Thursday, November 27, 2008
Secrets
I see you from afar
Stepping back half a lifetime
Or more
Or less
You seemed a fragile soul
Brittle to the touch
Shards, pieces, "please don't shake"
Not handled with care
Living, and dying, in poetry
Parallel understanding
Searching, needing, reaching
Ever short
Cry yourself to sleep when you could
In the thirteenth hour
Life and death conjoin and diverge
Much to your chagrin
Blessed sleep eludes
An owl to show the way
Hoot-hooting a message from the dead
From the past
From the present
To live is to write, is to die, is to live
Sweet goodbyes
Even though unaware
A saving grace
The last good deed
Care taken to ensure small lives
Immortal youth
While still possible
Beating insanity's race
Before the thirteenth hour
The fine line traversed
The final deal sealed scarlet
Blood for blood dried and dust
The dead hold their secrets close
Opinions scatter
Tortured soul
Trapped, seeking release
Insanity's bleak and coloured scapes
Enlightened, ensnared, enslaved
The dead hold their secrets close
I started writing a poem "Handled with Care" (no that is not a typo, Handled is the intended word, I saw the phrase on a moving truck, it stuck) but it had no direction...about a week ago. It found direction and completed itself in light of my current reading and brief investigation of a poet that a friend turned me onto. I am not in a position to comment on any technical observations, other than she didn't seem to like punctuation...(unless that is the fault of the transcriber)...which suites me just fine [;^). Anyway, I like what I have read so far. I see where she is heading with her writing, impression only mind you, but I cannot describe it plainly, which gives rise to the reworked "Handled with Care"...re-titled to ...I don't know what yet as I don't think it is complete...."Secrets" maybe, to keep it short. Lots of gaping holes yet to fill, more reading but it is a start. Like a skeleton it needs some meat and skin to complete it, a project for another day after I have read everything there is to read.
The poet is Sylvia Plath. Suicide in '63. I won't go on about anything here as anyone who might be interested can find all the same stuff I have found by just searching the web.
Jeff
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Out of the Shadow
We walk in the shadow of who we think we are
Careful not to tread beyond the bounds of shade
Lest the light burn away our facade
Or to venture too deep into the dark
Should we meet something malign
This is the thin line of life
Neither dark nor light abound
Unsure shadows reveal nothing
Safety in the grey
Languishing as comfort numbs
Each day a new branch in the path
A new revelation awaits
Just beyond the border of dark
We see it, but cannot touch it
For fear of the sun
Thus the crux approaches
To know the light we must know the dark
Step away from our sure path
And chance the cold to endure the heat
One does not exist without the other
Brave steps need not falter
Loathing self pity ignored
Plunge into the icy depths
Secrets faced, released
Embrace the worst to know the best
Emerging from the pit, dark armour intact
A temporary shield to endure the light
Exposed by slow ablation
We take the path we dared not tread
From fear of success going to our head.
I thought I was over the hardest part of personal growth, the awakening. Yesterday made me realize that I have only taken the first few steps and that there is no real destination on this path. How can anyone truly say that they are complete or that they have arrived until the next day is past and the last fork taken to the very end.
Jeff.
Careful not to tread beyond the bounds of shade
Lest the light burn away our facade
Or to venture too deep into the dark
Should we meet something malign
This is the thin line of life
Neither dark nor light abound
Unsure shadows reveal nothing
Safety in the grey
Languishing as comfort numbs
Each day a new branch in the path
A new revelation awaits
Just beyond the border of dark
We see it, but cannot touch it
For fear of the sun
Thus the crux approaches
To know the light we must know the dark
Step away from our sure path
And chance the cold to endure the heat
One does not exist without the other
Brave steps need not falter
Loathing self pity ignored
Plunge into the icy depths
Secrets faced, released
Embrace the worst to know the best
Emerging from the pit, dark armour intact
A temporary shield to endure the light
Exposed by slow ablation
We take the path we dared not tread
From fear of success going to our head.
I thought I was over the hardest part of personal growth, the awakening. Yesterday made me realize that I have only taken the first few steps and that there is no real destination on this path. How can anyone truly say that they are complete or that they have arrived until the next day is past and the last fork taken to the very end.
Jeff.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Steadfast
Shell formed, calcium hardened
Years of accumulation
Cracks abound, filled with bitter resentment
Mortar of existence
This shell opens upon a new world
One of acceptance and peace
Tentative steps
Bold emergence
But this is not the last cruel joke
A facade, a play
Cloying in it's seduction
Lured into a sense of security
Unseen the whip lashes
Torture begins anew
Old sting all but forgotten
Newly searing in it's fresh malignant manner
Streaks of blood and tears
Familiar pain throbs
Refusing the sanctuary of the shell
Let flayed flesh rot where it falls
New wounds, new lessons learned
This is not of my making
It will not be my unmaking
I will not let it
I hear the whip lash
I listen to the flesh cry
I know the pain intimately
I remain steadfast in love
I Am.
I have nothing more to say about this one.
Years of accumulation
Cracks abound, filled with bitter resentment
Mortar of existence
This shell opens upon a new world
One of acceptance and peace
Tentative steps
Bold emergence
But this is not the last cruel joke
A facade, a play
Cloying in it's seduction
Lured into a sense of security
Unseen the whip lashes
Torture begins anew
Old sting all but forgotten
Newly searing in it's fresh malignant manner
Streaks of blood and tears
Familiar pain throbs
Refusing the sanctuary of the shell
Let flayed flesh rot where it falls
New wounds, new lessons learned
This is not of my making
It will not be my unmaking
I will not let it
I hear the whip lash
I listen to the flesh cry
I know the pain intimately
I remain steadfast in love
I Am.
I have nothing more to say about this one.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Mediocrity
Relaxing in front of the fire
Flames licking away another log
Day has not yet dawned
Stars bright as diamonds in the sun
Stillness in the cold outside
Memories of recent days flow
Staccato in the mind
Point and counter point
Good offsetting the not so good
Languishing in comfortable neutral
Each day a chance to rise above
Chance will be salvation
BAH!
There is no boon in chance
An empty dream
Recalling all that chance has scotched
Resolve failed
Will failed
Imagination failed
Corrupted by "what if"'s
Chance and mediocrity synonymous
But that is a digression
Today is a new day
As the stars fade
So too the derision fades
Looking forward to the dawn
Warming of the air
Next opportunity to tip the scales
Coaxing the good out of life
One second at a time
I load up the fire and sit expecting to fall asleep as the fire warms the room, to no avail. So I write about the moment to see what is really keeping me awake. It's always interesting to see what can be teased out of the subconscious when it is caught unawares and relaxed.
The past week has been a blur of paperwork that had I been procrastinating so it felt like I was coasting, relying on chance to spring some grand surprise upon me. I have come to know that chance springs no surprises, I just need to remember that. It shows it's true form in the final days when people reflect upon their life and realize that relying on chance has robbed them of their own direction and, while they may have been contend and satisfied, they never truly lived.
I had a question posed to me a few months ago, "what would you like people to remember of you, write a eulogy", or something similar. My response was something along the lines of "I didn't really have any great need to leave a mark to be remembered". I have been willing to live based on what is chanced upon and not leaving any mark as a result. I still do not feel a desire to leave a mark but perhaps grasping for more than chance will result in a larger footprint than had I continued to coast.
Chance exists, I do not dispute that. It is not good or bad in it's essence. Consider the simplest exhibition of chance in the flipping of a coin. On average, fipping a coin will result in roughly an even number of heads and tails appearing. So while flipping the coin of life, good and bad appear in roughly equal measures. It is not chance that sways the flip to favour one over the other, it is the will and the action to reach out and turn the coin to get what you desire. Sometimes it is not your will but someone else's will imposed to create their imbalance of good...so do you get their bad by default?
In mediocrity there are still imbalances within the whole. Someone is getting more than average and I am about to make sure that I join that group. My conscience nags me to consider others so I don't intend to force my good by pushing bad onto others, I doubt it works that way. Raising the level of good experienced, or at least felt, perhaps just adds one notch to the overall collective tempo of life. More good does not result in more bad somewhere else. It just means there is more good to pass around. Like love.
Perhaps good is just another expression of love anyway.
Jeff.
Flames licking away another log
Day has not yet dawned
Stars bright as diamonds in the sun
Stillness in the cold outside
Memories of recent days flow
Staccato in the mind
Point and counter point
Good offsetting the not so good
Languishing in comfortable neutral
Each day a chance to rise above
Chance will be salvation
BAH!
There is no boon in chance
An empty dream
Recalling all that chance has scotched
Resolve failed
Will failed
Imagination failed
Corrupted by "what if"'s
Chance and mediocrity synonymous
But that is a digression
Today is a new day
As the stars fade
So too the derision fades
Looking forward to the dawn
Warming of the air
Next opportunity to tip the scales
Coaxing the good out of life
One second at a time
I load up the fire and sit expecting to fall asleep as the fire warms the room, to no avail. So I write about the moment to see what is really keeping me awake. It's always interesting to see what can be teased out of the subconscious when it is caught unawares and relaxed.
The past week has been a blur of paperwork that had I been procrastinating so it felt like I was coasting, relying on chance to spring some grand surprise upon me. I have come to know that chance springs no surprises, I just need to remember that. It shows it's true form in the final days when people reflect upon their life and realize that relying on chance has robbed them of their own direction and, while they may have been contend and satisfied, they never truly lived.
I had a question posed to me a few months ago, "what would you like people to remember of you, write a eulogy", or something similar. My response was something along the lines of "I didn't really have any great need to leave a mark to be remembered". I have been willing to live based on what is chanced upon and not leaving any mark as a result. I still do not feel a desire to leave a mark but perhaps grasping for more than chance will result in a larger footprint than had I continued to coast.
Chance exists, I do not dispute that. It is not good or bad in it's essence. Consider the simplest exhibition of chance in the flipping of a coin. On average, fipping a coin will result in roughly an even number of heads and tails appearing. So while flipping the coin of life, good and bad appear in roughly equal measures. It is not chance that sways the flip to favour one over the other, it is the will and the action to reach out and turn the coin to get what you desire. Sometimes it is not your will but someone else's will imposed to create their imbalance of good...so do you get their bad by default?
In mediocrity there are still imbalances within the whole. Someone is getting more than average and I am about to make sure that I join that group. My conscience nags me to consider others so I don't intend to force my good by pushing bad onto others, I doubt it works that way. Raising the level of good experienced, or at least felt, perhaps just adds one notch to the overall collective tempo of life. More good does not result in more bad somewhere else. It just means there is more good to pass around. Like love.
Perhaps good is just another expression of love anyway.
Jeff.
Dream Interrupted
OK, so this is not a poem or anything terribly interesting. I still thought it worth noting.
I was lying on the couch in front of the fire nicely asleep after being up early doing a bit of writing...likely to follow later.... and WHAM!
My wife shakes me awake.
I was having a dream, I know it was a good dream too. I can't for the life of me remember even a moment of it though.
Ironically I was actually thinking this morning how I should have a little notebook beside the bed and a small light so when I wake and recall a dream I can jot a few thoughts down about it to recollect the dream later. Mostly for curiosity, perhaps some stuff to write about, maybe for the odd message. So the first thing I thought, besides why am I awake? was what was the terribly comfortable dream about? ...nothing, not even a vague notion.
So, dream busy lights. They would be cool. Just a little message...maybe just a "please do not disturb, dream in progress"...and followup "I'm dreaming so piss off!" once the shake sensor detects movement.
Should I apply for a patent now?
Jeff.
I was lying on the couch in front of the fire nicely asleep after being up early doing a bit of writing...likely to follow later.... and WHAM!
My wife shakes me awake.
I was having a dream, I know it was a good dream too. I can't for the life of me remember even a moment of it though.
Ironically I was actually thinking this morning how I should have a little notebook beside the bed and a small light so when I wake and recall a dream I can jot a few thoughts down about it to recollect the dream later. Mostly for curiosity, perhaps some stuff to write about, maybe for the odd message. So the first thing I thought, besides why am I awake? was what was the terribly comfortable dream about? ...nothing, not even a vague notion.
So, dream busy lights. They would be cool. Just a little message...maybe just a "please do not disturb, dream in progress"...and followup "I'm dreaming so piss off!" once the shake sensor detects movement.
Should I apply for a patent now?
Jeff.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Golden Gaze
Gazing at an open field
Snow covered
Copse of birch in the distance
The moon smiles down
Form familiar
Power unmistakable
As always, seeing more than letting on
Old friend refracted in the flakes
Diamonds beyond count
Magic in the night
A wolf howls in the distance, calling
My skin prickles in anticipation
The night seems brighter
The snow inviting
The howl echoes yet
I close my eyes
Primal urge
I feel a shift
Trees fly past
Rabbits scatter, deer bound away
Fear palpable, a taste in the air
No kill tonight
There is a oneness
Conjoined energies
Family force
The wolf calls yet again
Muzzle raised, howl returned
Excitment, thirst, desire
Flowing as liquid
Distance means nothing
Time does not exist
Run, steady, silent
A scent captured
Musk, sharp, familiar
Trail blazed ahead
Memories triggered
Home
Sharing
Duties
Death
Life
Golden gaze reflected
Meaning without words
We are one
There can be no return
What once was, is no more
With winter approaching I always look forward to hearing the wolves howling in the evening. We heat with wood so I often am outside around that time chopping or just bringing in wood. I always feel drawn by the howl, the clear cold night air carries the sound well, the glittering snow in the moonlight sets the atmosphere. A bit of magic happens right then. Somehow I feel it stirring my soul in a basic and primal way that cannot be duplicated by any human interaction.
If I close my eyes, for just a moment while the echoes of the call fade, I am the wolf. I sometimes wonder what might happen if I followed my instinct at that moment.
Jeff.
Snow covered
Copse of birch in the distance
The moon smiles down
Form familiar
Power unmistakable
As always, seeing more than letting on
Old friend refracted in the flakes
Diamonds beyond count
Magic in the night
A wolf howls in the distance, calling
My skin prickles in anticipation
The night seems brighter
The snow inviting
The howl echoes yet
I close my eyes
Primal urge
I feel a shift
Trees fly past
Rabbits scatter, deer bound away
Fear palpable, a taste in the air
No kill tonight
There is a oneness
Conjoined energies
Family force
The wolf calls yet again
Muzzle raised, howl returned
Excitment, thirst, desire
Flowing as liquid
Distance means nothing
Time does not exist
Run, steady, silent
A scent captured
Musk, sharp, familiar
Trail blazed ahead
Memories triggered
Home
Sharing
Duties
Death
Life
Golden gaze reflected
Meaning without words
We are one
There can be no return
What once was, is no more
With winter approaching I always look forward to hearing the wolves howling in the evening. We heat with wood so I often am outside around that time chopping or just bringing in wood. I always feel drawn by the howl, the clear cold night air carries the sound well, the glittering snow in the moonlight sets the atmosphere. A bit of magic happens right then. Somehow I feel it stirring my soul in a basic and primal way that cannot be duplicated by any human interaction.
If I close my eyes, for just a moment while the echoes of the call fade, I am the wolf. I sometimes wonder what might happen if I followed my instinct at that moment.
Jeff.
Friday, November 14, 2008
All In
Wind
Whir
Click...speed
Click...SPEED
Splash
Breath deep
Rhythmic
Warmth
Sweat
Salt
Click...speed
Passing scapes
Pressure
Standing
Power
Pump
Over the top
Click...speed
Alone
All in
Speed.
Hmmm....I can visualize the whole scene and the particular stretch of road that this meandering would be on. Open field to the right, spotted with cows. Forest on the left, maple, birch, bit of oak and some cedars. Fence in sad repair...new section put up last year. Over the top of a smallish hill, gearing up and taking off again. I would glance at the speedometer...45.
I wrote this a month ago, just goofing around, but I was missing my biking today as I have not been out...for about a month now. Today is perfect, warmish for the season, sunny, hardly a breeze...and I have to go driving into the city for some stuff. Life gets in the road...yet again.
I started the email with "I know, I get a little carried away when I go "all in" with anything, this is just my way ..." and eventually I ended up writing the above jotting..."all in" was not the topic or even really part of the plan, it just fell in place and seemed to fit.
Whir
Click...speed
Click...SPEED
Splash
Breath deep
Rhythmic
Warmth
Sweat
Salt
Click...speed
Passing scapes
Pressure
Standing
Power
Pump
Over the top
Click...speed
Alone
All in
Speed.
Hmmm....I can visualize the whole scene and the particular stretch of road that this meandering would be on. Open field to the right, spotted with cows. Forest on the left, maple, birch, bit of oak and some cedars. Fence in sad repair...new section put up last year. Over the top of a smallish hill, gearing up and taking off again. I would glance at the speedometer...45.
I wrote this a month ago, just goofing around, but I was missing my biking today as I have not been out...for about a month now. Today is perfect, warmish for the season, sunny, hardly a breeze...and I have to go driving into the city for some stuff. Life gets in the road...yet again.
I started the email with "I know, I get a little carried away when I go "all in" with anything, this is just my way ..." and eventually I ended up writing the above jotting..."all in" was not the topic or even really part of the plan, it just fell in place and seemed to fit.
Jeff.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Un-named
Suspended in time I try to draw a breath
It doesn't come, no need, only desire
A corporeal habit only
Flash of light, hint of colour in the white
Intensity beyond bearing
Negative image as the burn remains
Was there a form? Just a blob of nothingness?
I cannot discern
Wonder, awe, adoration, imagination
Why can't I breath?
Why do I yet live?
Purpose, undiscovered.
I float above the ground
Leaf blown by the wind
In the deep of the ocean
Waves pound in the distance
Amplified by the cold
Gales howl, unheard
Currents carry me
Caressing in their madness
My madness
Why can't I breath?
Forget breath, it is not needed
Feel the power, let it feed me
Sustenance, vitality, life, death.
Tumbling toward the abyss
Darkness beyond thought
Cold beyond feeling
Why am I drawn here?
Purpose
How can there be purpose in these depths
Nothing human can survive
Crushed, frozen, senseless
I know the laws, I've broken many already
Man will not change, he does not know...
What he does not know
I catch a glimpse in this darkness
I cannot tell
It surrounds so completely
So utterly and complete as to release me of my shell
Why can I not breath?
I have no lungs
Nor blood to carry the life.
I am free and yet trapped here
I still do not resist, curiosity is my better
Deeper yet
Colder, darker
As if this was not enough already, there is more
No reference, darkness so blindingly intense
Can this be real?
This darkness is not the void once thought
Everything and nothing in concurrence
I sense the end, or the beginning
Returned in an instant
I draw a breath, sweet pain it feels now
I open my eyes, rough light grinds them raw
I feel a sadness
Cold darkness missed
Breathless wonder
Velvet arms of the deep
Struggle to recall
Forgotten before remembered
Lost as a breath exhaled
Yearning remains
Un-named.
It doesn't come, no need, only desire
A corporeal habit only
Flash of light, hint of colour in the white
Intensity beyond bearing
Negative image as the burn remains
Was there a form? Just a blob of nothingness?
I cannot discern
Wonder, awe, adoration, imagination
Why can't I breath?
Why do I yet live?
Purpose, undiscovered.
I float above the ground
Leaf blown by the wind
In the deep of the ocean
Waves pound in the distance
Amplified by the cold
Gales howl, unheard
Currents carry me
Caressing in their madness
My madness
Why can't I breath?
Forget breath, it is not needed
Feel the power, let it feed me
Sustenance, vitality, life, death.
Tumbling toward the abyss
Darkness beyond thought
Cold beyond feeling
Why am I drawn here?
Purpose
How can there be purpose in these depths
Nothing human can survive
Crushed, frozen, senseless
I know the laws, I've broken many already
Man will not change, he does not know...
What he does not know
I catch a glimpse in this darkness
I cannot tell
It surrounds so completely
So utterly and complete as to release me of my shell
Why can I not breath?
I have no lungs
Nor blood to carry the life.
I am free and yet trapped here
I still do not resist, curiosity is my better
Deeper yet
Colder, darker
As if this was not enough already, there is more
No reference, darkness so blindingly intense
Can this be real?
This darkness is not the void once thought
Everything and nothing in concurrence
I sense the end, or the beginning
Returned in an instant
I draw a breath, sweet pain it feels now
I open my eyes, rough light grinds them raw
I feel a sadness
Cold darkness missed
Breathless wonder
Velvet arms of the deep
Struggle to recall
Forgotten before remembered
Lost as a breath exhaled
Yearning remains
Un-named.
Of all the nightmare themes I have ever had this would be amoung the worst fears, claustrophobia and suffocation. I am not fearful of those in reality though. I SCUBA dive and this reminds me, afterward, of a particular dive that I did inside a sunken overturned wooden ship. Tiny lights probing the thick blackness while exploring the unknown. Upon turning the dive and on the return trip out I turned off my light and made the journey back in the dark, feeling my way along the bottom and going by memory to find the path out. There is no darkness on land that can remotely compare to the thick blackness under water. Every breath is thunder in your ears and makes it obvious that the tenuous connection you have with life is relying on that tank and hoses on your back as well as your judgement. You feel the pressure the whole time as each breath is a conscious effort. Every exhale is distinctly marked by the sound of the regulator in your mouth and the explosion of bubbles as they race up to their own freedom above. Even your ears are filled with water so everything that you hear is strangely distorted as if listening to sounds through a sea shell.
It is exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. Lose your head and you lose your life, it is that simple down there. Very sobering experience. I love SCUBA diving, it just doesn't fit my life schedule right now.
I wrote this after supper. I sat down and typed the first words then let myself go. I do not really know if my little word association earlier had any real bearing on this or not, too hard to tell but there was some darkness in the middle of it somewhere, dreams... it doesn't really matter.
I re-read it only now out loud. Someone mentioned enjambment, having to do with little or no punctuation and it allows meaning within meaning and changes the tempo. I re-read three times and used differing implied punctuation each time, first the line breaks. Then without, once more shifting commas and periods in my head. I catch different meanings and implications. Some are directly contradictory, some are complimentary, some just shift the focus to another word.
I like the free form this allows and I considered trying to punctuate but I cannot. I choose not to choose the meanings, leaving it as fluid as the water in which I am whelmed. [;^)
Jeff.
Word exercise...or whatever
Tonight I was making dinner, rather late, and my mind was half on the task as I was wanting to write something...anything. I have found that is the worst time for me to try writing so far in my sort writing career (right). Normally I need to write and it flows, wanting to write is different. So I thought I might try a little experiment.
I grabbed the nearest piece of paper, it was actually a full sheet of lined paper, a novel idea for me as most of my paper might be an envelope, the back of some cast off homework sheet, torn bottoms of grocery lists...you get the picture. So, pen in hand, think of something to write... dinner being on my mind I start with the first three words then walk away stumped and disappointed.
Food, taste, sweet
Well, I was munching on a carrot stick, stands to reason. Wasn't what I anticipated so I rolled with what I started, word association, at least words that come to mind perhaps without real association. I decided to see how many lines I could get before repeating a word.
solitude, in-attention
tension, strength
weakness, numbers
packs, herds, meat
milk, pudding, dessert
meal, breakfast, sunrise
light, shadows, dreams
nightmares, horror, monstrous
waking, noise, blaring
traffic, flow, colour
red, blood, war
poppies, fields, running
moving, stretch, weight
metal, iron, rust
age, time, father
family, dogs, food
It was over too quickly. I was interested to note that the first word was also the last word.
Once I got to traffic I forgot that I started with food as re-reading for reference between tasks only extended to the immediately previous line. Dogs, you would have to know our dogs and their rabid fixation with food...almost nasty...but they are fun little dogs when they are not eating. We have a pug and a not pug. These are not you standard pug style dogs though, they are very lean.
I am not sure this was productive but I do see some interesting themes, even if only a few words that perhaps could be the idea of a poem.
This reminds me of some of the silly things we did in highschool for creative writing...of course none of them made sense at the time, or perhaps I just wasn't interested.
For the record, I don't plan on posting all exercises I might do, I just thought this one was new to me and perhaps novel. Actually, writing exercise for the sake of writing is new to me. I have tons to learn I expect.
Final insight:
After jotting a tidbit about dogs and food I notice that I have entire paragraphs behind every word or related group of words that were there when the word was placed on the page. Now I truly see the power of words, they tickle memories and tease them out when you have no idea what the memory might be even though they may have been the reason for the word to appear in the first place.
All of a sudden I have much to say about this but no time to do so. Life gets in the road once again.
Jeff.
I grabbed the nearest piece of paper, it was actually a full sheet of lined paper, a novel idea for me as most of my paper might be an envelope, the back of some cast off homework sheet, torn bottoms of grocery lists...you get the picture. So, pen in hand, think of something to write... dinner being on my mind I start with the first three words then walk away stumped and disappointed.
Food, taste, sweet
Well, I was munching on a carrot stick, stands to reason. Wasn't what I anticipated so I rolled with what I started, word association, at least words that come to mind perhaps without real association. I decided to see how many lines I could get before repeating a word.
solitude, in-attention
tension, strength
weakness, numbers
packs, herds, meat
milk, pudding, dessert
meal, breakfast, sunrise
light, shadows, dreams
nightmares, horror, monstrous
waking, noise, blaring
traffic, flow, colour
red, blood, war
poppies, fields, running
moving, stretch, weight
metal, iron, rust
age, time, father
family, dogs, food
It was over too quickly. I was interested to note that the first word was also the last word.
Once I got to traffic I forgot that I started with food as re-reading for reference between tasks only extended to the immediately previous line. Dogs, you would have to know our dogs and their rabid fixation with food...almost nasty...but they are fun little dogs when they are not eating. We have a pug and a not pug. These are not you standard pug style dogs though, they are very lean.
I am not sure this was productive but I do see some interesting themes, even if only a few words that perhaps could be the idea of a poem.
This reminds me of some of the silly things we did in highschool for creative writing...of course none of them made sense at the time, or perhaps I just wasn't interested.
For the record, I don't plan on posting all exercises I might do, I just thought this one was new to me and perhaps novel. Actually, writing exercise for the sake of writing is new to me. I have tons to learn I expect.
Final insight:
After jotting a tidbit about dogs and food I notice that I have entire paragraphs behind every word or related group of words that were there when the word was placed on the page. Now I truly see the power of words, they tickle memories and tease them out when you have no idea what the memory might be even though they may have been the reason for the word to appear in the first place.
All of a sudden I have much to say about this but no time to do so. Life gets in the road once again.
Jeff.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Stay the Course
Hold the rudder!
Stay the course!
Mind the yaw!
Storms may try to sweep us away.
Let us instead harness the wind
In sails snapping, spinnaker billowing,
Run before the gale.
Let it sweep us after all
As it may take us to uncharted waters
Where we shall break new waves
And tempt the deep with our Souls
While plying the worth of our salt together.
I happen to have a desire to buy a sailboat and do a little sailing...OK, so a lot of sailing. I just haven't managed to talk Kathy into it yet...that and I haven't come up with the money for it yet either, that will happen as it needs perhaps. I tried to insert some punctuation this time. It feels odd to do that now but I understand how it can direct the flow for a reader now that I have read a few other's poems.
This was another email trigger as I send a message to my retreat group. I almost always write the jotting at the end, a kind of wrap up as I complete the thoughts. This one I finished as follows: (oh, another group is on retreat as I type this. Kathy is in the group, she is my vested interest referred to)
"Here I sit, reliving the recent past. Tears in my eyes. Happy for those this weekend, even though I may have a vested interest I somehow feel that I would feel the same for a group of strangers... as I once did. They are mixed tears, I must admit. I think of what I went through to get where I am now. I think of new enlightenment for others. I think of our group and I miss the combined energy of the people, the place and the time. I think of the energy that we still share and realize that nothing can change our experience and nothing can change our course except us."
Jeff.
Stay the course!
Mind the yaw!
Storms may try to sweep us away.
Let us instead harness the wind
In sails snapping, spinnaker billowing,
Run before the gale.
Let it sweep us after all
As it may take us to uncharted waters
Where we shall break new waves
And tempt the deep with our Souls
While plying the worth of our salt together.
I happen to have a desire to buy a sailboat and do a little sailing...OK, so a lot of sailing. I just haven't managed to talk Kathy into it yet...that and I haven't come up with the money for it yet either, that will happen as it needs perhaps. I tried to insert some punctuation this time. It feels odd to do that now but I understand how it can direct the flow for a reader now that I have read a few other's poems.
This was another email trigger as I send a message to my retreat group. I almost always write the jotting at the end, a kind of wrap up as I complete the thoughts. This one I finished as follows: (oh, another group is on retreat as I type this. Kathy is in the group, she is my vested interest referred to)
"Here I sit, reliving the recent past. Tears in my eyes. Happy for those this weekend, even though I may have a vested interest I somehow feel that I would feel the same for a group of strangers... as I once did. They are mixed tears, I must admit. I think of what I went through to get where I am now. I think of new enlightenment for others. I think of our group and I miss the combined energy of the people, the place and the time. I think of the energy that we still share and realize that nothing can change our experience and nothing can change our course except us."
Jeff.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Serenity...is this plagiarism?
This I skimmed off of an email I sent yesterday. I wasn't going to post it but thought that someone may get something out of it today...perhaps.
Something just occured to me, the "order for an early spring" and the tendency to complain about the weather and anything else that shows up on our radar reminded me of something. If everyone stopped complaining about the things that they have no control or influence over, how much negative energy would be eliminated form the world? Then, after seeing the results of that little experiment, if they stopped complaining about the things that they DO have control or influence over and started making the decisions and performing the actions to correct those issues, how much positive energy would be released upon the world? The last step, rather than complaining about the first group of issues, start appreciating them for what they are, trials, tribulations, tests and hurdles...they are all learning experiences.
This puts me in mind of the little verse that I am sure everyone has heard or read.
God,
grant me the strength to change the things that I can
grant me the serenity to accept what I cannot change
grant me the wisdom to know the difference
(I do not know the author and I am not even sure that the words are correct, but that was the gist of it. I always thought of it as a little tongue in cheek.)
I think that this little request does not grant us what we wish as direct as we might wish, not that this is a news flash to any of us. I would propose a change to the verse to the following:
God,
Grant me the opportunity to experience your lessons for what they are.
Through them let me develop the strength to deal with what I can change.
Through them let me achieve the serenity to accept what I cannot yet change.
Through them let me gain the wisdom to recognize the changes that may be needed,
To find my path toward happiness
While it might appear to say the same thing, most people might say so as they look no deeper then the surface meaning. The first asks for the silver platter. The second makes it a partnership, a journey. Opportunities, lessons, development, achievement, gaining, finding. We need to take a part in this journey and use those six words to temper our desire for a quick fix. This is a small part of the big picture but it is far less cheeky than wanting it now. Funny that it ended up being six...still showing up regularly.
There are other more subtle meanings in there, but each have to come to their own conclusions about what they read.
BTW, should anyone have any off the cuff comments about what the significance of six may be, as I see it very often lately, I wouldn't mind reading them.
Oh, I should clarify, I refer to plagiarism with respect to the verse, the email and the rewrite are mine.
Jeff.
Something just occured to me, the "order for an early spring" and the tendency to complain about the weather and anything else that shows up on our radar reminded me of something. If everyone stopped complaining about the things that they have no control or influence over, how much negative energy would be eliminated form the world? Then, after seeing the results of that little experiment, if they stopped complaining about the things that they DO have control or influence over and started making the decisions and performing the actions to correct those issues, how much positive energy would be released upon the world? The last step, rather than complaining about the first group of issues, start appreciating them for what they are, trials, tribulations, tests and hurdles...they are all learning experiences.
This puts me in mind of the little verse that I am sure everyone has heard or read.
God,
grant me the strength to change the things that I can
grant me the serenity to accept what I cannot change
grant me the wisdom to know the difference
(I do not know the author and I am not even sure that the words are correct, but that was the gist of it. I always thought of it as a little tongue in cheek.)
I think that this little request does not grant us what we wish as direct as we might wish, not that this is a news flash to any of us. I would propose a change to the verse to the following:
God,
Grant me the opportunity to experience your lessons for what they are.
Through them let me develop the strength to deal with what I can change.
Through them let me achieve the serenity to accept what I cannot yet change.
Through them let me gain the wisdom to recognize the changes that may be needed,
To find my path toward happiness
While it might appear to say the same thing, most people might say so as they look no deeper then the surface meaning. The first asks for the silver platter. The second makes it a partnership, a journey. Opportunities, lessons, development, achievement, gaining, finding. We need to take a part in this journey and use those six words to temper our desire for a quick fix. This is a small part of the big picture but it is far less cheeky than wanting it now. Funny that it ended up being six...still showing up regularly.
There are other more subtle meanings in there, but each have to come to their own conclusions about what they read.
BTW, should anyone have any off the cuff comments about what the significance of six may be, as I see it very often lately, I wouldn't mind reading them.
Oh, I should clarify, I refer to plagiarism with respect to the verse, the email and the rewrite are mine.
Jeff.
Lines in the sand
Lines are drawn in the sand
The sand shifts
The lines move
An intricate pattern emerges
Not of my making
I am bound none the less
Duty, responsibility
The sand is part of me
I let them form as they did
Not realizing the impact
Gradual as the shifting may have been
Magnified over time
Anger, resentment
Decades have pasted since the first grain fell
How many are left before the pattern is complete?
How long until the pattern cannot be undone?
Can it be cleared away as in sand on a beach?
Let the tide take it away
Washed clean until the next pattern begins
A new pattern
A new artist
A new life
These lines in the sand start as a confrontational mark, the classic line but shifted into a life pattern. Bound like a demon in a pentagram. I now reconsider the end, washed away, perhaps I should talk about nudging them where I want them as if a redo is not really what is needed. I know why it is desired though, a redo would feel like a whole new life starting.
Interesting, pentacles...I wrote this a week ago. I requested a friend pull a tarot card for me without any knowledge of any of my issues except what may have been read here, a couple of days ago. Ten of pentacles, reversed. For any who know the cards the meaning is pretty accurate as it ties business and family together in my case. The reverse is not so much a reversal of the meaning as a diminishing of the good energy implied by the card, roadblocks and delays as opposed to failure. Even if the reverse orientation meant reversal of fortune I would choose otherwise.
I don't choose to put much stock in the cards or the readings, accurate they may be they will not change the course of my life. Perhaps if taken seriously they can, at the very least, give people cause to stop and consider their life direction. While the cards may or may not give true direction they can lead the individual to come to their own conclusions with respect to that part of their life that the reading may pertain to. That is not such a bad thing.
For myself, I have found my center and therefore my direction can only be true. Where else can you go once you pause to consider which direction to take from there?
"I am the center of my circle of life and from that point I cannot err."
Jeff.
The sand shifts
The lines move
An intricate pattern emerges
Not of my making
I am bound none the less
Duty, responsibility
The sand is part of me
I let them form as they did
Not realizing the impact
Gradual as the shifting may have been
Magnified over time
Anger, resentment
Decades have pasted since the first grain fell
How many are left before the pattern is complete?
How long until the pattern cannot be undone?
Can it be cleared away as in sand on a beach?
Let the tide take it away
Washed clean until the next pattern begins
A new pattern
A new artist
A new life
These lines in the sand start as a confrontational mark, the classic line but shifted into a life pattern. Bound like a demon in a pentagram. I now reconsider the end, washed away, perhaps I should talk about nudging them where I want them as if a redo is not really what is needed. I know why it is desired though, a redo would feel like a whole new life starting.
Interesting, pentacles...I wrote this a week ago. I requested a friend pull a tarot card for me without any knowledge of any of my issues except what may have been read here, a couple of days ago. Ten of pentacles, reversed. For any who know the cards the meaning is pretty accurate as it ties business and family together in my case. The reverse is not so much a reversal of the meaning as a diminishing of the good energy implied by the card, roadblocks and delays as opposed to failure. Even if the reverse orientation meant reversal of fortune I would choose otherwise.
I don't choose to put much stock in the cards or the readings, accurate they may be they will not change the course of my life. Perhaps if taken seriously they can, at the very least, give people cause to stop and consider their life direction. While the cards may or may not give true direction they can lead the individual to come to their own conclusions with respect to that part of their life that the reading may pertain to. That is not such a bad thing.
For myself, I have found my center and therefore my direction can only be true. Where else can you go once you pause to consider which direction to take from there?
"I am the center of my circle of life and from that point I cannot err."
Jeff.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Shift of scope
I have been debating how much to blog... poetry, personal stuff, insights, outsights....where to draw the line?
Seeing as there is not a lot of reader traffic here I may expand a bit in my blog meanderings, see what it feels like. I am not trying to get more readers, ultimately I couldn't care less whether anyone reads or not as I consider just turning this into a private blog rather than leaving it public anyway. Although there area few that I would like to still have read.
I'll see what happens first. I am testing a comfort zone here, that is my primary goal of blogging anything at all. The trading blog was mostly a sort of techincal layman's writing so it hardly counts, although it did introduce me to the various aspects of blogging.
Interesting note, I tried to google to force a first page result...just to see if people might end up here on a search, it doesn't look too likely as I couldn't get one until entering the blog title. So I am safe for the time being I suppose.
I find that I am paper journaling for my deepish stuff and I have been writing more poetry (that still sounds funny. As I type "poetry" my fingers still want to type "jottings"...go figure) than I intend in some electronic format here or there. I want to get back to using ink and paper. It seems more real that way. Strangely enough I find that I can squeeze time here and there to work on something online easier than opening my journal or finding a scrap of paper and some flat surface to write on. I'm not so sure that is a good thing.
Perhaps it is not good or bad as both methods produce a slightly different writing experience. I hadn't really noticed at first that I was writing poems...oh heck, jottings...as part of emails or at the end of a journal entry. They were becoming a part of a closing statement for the thought process of the moment. I have gone back and peeled away the writing to copy here, some anyway, and found that part of the email or note leading up was almost and integral part of the jotting.
Please don't get me wrong, I don't write about writing as if I know what I am doing or as if anything I write is any good on a technical or any other level. It speaks to me and I know that at least some of it has touched a few others, to me that is all that counts.
So, this is my first blog entry that starts my change of scope for my blogging, no jotting attached. Although I almost feel like I need to write something more about this.
BTW, I see that there is a new president today. That is about as much import I assign to the event as far as it afffecting my life...I could always be wrong though. I hesitate to name him as I am not looking for a bunch of hits from people looking for B.O. results today.
Jeff.
Seeing as there is not a lot of reader traffic here I may expand a bit in my blog meanderings, see what it feels like. I am not trying to get more readers, ultimately I couldn't care less whether anyone reads or not as I consider just turning this into a private blog rather than leaving it public anyway. Although there area few that I would like to still have read.
I'll see what happens first. I am testing a comfort zone here, that is my primary goal of blogging anything at all. The trading blog was mostly a sort of techincal layman's writing so it hardly counts, although it did introduce me to the various aspects of blogging.
Interesting note, I tried to google to force a first page result...just to see if people might end up here on a search, it doesn't look too likely as I couldn't get one until entering the blog title. So I am safe for the time being I suppose.
I find that I am paper journaling for my deepish stuff and I have been writing more poetry (that still sounds funny. As I type "poetry" my fingers still want to type "jottings"...go figure) than I intend in some electronic format here or there. I want to get back to using ink and paper. It seems more real that way. Strangely enough I find that I can squeeze time here and there to work on something online easier than opening my journal or finding a scrap of paper and some flat surface to write on. I'm not so sure that is a good thing.
Perhaps it is not good or bad as both methods produce a slightly different writing experience. I hadn't really noticed at first that I was writing poems...oh heck, jottings...as part of emails or at the end of a journal entry. They were becoming a part of a closing statement for the thought process of the moment. I have gone back and peeled away the writing to copy here, some anyway, and found that part of the email or note leading up was almost and integral part of the jotting.
Please don't get me wrong, I don't write about writing as if I know what I am doing or as if anything I write is any good on a technical or any other level. It speaks to me and I know that at least some of it has touched a few others, to me that is all that counts.
So, this is my first blog entry that starts my change of scope for my blogging, no jotting attached. Although I almost feel like I need to write something more about this.
BTW, I see that there is a new president today. That is about as much import I assign to the event as far as it afffecting my life...I could always be wrong though. I hesitate to name him as I am not looking for a bunch of hits from people looking for B.O. results today.
Jeff.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Solitude
Everything seems quiet
No traffic whine
No crowd drone
No planes overhead
Or is it?
Not as much quiet, as solitude
The noise of man means nothing
Here to there and there to here
Nothing, really
The noise of nature contradicts us
Here to there is survival
Migration, gathering, hunting, fleeing
There to here
Returning, mating, nesting, raising
Man's bustle does not compare
As much as we are part
We are separate
Except in solitude
Here we are many connected as one
We have but to listen to hear the meaning
We have but to watch to see the message
We have but to feel to understand the purpose
We are not as transient as led to believe
The connection is tenuous but it still exists
In solitude we find the key
For in our noise we are many
For in our noise we are connected as one
There is no lock
No need for a key
Listen, watch, feel
In our world solitude need not be sought after
It need not be bought
Solitude is found within
Anytime of our choosing
Where I live have a place on the property where I cannot hear the road that is 2kms away, when the wind is right. At those times I have found some of the solitude that I needed to survive.... maybe survive is too strong a word, cope may be better. Anyone can survive but they are not always alive. When I wrote this one I was just standing around in the "quiet zone" and listening to the nature sounds and determining what they might be...as compared to man's noise (I can hardly call what we make sounds... it's more often noise).
Later, about a week, I picked up a book in a Chapters store entitled "Solitude". It was a journal (edited) of a fellow's experience spending one year by himself on an island in Patagonia. The only contact he had was email once a month. I read fast so I scanned some of the parts of the book randomly. I read the "punch line" where he finds that the solitude he sought, and got, was not all that it is cracked up to be...I figured he should know. I plan on buying the book but I had used up my book allowance for the visit already (I gave mine to Kathy as she wanted a more expensive book). He has been searching for his solitude since 1970. I figure if this fellow has taken this long and gone to great lengths to find his solitude and he still has not really found it...then perhaps he has been looking in the wrong places.
Long and short is that true solitude has nothing to do with nature and more to do with how we perceive our surroundings at any given time. I am sure that some can find their solitude in the busiest situations without a hint of what most of us might call nature. I did not realize this until reading my poem just now.
Solitude is a state of being. It is found when you know where to look. Nature is a tool, only a means to an end that we use to help us find that inner self, our center.... the point from which all else is referenced.
Solitude = Solitary Attitude.
Jeff.
No traffic whine
No crowd drone
No planes overhead
Or is it?
Not as much quiet, as solitude
The noise of man means nothing
Here to there and there to here
Nothing, really
The noise of nature contradicts us
Here to there is survival
Migration, gathering, hunting, fleeing
There to here
Returning, mating, nesting, raising
Man's bustle does not compare
As much as we are part
We are separate
Except in solitude
Here we are many connected as one
We have but to listen to hear the meaning
We have but to watch to see the message
We have but to feel to understand the purpose
We are not as transient as led to believe
The connection is tenuous but it still exists
In solitude we find the key
For in our noise we are many
For in our noise we are connected as one
There is no lock
No need for a key
Listen, watch, feel
In our world solitude need not be sought after
It need not be bought
Solitude is found within
Anytime of our choosing
Where I live have a place on the property where I cannot hear the road that is 2kms away, when the wind is right. At those times I have found some of the solitude that I needed to survive.... maybe survive is too strong a word, cope may be better. Anyone can survive but they are not always alive. When I wrote this one I was just standing around in the "quiet zone" and listening to the nature sounds and determining what they might be...as compared to man's noise (I can hardly call what we make sounds... it's more often noise).
Later, about a week, I picked up a book in a Chapters store entitled "Solitude". It was a journal (edited) of a fellow's experience spending one year by himself on an island in Patagonia. The only contact he had was email once a month. I read fast so I scanned some of the parts of the book randomly. I read the "punch line" where he finds that the solitude he sought, and got, was not all that it is cracked up to be...I figured he should know. I plan on buying the book but I had used up my book allowance for the visit already (I gave mine to Kathy as she wanted a more expensive book). He has been searching for his solitude since 1970. I figure if this fellow has taken this long and gone to great lengths to find his solitude and he still has not really found it...then perhaps he has been looking in the wrong places.
Long and short is that true solitude has nothing to do with nature and more to do with how we perceive our surroundings at any given time. I am sure that some can find their solitude in the busiest situations without a hint of what most of us might call nature. I did not realize this until reading my poem just now.
Solitude is a state of being. It is found when you know where to look. Nature is a tool, only a means to an end that we use to help us find that inner self, our center.... the point from which all else is referenced.
Solitude = Solitary Attitude.
Jeff.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
The Prize, or The Search
I feel larger than my shell
How do I remain contained?
I do not
Can people not see me outside of myself?
My aura, my chakra, my Soul
It escapes in spirals and waves
Tendrils of my Essence
I do not feel like retrieving them
They search
They have trouble finding what they seek
I release them to continue
Seeking and not finding concerns me
What is so important to be hidden so well?
I look inside for answers
They are there
Ignore the form
Break the rules
Shed the trappings of human existance
Free the Soul
Nothing is truly hidden
I must continue for I am driven
I find what I do not look for
Like baubles found, once thought lost
That tells much about the real prize
Then I consider...
Is there such a prize?
Is my desire to find, only a human construct?
Perhaps there is nothing more than to find myself
Nothing more than freedom of spirit
Nothing more?
Another corporeal thought.
What more could there be?
Nothing more.
Death will reveal the rest
In it's due course
I am not ready for that great journey
So I search for that which cannot be found
I reach out with my Soul and touch
I touch the people that I find who may be searching also
I touch without touching
We are like baubles found
Once thought lost
We are all the prize
"I am still immersed in my own internal process. I have embraced my writing as a new part of me and yet it still feels like a release, I do hope that does not change. I begin to wonder how I can remain contained "
That was the trigger, the word "contained".
I cannot shake the feeling that I have described in this poem. It took writing another email to let me feel the ending as I stumbled on, "So I search for that which cannot be found". I am not sure whether this is about the search or the prize as they are so intertwined...finding the prize does not end the search....and the search was not really for the prize in the first place.
I hope never to shake this feeling to be honest.
Jeff.
How do I remain contained?
I do not
Can people not see me outside of myself?
My aura, my chakra, my Soul
It escapes in spirals and waves
Tendrils of my Essence
I do not feel like retrieving them
They search
They have trouble finding what they seek
I release them to continue
Seeking and not finding concerns me
What is so important to be hidden so well?
I look inside for answers
They are there
Ignore the form
Break the rules
Shed the trappings of human existance
Free the Soul
Nothing is truly hidden
I must continue for I am driven
I find what I do not look for
Like baubles found, once thought lost
That tells much about the real prize
Then I consider...
Is there such a prize?
Is my desire to find, only a human construct?
Perhaps there is nothing more than to find myself
Nothing more than freedom of spirit
Nothing more?
Another corporeal thought.
What more could there be?
Nothing more.
Death will reveal the rest
In it's due course
I am not ready for that great journey
So I search for that which cannot be found
I reach out with my Soul and touch
I touch the people that I find who may be searching also
I touch without touching
We are like baubles found
Once thought lost
We are all the prize
"I am still immersed in my own internal process. I have embraced my writing as a new part of me and yet it still feels like a release, I do hope that does not change. I begin to wonder how I can remain contained "
That was the trigger, the word "contained".
I cannot shake the feeling that I have described in this poem. It took writing another email to let me feel the ending as I stumbled on, "So I search for that which cannot be found". I am not sure whether this is about the search or the prize as they are so intertwined...finding the prize does not end the search....and the search was not really for the prize in the first place.
I hope never to shake this feeling to be honest.
Jeff.
The last rose
The killing frost has passed already
The leaves have all but fallen completely
The last stragglers hanging by a thread
Not really alive
But not yet dead
The last apples are harvested
Gardens are brown and withering
Plans for winter snow are in the air
I wander in this desolate garden
I recall the splendid glory past
I breathe the musty air
I imagine the smell of a rose
Sweet, mellow, lingering
I feel the soft petals on my finger tips
It seems so real in my mind
I realize that this is no dream
As here before me is the last rose
It was no imagination of mine
or was it...
I do not recall the rose here moments ago
Is this a conjuring?
I bend
I see the intricate pattern of opening petals
Ivory and pure
Smell like mid summer garden
Feel the velvet touch of the petals
This is no ordinary rose
A rose of magic to survive the killing frost
I share this with others I love
That they may appreciate the essence
That we may share the last rose
And appreciate it's beauty
Together.
The leaves have all but fallen completely
The last stragglers hanging by a thread
Not really alive
But not yet dead
The last apples are harvested
Gardens are brown and withering
Plans for winter snow are in the air
I wander in this desolate garden
I recall the splendid glory past
I breathe the musty air
I imagine the smell of a rose
Sweet, mellow, lingering
I feel the soft petals on my finger tips
It seems so real in my mind
I realize that this is no dream
As here before me is the last rose
It was no imagination of mine
or was it...
I do not recall the rose here moments ago
Is this a conjuring?
I bend
I see the intricate pattern of opening petals
Ivory and pure
Smell like mid summer garden
Feel the velvet touch of the petals
This is no ordinary rose
A rose of magic to survive the killing frost
I share this with others I love
That they may appreciate the essence
That we may share the last rose
And appreciate it's beauty
Together.
The last rose of summer. It was a beautiful ivory rose and smelled like no other. I stopped, smelled the rose, I stopped my daughter and let her smell the rose. I stopped my wife and let her enjoy the aroma. I almost cut it to bring inside but chose to leave it as a sign of resistance against the frost of fall. I wrote a single line on a scrap of paper to return to later to expand upon. "Stop and smell the rose", as cliche as this sounds. This was written immediately after the "Choice" in the previous post....in the same email in fact. The rose that appeared in the Choice reminded me about the line I had written before and it was the right time to finish it.
I actually wanted this to have been a piece about the end of things when I first jotted down the single line. I was prepared for desolation, sorrow so great that it could not be survived. My spirit has chosen a different path for this thought and I am glad. The last rose should never be an ending but always a beginning, so this is not so much a poem about smelling the roses as it is a description of a last rose and perhaps about the power of imagination...I am sure that theme may appear elsewhere.
Jeff
Choice
We live this life but once
It is what we make it
Hard, cold, short and bitter
All is a choice
Everything
Once we understand this truth
Life also becomes what we wish for
Forgiving, warm, long and loving
Do not wait for the stop sign
Pause while the choice is yours to make
Smell the rose now lest it be your last
For all life now will end
Let us choose the path it follows
And in turn the quality it can achieve
I met a fellow that I see once a year at a conference in Toronto. Last year he didn't feel so well at the last conference and had to leave early. Little did I know until this year that that was the beginning of a fight for his life against a strain of flesh eating disease, I cannot recall which one. After five weeks in intensive care, four months in the hospital he has a different view of what is important.
This gives me more than pause for thought.
Jeff.
It is what we make it
Hard, cold, short and bitter
All is a choice
Everything
Once we understand this truth
Life also becomes what we wish for
Forgiving, warm, long and loving
Do not wait for the stop sign
Pause while the choice is yours to make
Smell the rose now lest it be your last
For all life now will end
Let us choose the path it follows
And in turn the quality it can achieve
I met a fellow that I see once a year at a conference in Toronto. Last year he didn't feel so well at the last conference and had to leave early. Little did I know until this year that that was the beginning of a fight for his life against a strain of flesh eating disease, I cannot recall which one. After five weeks in intensive care, four months in the hospital he has a different view of what is important.
This gives me more than pause for thought.
Jeff.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Center off Center
I find my center
Only to find it off center
I know where I am going
As I wander directionless
My compass spins
I follow a hunch
I know where I am
I do not yet know the path
Call of a goose
I follow
Point A to B no longer
There is no straight line
There is no line at all
I travel while standing still
Eating up the miles in my mind
Freedom
I cross borders that do not exist
They never have
Borders in my mind
Stifling my Soul
I know that now
Wasted time while I bumped against them for years
...Or not
Learning the path
Where there is no path
Time goes nowhere
It is still here
All the time
In an eternity
In an instant
I find The Center
Mine does not correspond
It is aligned none the less
In time and in space
In my mind and in my Soul
My center only seems off center
As all centers are One
Well, another inspired by an email. I have been pondering paradox without intending it, as has been pointed out to me, and I find it fascinating. I am finding that it only exists if you let it. To see into and through a seeming paradox is where the real fun begins, the other side. Perhaps the fun is also where the truth is...now that is something worth pondering.
Paradox is only a human word after all.
Jeff.
Only to find it off center
I know where I am going
As I wander directionless
My compass spins
I follow a hunch
I know where I am
I do not yet know the path
Call of a goose
I follow
Point A to B no longer
There is no straight line
There is no line at all
I travel while standing still
Eating up the miles in my mind
Freedom
I cross borders that do not exist
They never have
Borders in my mind
Stifling my Soul
I know that now
Wasted time while I bumped against them for years
...Or not
Learning the path
Where there is no path
Time goes nowhere
It is still here
All the time
In an eternity
In an instant
I find The Center
Mine does not correspond
It is aligned none the less
In time and in space
In my mind and in my Soul
My center only seems off center
As all centers are One
Well, another inspired by an email. I have been pondering paradox without intending it, as has been pointed out to me, and I find it fascinating. I am finding that it only exists if you let it. To see into and through a seeming paradox is where the real fun begins, the other side. Perhaps the fun is also where the truth is...now that is something worth pondering.
Paradox is only a human word after all.
Jeff.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Meeting
Somehow, to me, we felt different
We parted first as one soul
Went our separate ways for a moment and returned as six less one
We had our masks in hand if not on tonight
Just in case
We must be alert to the danger
The danger of replacing the mask
The danger of slipping into the old path
This path does not become us
My mask is only a shade now as I work at removing it entirely again
I am saddened at having to work at it yet
A tear tugs beneath this shadow
A tear that I will use to help it slide away
A tear to loose my grip for good
I thought I had shed enough already
Perhaps I was wrong
I recall the evening and cannot help but compare
Shall we capture that true connection again?
Shall we sit in silence and speak volumes again?
Shall we spend time as one again?
We shall, we have, we are
We do this every day
We have but to open our souls to feel it
We need not meet face to face
A word passed, a phrase turned
All are transparent to the true self
We are one
We stand alone while joined through the aether
Our sorrowful laments are turned to joyous celebration
Let our hearts sing as we turn up the volume
This appeared in an email that I wrote after meeting with the group of people that attended the retreat with me. We are coming to grips with not experiencing the same spark and oneness that we found while spending almost five days together. We are very close and nothing external can change that, so thinking about it now I do wonder why we are worried about anything at all. I added, just now, the verse after the break as it answers the questions that I left unanswered at the time.
To those who know, believe, we have a gift that cannot be taken away.
Jeff.
We parted first as one soul
Went our separate ways for a moment and returned as six less one
We had our masks in hand if not on tonight
Just in case
We must be alert to the danger
The danger of replacing the mask
The danger of slipping into the old path
This path does not become us
My mask is only a shade now as I work at removing it entirely again
I am saddened at having to work at it yet
A tear tugs beneath this shadow
A tear that I will use to help it slide away
A tear to loose my grip for good
I thought I had shed enough already
Perhaps I was wrong
I recall the evening and cannot help but compare
Shall we capture that true connection again?
Shall we sit in silence and speak volumes again?
Shall we spend time as one again?
We shall, we have, we are
We do this every day
We have but to open our souls to feel it
We need not meet face to face
A word passed, a phrase turned
All are transparent to the true self
We are one
We stand alone while joined through the aether
Our sorrowful laments are turned to joyous celebration
Let our hearts sing as we turn up the volume
This appeared in an email that I wrote after meeting with the group of people that attended the retreat with me. We are coming to grips with not experiencing the same spark and oneness that we found while spending almost five days together. We are very close and nothing external can change that, so thinking about it now I do wonder why we are worried about anything at all. I added, just now, the verse after the break as it answers the questions that I left unanswered at the time.
To those who know, believe, we have a gift that cannot be taken away.
Jeff.
The one that got away
I feel a small tug
Nibble only
I wait, expectation
Another, stronger
Something definitely there
Hungry, curious
I wonder which
Another yet
Persistent, determined
I tense to set the hook
Waiting for the perfect bite
Alone I sit, solitude
Single loon cries, my guide
I am the bait
Waters chummed with pieces of me
Blood poured on the surface
Cast the line
Small piece of my soul
Tempting morsel
Small price to pay to troll these depths
A hit, hook set
Game on
Line snaps taught
Struggle for life and death
It knows my plan
Introspection then dissection
The surface breaks
Glorious prize as it breaches
Terrible in it's beauty
Dives to escape
Reel whirs, tension mounts
No ground given, none taken
The struggle even
Decision made
Line is cut
The glimpse and fight
Worth the price
I will return one day
Stronger line, better prepared
To catch the one
That got away
I think I knew that this one was going to get away before I started writing so I was not surprised by the end. I did struggle with leaving the lines, "Alone I sit...", through to, "A small price to pay...", where they fell. It seems appropriate to leave them where they are, somehow, even though it breaks the flow and changes the feel. It grows on me now that I re-read it.
I did chuckle at the unintentional rhyme at the end. It seemed a little light heartedness after playing some dark thing.
I wrote another about fear and death, previously posted, this seemed to be going in the same direction but it is not. I'll post the other next. Meanwhile, I'll have to ponder on this one and see where it might take me next.
Jeff.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Dance at Dawn
The edge of dawn
Big dipper fading fast
The moon still holds it's own
Fog slowly creeps across the field
Hint of pink in a sky of deep blue fading to black
The air hold it's breath in anticipation
The fog seems an adversary
Obscures first dawn sign
And masks the scape in milky white
The moon still holds it's own
Ringed in an eerie glow
The sky pales a hue of orange
Pastel through the fog
The mist flexes, tenses as it prepares
The world seems small
A bit of grass and a few trees
Encompassed in white
An island
Such a peaceful place for a battle
No hint of stars, they have succumbed a while ago
Fading quietly into the light
Dawn brightens yet again
The moon still holds it's own
Seeming only a witness
As he smiles, out of harms way
First sign of fear as the fog gives some ground
Colours return that were not noticed gone
Splashes of yellow, of green and of red
Reminders of fall
Dawn's hero approaches
Prepared to engage
Fog digs in ready to stand
A lance of light flashes through the tree tops
Revealing a roiling in the air
Fog is not so quiet as expected
The sun breaks through
Dazzling bright, glorious gold
Something unexpected
The fog glows white
Unabashed and proud
Where is the fight?
The earth returns to normal
Shafts of warm light through branches
Golden mantel about the sun
The mist moves and dances in the light
The moon smirks from above
He knew all along
I was not going to even write anything on this morning as I was going out for a run. So I started a little jotting to remind me another time to write something about the dawn. I still don't know why I stayed and watched, curiousity I guess. This actually started out as a battle between the dawn and the dark. As I wrote the dawn unfolded before me and the fog was not going to be a factor as it did not exist at first. I didn't even know why the moon showed up so many times until the end, cagey fellow that moon.
This is one of the very few poems that I consciously wrote...one of three I think. I still have not done anything to it other than group or split some lines and I am sure it needs some punctuation to delineate some of the ideas expressed...I hate to sprinkle periods and commas throughout though. I could stand to resort a couple of lines to smooth the flow a bit too. Another time.
The run was nice. Trail running is my favourite but I tend to overdo it as it is so enjoyable to get lost in the bush. I had an owl for company that morning, interesting fellow named Wilbur who gave me some very good advice . . . but that is a nother story.
Jeff.
Big dipper fading fast
The moon still holds it's own
Fog slowly creeps across the field
Hint of pink in a sky of deep blue fading to black
The air hold it's breath in anticipation
The fog seems an adversary
Obscures first dawn sign
And masks the scape in milky white
The moon still holds it's own
Ringed in an eerie glow
The sky pales a hue of orange
Pastel through the fog
The mist flexes, tenses as it prepares
The world seems small
A bit of grass and a few trees
Encompassed in white
An island
Such a peaceful place for a battle
No hint of stars, they have succumbed a while ago
Fading quietly into the light
Dawn brightens yet again
The moon still holds it's own
Seeming only a witness
As he smiles, out of harms way
First sign of fear as the fog gives some ground
Colours return that were not noticed gone
Splashes of yellow, of green and of red
Reminders of fall
Dawn's hero approaches
Prepared to engage
Fog digs in ready to stand
A lance of light flashes through the tree tops
Revealing a roiling in the air
Fog is not so quiet as expected
The sun breaks through
Dazzling bright, glorious gold
Something unexpected
The fog glows white
Unabashed and proud
Where is the fight?
The earth returns to normal
Shafts of warm light through branches
Golden mantel about the sun
The mist moves and dances in the light
The moon smirks from above
He knew all along
I was not going to even write anything on this morning as I was going out for a run. So I started a little jotting to remind me another time to write something about the dawn. I still don't know why I stayed and watched, curiousity I guess. This actually started out as a battle between the dawn and the dark. As I wrote the dawn unfolded before me and the fog was not going to be a factor as it did not exist at first. I didn't even know why the moon showed up so many times until the end, cagey fellow that moon.
This is one of the very few poems that I consciously wrote...one of three I think. I still have not done anything to it other than group or split some lines and I am sure it needs some punctuation to delineate some of the ideas expressed...I hate to sprinkle periods and commas throughout though. I could stand to resort a couple of lines to smooth the flow a bit too. Another time.
The run was nice. Trail running is my favourite but I tend to overdo it as it is so enjoyable to get lost in the bush. I had an owl for company that morning, interesting fellow named Wilbur who gave me some very good advice . . . but that is a nother story.
Jeff.
Monday, October 20, 2008
The Adversary
Here I stand, facing down an elusive feeling
Who will blink first,
"Not I !" I scream in my mind
It may be a silent scream but it is potent
...or so I envision it as my adversary cowers in fear
Fear.
Is it fear who now fears me?
Is this possible that I should find fear in this manner?
Find it
Face it
Overcome it
Fear of the unknown
Fear of the almost known
Fear of the shadows
Fear of the depths
Fear of death...
Ahhh, I find the truth
Death is the last bastion
Shall I face death itself before overcoming all of my instinctive fears?
How many faces does death have that I must triumph over each?
Death of self
Death of another
Death of a loved one
Death of a child....
Death of a child...tears spring to my eyes
They turn to fire
The heavens have no fury great enough to withstand my wrath over this thought
Who dares threaten a child, my child!
But it is only a thought
My Soul cools...slowly
I have pity for those who have lost a child
There is no consolation for them from outside
They have only to look within
Yes,
This is my last and greatest fear
My last and greatest anger
My last and greatest sorrow
I wish never to face these combined
For they may yet have the power to crush me
This was unexpected. I started an email, got interrupted, then returned to it to find that I had nothing to say. So I just wrote a line that I had floating in my head for the afternoon "Here I stand, facing down (fill in the blank as I did not know what I wanted to face)". The rest just flowed, about ten minutes worth of thoughtless writing. I found it funny at first as I pictured myself yelling at a shapeless feeling.
I have tried to come up with fears in the past and I usually came up blank...well, except for some of the normal stuff but no deep seated shake in my boots fear.
Perhaps it is fitting that I post Fear right after Love, afterall, Love is the base and Fear is probably a close second.
Jeffrey
Who will blink first,
"Not I !" I scream in my mind
It may be a silent scream but it is potent
...or so I envision it as my adversary cowers in fear
Fear.
Is it fear who now fears me?
Is this possible that I should find fear in this manner?
Find it
Face it
Overcome it
Fear of the unknown
Fear of the almost known
Fear of the shadows
Fear of the depths
Fear of death...
Ahhh, I find the truth
Death is the last bastion
Shall I face death itself before overcoming all of my instinctive fears?
How many faces does death have that I must triumph over each?
Death of self
Death of another
Death of a loved one
Death of a child....
Death of a child...tears spring to my eyes
They turn to fire
The heavens have no fury great enough to withstand my wrath over this thought
Who dares threaten a child, my child!
But it is only a thought
My Soul cools...slowly
I have pity for those who have lost a child
There is no consolation for them from outside
They have only to look within
Yes,
This is my last and greatest fear
My last and greatest anger
My last and greatest sorrow
I wish never to face these combined
For they may yet have the power to crush me
This was unexpected. I started an email, got interrupted, then returned to it to find that I had nothing to say. So I just wrote a line that I had floating in my head for the afternoon "Here I stand, facing down (fill in the blank as I did not know what I wanted to face)". The rest just flowed, about ten minutes worth of thoughtless writing. I found it funny at first as I pictured myself yelling at a shapeless feeling.
I have tried to come up with fears in the past and I usually came up blank...well, except for some of the normal stuff but no deep seated shake in my boots fear.
Perhaps it is fitting that I post Fear right after Love, afterall, Love is the base and Fear is probably a close second.
Jeffrey
Friday, October 17, 2008
Love
So... what is Love?
An ocean current
always there
deep and slow
tempering the weather
A cool breeze on a summer's day
refreshing
fleeting
anticipated and missed
An apple high in a tree
red and tempting
worth the stretch
bitter and sweet
A soft winter snowfall
silent
pure
beautiful
A small child's giggle
playful
innocent
quick
Love is all of this and so much more
Words are no justice
They are not the medium
Love is expressed in a gesture
a glance
a kind word
Love is felt in closeness
and in great distance
Love connects people
draws them together
Love is a force
a feeling
Love is a perfect state of being
Strip all else away...
Love will be there
Love is the base
Love is the power
Love is the spark
Love is the beginning
When time ends, Love will be there
Another fresh start
Love... IS !
I have delved the depths of some very strong and base emotions that have both plagued and uplifted me. Anger, frustration, joy sorrow to name a few. The one that seems so elusive is Love. I figured out why. Once the others have been stripped away and I think there is nothing left I find the one pervasive and steadfast emotion that is so enigmatic as to be almost unrecognizable while attached to, or hiding beneath, some of the other more transient but powerful emotions.
I try to write something about Love and words fail me. Nothing comes unbidden and everything that does feels unworthy or contrived. This all adds up to Love being very easy to take for granted...which has been my Nemesis all along.
An ocean current
always there
deep and slow
tempering the weather
A cool breeze on a summer's day
refreshing
fleeting
anticipated and missed
An apple high in a tree
red and tempting
worth the stretch
bitter and sweet
A soft winter snowfall
silent
pure
beautiful
A small child's giggle
playful
innocent
quick
Love is all of this and so much more
Words are no justice
They are not the medium
Love is expressed in a gesture
a glance
a kind word
Love is felt in closeness
and in great distance
Love connects people
draws them together
Love is a force
a feeling
Love is a perfect state of being
Strip all else away...
Love will be there
Love is the base
Love is the power
Love is the spark
Love is the beginning
When time ends, Love will be there
Another fresh start
Love... IS !
I have delved the depths of some very strong and base emotions that have both plagued and uplifted me. Anger, frustration, joy sorrow to name a few. The one that seems so elusive is Love. I figured out why. Once the others have been stripped away and I think there is nothing left I find the one pervasive and steadfast emotion that is so enigmatic as to be almost unrecognizable while attached to, or hiding beneath, some of the other more transient but powerful emotions.
I try to write something about Love and words fail me. Nothing comes unbidden and everything that does feels unworthy or contrived. This all adds up to Love being very easy to take for granted...which has been my Nemesis all along.
Inspired by Kathy, my dear wife.
Jeffrey.
Leap of Faith
Here I stand at the precipice
Solid rock beneath my feet
Bolts bored and fixed there also
I lean over the edge
Time stands still...
...for a moment
I see the bottom
My destination
Far below
I turn my back to check the anchor
I know it is secure
But knowing is not enough
I must trust
I must have faith
In myself
In ones who have before me faced this challenge
The first step
Always the hardest
As if a leap to the rocks below
Sweat trickles from my brow
A fly buzzes past my ear
Then silence...
...again time stands still
As if holding it's breath
Muscles tense
Weight shifts
The move is committed
The step taken
The anchor secure
The faith tested
I hear a sigh
Time breathes again
Then so do I
I find myself at the bottom
Destination reached
This is a little lighter than my usual, that is a good sign for me I think. Progress. I wrote another this morning that was purely about another hobby ...without any metaphors or whatever, just the joy of the ride...so these are out of order, but who cares.
I was waiting for a late client sitting in my car and thought I should try to write something. All I got was "Knowing is not enough"...then I put pen and paper back in my pocket and waited...then thought of the first line "Here I stand...". The rest just flowed and, unbeknownst to me, the "knowing" line took it's place in the jotting.
The end leaves something unsaid but I am not sure what yet. Perhaps it will come to me later. Something about the journey down the face of the rock I suppose.
I figure that the "what" was the bottom and the "why" was the test...so the "how" just took care of itself...someone told me that's how it works most times. Thanks.
Jeffrey.
Solid rock beneath my feet
Bolts bored and fixed there also
I lean over the edge
Time stands still...
...for a moment
I see the bottom
My destination
Far below
I turn my back to check the anchor
I know it is secure
But knowing is not enough
I must trust
I must have faith
In myself
In ones who have before me faced this challenge
The first step
Always the hardest
As if a leap to the rocks below
Sweat trickles from my brow
A fly buzzes past my ear
Then silence...
...again time stands still
As if holding it's breath
Muscles tense
Weight shifts
The move is committed
The step taken
The anchor secure
The faith tested
I hear a sigh
Time breathes again
Then so do I
I find myself at the bottom
Destination reached
This is a little lighter than my usual, that is a good sign for me I think. Progress. I wrote another this morning that was purely about another hobby ...without any metaphors or whatever, just the joy of the ride...so these are out of order, but who cares.
I was waiting for a late client sitting in my car and thought I should try to write something. All I got was "Knowing is not enough"...then I put pen and paper back in my pocket and waited...then thought of the first line "Here I stand...". The rest just flowed and, unbeknownst to me, the "knowing" line took it's place in the jotting.
The end leaves something unsaid but I am not sure what yet. Perhaps it will come to me later. Something about the journey down the face of the rock I suppose.
I figure that the "what" was the bottom and the "why" was the test...so the "how" just took care of itself...someone told me that's how it works most times. Thanks.
Jeffrey.
Missing Piece
I can see into the dusty recesses of my Soul from here.
I feel an expanse that I cannot fathom
The corners recede faster than I can approach
My sight is only glimpses
I have found myself in there
And yet, something is missing
Hiding in the corners
Something I truly need to be complete
For the record I found my completeness since writing this. I was rummaging through my scraps of paper that hold my original jottings and thought this one was, well, worth placing here.
Jeffrey.
I feel an expanse that I cannot fathom
The corners recede faster than I can approach
My sight is only glimpses
I have found myself in there
And yet, something is missing
Hiding in the corners
Something I truly need to be complete
For the record I found my completeness since writing this. I was rummaging through my scraps of paper that hold my original jottings and thought this one was, well, worth placing here.
Jeffrey.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Untitled
I feel the depths stir
The surge as the deep shifts
Others notice only the tremor
They don't feel the mass
They don't understand
Gaining speed
There is no wake
No surface sign
Only a few know
Only a few prepare
There is no wind
No driving force
It is a reaction
Building upon itself
Silent to the deaf
Thundering to those who listen
There is a rythm
There is a purpose
A natural order
What will be left
After the wave passes.
I leave this untitled as I am not sure what this is about. On the surface it feels like a description of one of the Tsunami events as I recall watching videos of people standing on the beach watching the first wave approach. They do not realize what is happening while only a few run inland to escape it.
That is not it though. It is more basic than that, more powerful and yet more elusive at the same time. I am doing some reading on the 2012 "event" and other possibly related topics, so perhaps I am just getting a vibe from some of what I read.
On the wording, the tsunami waves recede, they do not pass...for some reason that is important. I tried using the word recedes instead and it does not sit right. Passes means something else entirely, almost non-physical but still with such mass as it cannot be stopped. Perhaps it will come to me, perhaps it is like the storm, to be harnessed and accepted rather that withstood and weathered.
Jeffrey.
The surge as the deep shifts
Others notice only the tremor
They don't feel the mass
They don't understand
Gaining speed
There is no wake
No surface sign
Only a few know
Only a few prepare
There is no wind
No driving force
It is a reaction
Building upon itself
Silent to the deaf
Thundering to those who listen
There is a rythm
There is a purpose
A natural order
What will be left
After the wave passes.
I leave this untitled as I am not sure what this is about. On the surface it feels like a description of one of the Tsunami events as I recall watching videos of people standing on the beach watching the first wave approach. They do not realize what is happening while only a few run inland to escape it.
That is not it though. It is more basic than that, more powerful and yet more elusive at the same time. I am doing some reading on the 2012 "event" and other possibly related topics, so perhaps I am just getting a vibe from some of what I read.
On the wording, the tsunami waves recede, they do not pass...for some reason that is important. I tried using the word recedes instead and it does not sit right. Passes means something else entirely, almost non-physical but still with such mass as it cannot be stopped. Perhaps it will come to me, perhaps it is like the storm, to be harnessed and accepted rather that withstood and weathered.
Jeffrey.
Silent Cry
"I swing form anger to sadness and I seem to have no control over this"
"Shutting down my temper and reactions seem to shut down most everything else as well."
"I can't get away from it and I can't deal with it"
Frustration, anger, helplessness
A silent unbidden cry for help
Echoes, absorbed by the aether
as a single lone call of a loon in the fog
A stirring, unnoticed
A whisper, unheard
The cry is answered
The future set in motion
The stage set, casting complete
The aether ripples, the cry the source
Souls are brought together
Five cries joined by one
They are answered
Soothed by pain
Pain of knowledge
Pain of feeling
Pain acknowledged
Pain embraced
Six souls briefly become one
Never to be only six again
The cries are no longer silent
The cries are heard by all as if one
As a single call of the loon answered in the fog
The stirring felt
The whisper heard
The ripples still spread
A single cry cannot be stopped.
I was preparing the Thanksgiving Day meal, listening to Nickelback, while the house was empty and this came to me...I don't know if it was memory triggered by the lyrics, the music or just time for this to come out. I no longer think much about the why, I just accept it and keep listening to the whispers.
Those who were part of this know the significance of the numbers, the pain and the loon.
P.S. I added the first three lines from a letter that I had written 4 months ago. Those were the basic distilled messages that it contained. It is worth noting that the first three words, frustration, anger and helplessness figured prominently in the letter along with the lines.
While the letter was not on my mind, as I had only stumbled upon it while searching for something else today, I do believe that it was my silent cry.
Jeffrey
"Shutting down my temper and reactions seem to shut down most everything else as well."
"I can't get away from it and I can't deal with it"
Frustration, anger, helplessness
A silent unbidden cry for help
Echoes, absorbed by the aether
as a single lone call of a loon in the fog
A stirring, unnoticed
A whisper, unheard
The cry is answered
The future set in motion
The stage set, casting complete
The aether ripples, the cry the source
Souls are brought together
Five cries joined by one
They are answered
Soothed by pain
Pain of knowledge
Pain of feeling
Pain acknowledged
Pain embraced
Six souls briefly become one
Never to be only six again
The cries are no longer silent
The cries are heard by all as if one
As a single call of the loon answered in the fog
The stirring felt
The whisper heard
The ripples still spread
A single cry cannot be stopped.
I was preparing the Thanksgiving Day meal, listening to Nickelback, while the house was empty and this came to me...I don't know if it was memory triggered by the lyrics, the music or just time for this to come out. I no longer think much about the why, I just accept it and keep listening to the whispers.
Those who were part of this know the significance of the numbers, the pain and the loon.
P.S. I added the first three lines from a letter that I had written 4 months ago. Those were the basic distilled messages that it contained. It is worth noting that the first three words, frustration, anger and helplessness figured prominently in the letter along with the lines.
While the letter was not on my mind, as I had only stumbled upon it while searching for something else today, I do believe that it was my silent cry.
Jeffrey
The thought that counts?
It is the thought that counts
Who is counting only the thoughts?
I send a flower
I receive a garden
I send a note
I receive a book
I send a feeling
I receive Love
I send myself
I receive another
It is the action that gives meaning
It is the action that begets reaction
It is reaction that makes it all worth while
Do something for someone today
They will appreciate it
Only then is the thought counted
Today I noticed a pattern in a daily activity that made me compare other unrelated patterns in my life. The last line in an email I was composing triggered the jotting. The line was , " I do something nice and someone else appreciates it, it is now more than just something nice, it builds upon itself as the appreciation itself is appreciated by me.". It reminded me of the cop-out that people say far too often..., "oh, well, it was the thought that counts". I realize that this is used when someone does something for some one and means well but the message is misunderstood. In my and my wife's family circle it is more often used as if to say, "I thought about it and that is good enough.".
Well, it's not.
I am often known for thinking and not acting. There is little "payback" for only a thought however well intentioned it may be.
Jeffrey.
Who is counting only the thoughts?
I send a flower
I receive a garden
I send a note
I receive a book
I send a feeling
I receive Love
I send myself
I receive another
It is the action that gives meaning
It is the action that begets reaction
It is reaction that makes it all worth while
Do something for someone today
They will appreciate it
Only then is the thought counted
Today I noticed a pattern in a daily activity that made me compare other unrelated patterns in my life. The last line in an email I was composing triggered the jotting. The line was , " I do something nice and someone else appreciates it, it is now more than just something nice, it builds upon itself as the appreciation itself is appreciated by me.". It reminded me of the cop-out that people say far too often..., "oh, well, it was the thought that counts". I realize that this is used when someone does something for some one and means well but the message is misunderstood. In my and my wife's family circle it is more often used as if to say, "I thought about it and that is good enough.".
Well, it's not.
I am often known for thinking and not acting. There is little "payback" for only a thought however well intentioned it may be.
Jeffrey.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Snake skin.
I have found that I must know myself before I can even begin to know another.
All of the surface trappings are just decoration and only serve to distract from the knowing.
Perhaps they are a shield, perhaps a haven.
Sometimes they appear as a true self and for these sad Souls I weep,
As they can never know true Love and be happy.
I am shedding my decoration as a snake shed's its' first skin, dried, restricting and spent.
Look at my new self and know me.
I am real,
I am true,
I am me,
I am happy.
This was just a jotting that I put in an email in response to some one's experience at a social gathering where they recognized the false masks everyone was wearing. It rang true to me, so I put it here.
Jeffrey
Friday, October 10, 2008
The Child Within
I feel like I am looking upon myself as a child
I look back at myself as and adult
We connect...like a Father and son.
We are in a field of greenest grass on a sunny day
The child smiles looking for acceptance, he finds it
The Father also smiles, ruffles his hair and tells him
"Everything is all right now"
"Everything is fine"
We hug
We are one and yet we are still two
He says to me, "I hope I grow up to be just like you"
I say to him, "You did, and I am proud"
I have no comment for this one. It came to me today and I think it is self explanatory.
I am not sure why we are still two though. That perplexes me somewhat.
Jeffrey
I look back at myself as and adult
We connect...like a Father and son.
We are in a field of greenest grass on a sunny day
The child smiles looking for acceptance, he finds it
The Father also smiles, ruffles his hair and tells him
"Everything is all right now"
"Everything is fine"
We hug
We are one and yet we are still two
He says to me, "I hope I grow up to be just like you"
I say to him, "You did, and I am proud"
I have no comment for this one. It came to me today and I think it is self explanatory.
I am not sure why we are still two though. That perplexes me somewhat.
Jeffrey
The Storm completed
So, an ending for the Storm came to me a few days later while emailing someone else. I'll put the whole piece here rather than break it up.
A storm approaches
I feel it's power
Am I it's victim
or am I it's master
I feel the wind
as it howls about me
I fight it's strength
I am losing the battle
I push against it
Only I am blown back
I take a breath
I feel my center
From there I can see
I am the storm
The storm is me
Am I it's victim
or am I it's master
I find I am neither
and I am both
I am a conduit
I let the power flow through me
The storm works it's fury
Against marble walls
I diffuse it's anger
I harness it's might
I let it work for me
It gives up the fight
I am the storm
I have the power
I will prevail.
The ending sounded a little egotistical to me but that's how it came out and I choose not to change anything. It really refers to the power over self as opposed to power over others...I think that is obvious due to the whole bit being about an internal struggle.
Jeffrey.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
The Storm
A storm approaches
I feel it's power
Am I it's victim
or am I it's master
I feel the wind
as it howls about me
I fight it's strength
I am losing the battle
I push against it
Only I am blown back
I take a breath
I feel my center
From there I can see
I am the storm
The storm is me
Am I it's victim
or am I it's master
I find this unanswered so I don't think it complete...then I ponder tonight's actions (long story) and I realize that it will never be complete, there will always be a storm, a struggle and a result. If I can only remember this jotting when the storm approaches then I will be the master more often. Perhaps someday I will learn to avoid the storms altogether, that will be a great day.
I feel it's power
Am I it's victim
or am I it's master
I feel the wind
as it howls about me
I fight it's strength
I am losing the battle
I push against it
Only I am blown back
I take a breath
I feel my center
From there I can see
I am the storm
The storm is me
Am I it's victim
or am I it's master
I find this unanswered so I don't think it complete...then I ponder tonight's actions (long story) and I realize that it will never be complete, there will always be a storm, a struggle and a result. If I can only remember this jotting when the storm approaches then I will be the master more often. Perhaps someday I will learn to avoid the storms altogether, that will be a great day.
Jeffrey
Sunday, October 5, 2008
The question. part 2
I take the hand of a child in mine
It feels strange, and yet, familiar
We take a step, then two
We are on a journey
A journey led by innocence
We walk past a pond
cool summer splashes
We walk past a robin's nest
wonder of new life
We walk past a corner store
contraband candy
We walk past an old building
ancient mysteries
We walk past an open field
kites in the wind
We walk past a flowing stream
pebbles and ripples
Look, children playing, let's go!
Tag, hide and seek, blind man's bluff, baseball, hopscotch, skipping rope, snow forts...
That was such fun but now I must leave
But...why?
I am an adult now, duties and responsibilities call
But...why?
I have children of my own
So?...bring them along
I have a wife, I love her dearly
We will make room, bring her too
...OK, let's run
Why doesn't matter in the long grass
Why doesn't matter in the tree forts
Why doesn't matter with the pet snakes
Why doesn't matter with the puddle splash
Why doesn't matter when bubbles are blown
Why doesn't matter to a child who has grown.
Although it was necessary, I regretted opening my eyes after this journey as I did not want it to end. So now I do not consider it ended but renewed.
Jeffrey.
The question. part one.
Where am I?
I am in the past, your past
I am in the ball thrown by a child
I am in the scraped knee after falling from a bike
I am in the teddy bear on the small bed
I am in the first game of checkers
I am in the dog that brings joy
I am in the A,B,C's and 1, 2, 3's
I am in the tree where I should not be
I am in the "you're it!" in a game of tag
I am in the giggles of new humour
I am in the moon seen through a scope for the first time
I am in the first worm threaded on a hook
I am in the dew on bare feet in the summer
Why can't I see you?
You have forgotten, I am still here
Close your eyes and let's go for a walk...
This was at the point of realization where I found that what I was missing was not what I expected and that the realization, on it's own, was not the finding. The realization, as hard as it was, was the easy part. Little did I know when I was writing this that closing my eyes and going for a walk in my mind with my Soul as my guide was, quite literally, what it took. I thank Cindy for coming along and keeping me focused at that particular time.
I wrote this on Saturday morning during a 10 or 20 minute break and I left it unfinished until Wednesday sometime. It took that long for the journey to sink in and, I think, being back with my family shed light on what it meant for me.
I had to let it steep.
Jeffrey.
I am in the past, your past
I am in the ball thrown by a child
I am in the scraped knee after falling from a bike
I am in the teddy bear on the small bed
I am in the first game of checkers
I am in the dog that brings joy
I am in the A,B,C's and 1, 2, 3's
I am in the tree where I should not be
I am in the "you're it!" in a game of tag
I am in the giggles of new humour
I am in the moon seen through a scope for the first time
I am in the first worm threaded on a hook
I am in the dew on bare feet in the summer
Why can't I see you?
You have forgotten, I am still here
Close your eyes and let's go for a walk...
This was at the point of realization where I found that what I was missing was not what I expected and that the realization, on it's own, was not the finding. The realization, as hard as it was, was the easy part. Little did I know when I was writing this that closing my eyes and going for a walk in my mind with my Soul as my guide was, quite literally, what it took. I thank Cindy for coming along and keeping me focused at that particular time.
I wrote this on Saturday morning during a 10 or 20 minute break and I left it unfinished until Wednesday sometime. It took that long for the journey to sink in and, I think, being back with my family shed light on what it meant for me.
I had to let it steep.
Jeffrey.
It begins
I stir an emotion
Let it steep
Skim the surface
Then touch the Essence
and let the words flow
As oil wicked in a lamp
The Essence becomes light
Discernible to the eye
And understood by the soul
A little context note:
I could never have come up with that, or any of what I may post here, if I tried, normally...whatever normal used to be for me. At the right time it just appears on the paper. Almost unbidden. That took little more time to write than it actually took to physically write which is, or was, so terribly uncharacteristic of me. I almost don't say that as I don't want to create a block by making any claims of great insight or anything else. So I call them jottings.
I feel that I have finally touched my inner soul and now I can hear it speaking to me...it just happens to be on paper. I truly believe that anyone could have the same conversations with themselves if they understood about themselves what I understand about myself now. Their conversation may just take a different form.
I hope that, perhaps, I can open a door for a person or two along the way.
For me, I have started to Hear what I ignored before.
For me, I have started to Listen as I did not before.
For me, I have started to Know what I could not before.
For me, I have started to Love as I have never before.
For those precious few that now know me for myself, you know who you are, this will make perfect sense. I would not have been able to "BE" without your love and support. I blame you wholly for loosing my true self.
I cannot thank you enough.
Deepest Love,
Jeffrey.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Intent
I started this blog on a whim, and with a little bit of a push by some very dear new friends. Besides, I figured I should soon stop bogging down their in boxes. This also allows me to compile them in one handy accessible location.
I have found that keeping a journal is a very powerful tool for enabling me to express myself to myself and as means to get across to others what I might not be able to say normally. While exploring this medium of self discovery I stumbled upon a new passion.
The written word.
While I do not presume to know anything about that which I do here, form, rules, meter...I write straight from the soul in times of emotion and have found that there are no rules. I let the words take me where they will and in so doing, they form their own patterns. The form is in the understanding.
I hope that you, as a visitor here, have an enjoyable experience and take something away that might help with your own personal trials. Even if it is just a smile of understanding, every little bit helps. Feel free to share any opinions or thoughts that you wish by commenting, let me know what you think, what you feel, or just say hello.
For those who know me, I am a little boy.
For those who don't, I am still a little boy at heart. Perhaps you may come to understand.
My name is Jeffrey.
I have found that keeping a journal is a very powerful tool for enabling me to express myself to myself and as means to get across to others what I might not be able to say normally. While exploring this medium of self discovery I stumbled upon a new passion.
The written word.
While I do not presume to know anything about that which I do here, form, rules, meter...I write straight from the soul in times of emotion and have found that there are no rules. I let the words take me where they will and in so doing, they form their own patterns. The form is in the understanding.
I hope that you, as a visitor here, have an enjoyable experience and take something away that might help with your own personal trials. Even if it is just a smile of understanding, every little bit helps. Feel free to share any opinions or thoughts that you wish by commenting, let me know what you think, what you feel, or just say hello.
For those who know me, I am a little boy.
For those who don't, I am still a little boy at heart. Perhaps you may come to understand.
My name is Jeffrey.
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