow!" She says "I bet this is going to get us into a whole heck of a lot of trouble. But you know? I'm kind of tired of the status quo here. I just have this feeling deep inside of me that there's more to life than this, you know? For you too, serpent." See? She didn’t even know the serpent’s name, either.

    "I was thinking the very same thing. Good going, Eve. Let's see what happens." sighs the serpent, 

     As Eve turns tail, apple in hand, a little finger wave goodbye to the serpent, and toddles off to find Adam, just to see if he wants out -  too.

      Adam’s all like "Wow, Eve. Really? Wow. I just don't know."

      Eve is like " Man, I can't believe I was made from your rib. "

    Adam flinches, spits out "Okay, Okay. I can stand on my own, too. Hand over that apple!"

     So she laughs, and hands it to him. Only half of it is left.   

     He says "Wow, there are seeds on the inside. Pretty interesting. "

     And he takes a small bite, munching, smile on his face, and he begins to awaken. 

     He begins to look all around. He moves from his slouching posture, sits up, stands up, and begins to look around.

     “Hey, Eve” he murmurs, eyeing her. “Why on earth are we naked? I mean, dude!”

      And she laughs, says “Hey, here you are! I knew there was more to you than shallow crap and that nowhere look on your face. But HEY! Is All-That-Is gonna be pissed, you know? Remember, this is the Old Testament and a whole lotta other human stuff. You ready, my man?”

     And he wakes up even more, looking around, truly seeing for the first time. He takes her hand, steps toward the edge of the garden, and calls “Hey you beautiful serpent. You coming? And hey, what’s your name?” As Eve smiles, knowing things are gonna be tough. They’re gonna be hard sometimes, and things will happen. She knows it’s no Disney movie, that things aren’t fair. That illness and circumstance and choices happen. And that she and Lilith and Serpent and Adam all are going to have to find their own ways.

     But hey, she was itchy. She was wondering. She was slowly awakening.

     The garden never would have worked. So some will say it was sin, and the first sin and all. Who cares, she asks herself, taking Adam’s hand, and smiling to the beautiful serpent, who truly is simply a creature. Who spoke. And thought about stuff with her, when Adam was all drugged up with Garden stuff.

     They wander toward the edge of the garden, knowing. Just knowing. That it will sometimes be tough. That they need to stick together. That illness and other crap will happen. That things will sometimes be confusing, but that they will enter the land of conscious awareness. And that is worth anything…at all.