really, it’s just cave art, my own markings on a page wall for no greater purpose other than to show my existence here, that I left a few words to only note my presence. Writing is such a lovely ritual, so personal, whatever inspiration channeled through to mind then fingers. All art is this way, an artist belonging to something so much larger than their mind can hold, aching to express it and knowing that a certain failure will always follow. No expression is ever truly captured.
yet still the work is held in awe.
cave art wasn’t…
empty, receptive — until a molecule informs me. It’s then my world explodes with vibrant color, sounds, and scent, vital news of my surroundings. I am so many intricate, infinitely small things, and yet most of all I am the communication of these seeming parts that somehow translates to the whole of my existence. Of cells to molecules, atoms and the particles that swirl to their formation, everything talks me into being, providing information that shapes every aspect of my world.
and all this without cause, at least none that science knows and religion only speculates upon. It…
Waking up from:
waking up from — and this is really part of the illusion, that there is a separate place in which we arrive, removed from sorrow and daily affairs of simply living. But this is where we are, now and always and there’s no waking from life in it’s every varied aspect. We continue with what life offers, responding to all the moment dictates, authentic, honest.
we awake to life.
yet still this implies that there’s something, somewhere, we awake from, an area of some internal haze that keeps us trapped in our delusions. Perhaps, for some, but…
the recent theme here has been about endings, death in slow approach — it’s not an easy thing to write about and even less so to be reminded of in frequent circumstance. Yet that’s my reality as a caregiver right now, and yes, it brings an often heavy sadness, but it also serves as mindful notice, a call for tenderness in place of sharpness, to give attention to every detail of a conversation.
to truly listen.
time is short for all of us, not just the elderly and those with terminal conditions. We were never promised any length…
Of the obvious:
it’s the confrontation of the obvious, sometime gentle in observation, and often too with a rush so quick and hard it gives cause to turn away. Life isn’t always how we wish it would be, but it’s exactly as it is right now and through every moment of our living. Nothing is truly hidden from us, really, it’s the opposite, our own refusal to see the obvious, to feel what life present to us in sometime painful offerings. To be awake is to simply be present, allowing each moment it’s true expression.
without need to turn away.
Ritual of writing:
it’s the ritual of writing that holds the most meaning to me, content really being what the moment holds and less about idea and theme. My wish is to craft my experience of right now to a page, a demonstration of seamless motion of mind to world.
that it’s just one thing.
morning is early listening, birds giving song, an occasional car goes by in the strange hush of predawn passing. It’s the slow stir of the world awakening. I love this time of day, no rush to anything yet, morning has its own timeline that won’t…
in this sundown time, lights dimming, approach of what can only be a final day — I listen to my father’s cough, a growing symptom of heart failure, sensing the heavy strain each chest heave places on his now fragile body, feeling each cough as if it were my own. There is no getting better, no diet fix to ease congestion, no medicine to ease another symptom. He’s dying.
it could still be weeks a way, a few months, and of course I hope he makes a year. Time seems as fragile as he is right now…
friendliness by design — that we’ve evolved through cooperation, a common interest of self preservation, and more that we belong to a true sense of community, a clear point that we are always drawn to, as if knowing that we really, deeply, one.
this is the intimacy of reality, life, of particles drawn by force to be building blocks of our existence. Our very essence is one of attraction, an energy of togetherness. …
Of a lifetime:
it’s of a lifetime — and for however long this grace will hold. There is no call to speculate beyond this, for right now we are alive, aware, and anything more is simply an extension of this gift. This is the only moment that we’re promised, and knowing this brings a precious note to our attention. A lifetime is most truly measured by the quality of experience, by the depth of love we’ve given, and how freely we allow our authentic expression to be shown.
through this — a moment is indeed of a lifetime.
what we most truly are is a process of cooperation — of infinite seeming parts expressed as life in whole display. From the absolute of nothingness to the first hint of particles swirling to atomic structures, molecules giving form to cells and further still there comes a world of varied objects all held through common space.
existence lends itself to existence.
and even through the violence of survival there is the benefit of continuation — how one life is tied to the flourish of another. …