Poetry Break - Born a Tree

Not a smooth petaled stone,
At the river's bottom,
Tossed by moon tides

Old with water’s age,

Not a sprig of john’s wort,
Blooming yellow beneath the golden sun,
Ripe with age for the picking,
To heal some fetid wound,

Nor a Galapagos egg to hatch,
Me a turtle racing for the tide
Beneath the sky of prey-birds,


Born a tree, I was, outstretching limbs,
Covering you beneath rugged arms,

Born a tree, to hold back sun,
To water your roots,

I bend to you in winter frost,

Produce fruit for your feeble trunk,

You, my tender sapling, bend to me

Our roots lay entwined beneath
Forever weaving through forest dust

This is a 'celestescope' I drafted after being inspired by the book 'Sun, Moon, and Earth' by Robin Heath put out by Wooden Books. It shows the full moon, celestial position of the sun, predicts tides and eclipses and is a general picture of the natural state of things in our little corner of the universe.

The Sacred and The Profane: The Nature of Religion

In this book, Eliade writes first in an accessible, then in a most respectful style on religion, magic, initiation, mysticism, and the profane. From the outset, though the book's title states it concerns religion, in which the object of study begins with the Divine, and then continues on consequently to man, Eliade rather begins with man and then continues on consequently to God. Man is shown to create himself, his house, his cosmos, and his existential situation precludes the religious right up until a.d. 1950 (the date of this book's first publication). The author wisely points out profane man is a rather unique and new phenomenon in human history. Whether he is describing the initiation rituals of primitive societies, or the construction of a modern abode, Eliade skillfully shows like it or not, we are recreating the cosmos as the gods did before history. Without the slightest hint of a sense of humor, Eliade points out repeatedly that no matter how much modern profane man has attempted to divest Nature of the sacred, he still stubbornly, if unconsciously, sacralizes his environment. Over and over again.

This is a nice little book that provides a glimpse into what we are stubbornly trying to leave behind, to our own obvious detriment.

Easter - a poem

If I could bear your pain, I would
But child, I know I can’t
I would succor you with gall
And cleanse your fetid wounds

I would answer your questions
But the wind howls in your ear
Take away the sleepless nights
And set you floating on a quiet sea

Monsters in forests, the beast slouching East
In need more than you for salvation
An rat infested ivory city
Whose children run naked through the street

Rome is burnt, New Rome, burning
With the fat of innocent babes
But somehow I was born to believe
And you, to know the better

And I can’t answer you, I’m dumb
And you, in your knowledge can only weep
Now your face set against the wind like flint
You, a sphinx with no solution

And my gods are all too human,
But your idols are full of pests
Mechanical rats hidden beneath the thin veneer
Of newly ordained Saints

And I know the cross I bear, believing
Is much less than yours, unbelieving,
And you, nicer than the gods
Cry not for mercy, but Justice

Don’t fret, dear child, the Cosmos
Is geared for the meek to inherit the Earths,
The angels themselves, bowed to you in your making
And the great God made you in fear

You are wonderfully made, dear child
Able to overcome even this,
And transcend all the dirt
That muddies your feet

May your dreams compensate you
With flying birds and winded hills
A soft rolling sea with whitecaps and breakers
Sleep now, my child, now and sleep…

Easter, now has come…

Life, Hope, Action

The old man asked the younger what was troubling him. 'I am bad' answered the young man. 'Why are you bad'? 'Because yesterday I stole bread.' 'Ah, but today, what did you do today?'

The amazing thing to me about the human experience is that we are not static beings. What we did yesterday may have bearing over what is done today, but there are new beginnings, new starts, turning of corners, breaks from the past, we constantly are learning anew and have the capacity to learn from our mistakes and make better choices. Even if we are not this wise, we simply may forget how we did bad and remember the good is truly good indeed.

Life and Action, friend, these are what we are caught up in; the same life of the star, the tree, the animal. And Action. We can accelerate, decelerate, cruise at constant speed, develop momentum or remain still....for a bit.

So if you steal bread one day, remember one day did not make you a Thief. The fact you lived another with the potential to do better shows you are a living, acting being who can always improve, if you want.

And if someone describes you in the static terms of what you did One Day, it is they who are ignorant, making you more stupid if you fall into the trap of listening to them. This goes of course if they describe you as Thief as well as Saint, lest ye get a big head.

Good days, bad days, you are a Living, Moving Creature with what in my eyes is limitless potential.

In religious terms, the Buddhist strives for Nirvana by breaking through the Karma of many lives, the Christian strives for the perfecting of the Saints, the Muslim is encouraged to make his pilgrimage to Mecca, and so forth.

In philosophic terms, a man can take the great Seneca the Stoic's advice and be happy in that he improves. A little. Each day.

Whether you are religious or philosophic, you probably have some element in you that knows you have the capacity to change what is bad into that which is Good.

I challenge you to find creative ways to make Lemonade out of Lemons and not listen so much to the extreme critics who would either damn you or praise you to the skies.

For the truth is, we are in a place, in my view where the rubber meets the road, where we have the capacity to make of ourselves what we will.

And as long as we are here, and have the chance for change, we also, with an eye to the future have that ultimate promise.

It's a little thing called...

Hope.

Poetry Break - 'I Grasped a Stone' - an original poem

I grasped a stone

And felt it to be Real

Then I realized

I was chasing the Wind



I observed a Tree

It's branches outstretched

When I discovered

It was observing me



I looked to the Star

and immensity of Space

And I found

I was as vast Inside



I looked to the Globe

And it's vast curved Round

And found my eye

Itself was that World



Something Solid, something hollow

Became One in an instant

Just for a moment

I grasped the Whole



The running brook

Was the leaping doe

The cloud filled sky

The plain dotted by towns



Illusion, I found, was difference

Nature's accidents encoded in Man

Made me seem other

Than you or the sky



But Discovery wrought some miracle

Awakened me to another Dream

Asleep, yet aware of sleeping

I broke through to the Day



And rested on that lonely shore

Where only the bravest souls meet

And found Solace in Knowing

Is it's own Reward

Still Life With Woodpecker - Tom Robbins

I've read this a few times over the years. The first novel I've read which includes meta narrative and being set in a pack of Camels. The question: how do you make love stay? Much mythology about redheads (I am one) including that they are addicted to sex, sugar, and controlled by the moon. Hey, I can't argue other than to say why stop there? My obsessions continue much further than those three! A deposed princess is courted by a terrorist who never seems to blow up anything. He just likes attending terrorist conventions. Add to this themes of Love, Loss, Isolation but all dealt with in a mad, diabolical fashion, and you get the general drift of Mr. Tom Robbins.

The Enchantress of Florence - Salman Rushdie

The Enchantress of Florence by Sir Salman Rushdie. Lush, expansive meditation on the relationship between East and West unfolds through three books which comprise one great big beautiful novel.

Slice of my Life - 14, 20, 45 - My Magic Numbers This Year!

My son Dylan Thomas turned 14 this past March. His birthday always marks the coming of Spring, and his personality definitely fits the season. Rising from the ashes of Winter with new hope, he displays the perfect combination of real world pragmatism and lofty idealism.

This May will mark 20 years for me and my bride. She has proven to me over the years what real love is...and devotion. We have been on many an adventure together, and I look forward to many many more to come!

I turn forty five in September, and am thankful my hair pattern isn't the same as this guy's!

Music I Listen to While Reading

Van Morrison 'The Philosopher's Stone'

The cover art announces the production of this compilation. Bare, unadorned standing stones on an Irish plain, the production of this two disc set is equally spare yet hopeful. There is no horn section. No saxes. Just vocals, some guitars, drums, piano and the Hammond of course.

Disc one to me is highlighted by Wonderful Remark, Not Supposed to Break Down, Madame Joy and Contemplation Rose. At turns joyful and melancholic, Van covers all the familiar territory he has so skillfully traversed throughout his career. With able lyric writing, exemplary song stylings and proficient musicianship, the disc screams (whispers understatedly) genius.

Disc two opens with the absolute raucous Street Only Knew Your Name, a tore down Gospel if I've ever heard one, and I venerate the late Mahalia Jackson. Real Real Gone sans horns and Bright Side of the Road prove to be pared down gems as well.

Throughout discs one and two, one is treated to some of the finest music from one of our finest singer songwriters. Van proves his stuff stands on it's own without glossy production and studio gimmicks.

A genius such as Van Morrison deserves to be heard the way he prefers, and he proves he not only can put out some of the best songs of the twentieth and twenty first centuries, but has an excellent listener's ear as well.

Whether an introduction to the Man, or an addition to his previous works, Philosopher's Stone proves to be one of the most amazing compilations in popular music history, in my humble view.





Lisa Gerrard's 'The Silver Tree'
I have been a Lisa Gerrard fan since her Dead Can Dance days. What I have appreciated most about her is the way she uses her voice as an instrument. Atop spare, sweeping electronic orchestration, Lisa's distinct and obviously strictly trained voice and breathing truly take on a dimension of their own. And that is where this music takes you. To another dimension. In the opening track, InExile, Lisa attains what I've never heard from her before. A dusky, sonorous timbre that will set the tone for the rest of the album. On the way home listening to this in the car c.d. player, 'cinematic' came to mind. I even checked the insert when I got home, thinking 'The Silver Tree' may have been a movie I missed.

This is not a lively c.d. It is slow and unfolding, spiraling in places. Perfect music to listen to intently as there is more to this than meets the ear at first.

Espresso Book - Video

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q946sfGLxm4

Print on demand. Nice video, but I think I'll still spring for the 'real deal.'

Summer Rereads

Ernest Hemingway the Complete Short Stories - Highlights for me are 'The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber' and 'Up in Michigan' - Hemingway at his best in these somewhat early works.

Henry Miller, like Hemingway, could catch the sounds and smells and gritty details of everyday life, but still find life to be beautiful. This particular work captures Miller touring Greece with commentary on the ancients and moderns alike.

Yet another chestnut by Miller.

Maxfield Parrish

The Light. Maxfield Parrish brought worlds from just out of sight, from around the corner, from inside and beneath, to Light. Mythological and certainly having hints of spirituality running throughout his work, Parrish made the unreal real...

Poetry Break - 'Into This Fire' - an original poem

Into this fire

I’ve been before

A blue cold burning

That consumes what’s hot



This great fall

Just can’t find gravity

Nothing to attach to, the

Most eccentric Star in its path



Water won’t quench

This thirst blazing my throat

Gall won’t heal these wounds

The quiet scars of the wounded man



Neither animal, nor angel,

Mere human, now human,

I unite to you in your pain

And feel what you’ve felt



No other way to connect

But through this pain I’ve not felt

Now feel, a sponge now for suffering

A crucible for angst…



But what winds whisper

Through my airy rooms,

Offer healing to the ragged wounds

Tropic airs in arid plumes



Fog the windows and this tomb...