-weaving
as we go
unseen character
infuses lesser known
gods of titration
and arbitration
snow crystal
monument
just under foot
-weaving
as we go
unseen character
infuses lesser known
gods of titration
and arbitration
snow crystal
monument
just under foot
The cracks have been opening up –here there and underneath
what used to be on top –like cracks in a hard crust of soil
once baked by light, deluged with raindrops, more light
These soils are a community of their own
sometimes thirsty sometimes paused in reflection
such that growing things are made temporarily mystified
Would it be that something elemental is missing
Or amongst all the bystanders perhaps readily available
like implicit memory waking up giving signals of many orders
The dance is moving so quickly, agile or not, positron wave
falling through and between perception in pure fluid motion
bridges created as life itself, timeless free fall, magnitude of silence
The clouds moving, nearly
Imperceptibly closer than,
I move to the east side
The eaves shelter from
More than the rains
Good Samaritan design
Noon stands out acting
The Prima Dona except
In loneliness and reaches
Then to One and Two
For company inviting
Them early for tea
Some days no one wants
Near and turns away to
Find the most ready refuge
Awaiting their turn
Their moment in the sun
Patience is a virtue
Blessings come to those
And yet… the winds pick up
Darker under bellies seen
Two O’clock is inconsistent
It’s her way or her luck of the draw
Maybe both perhaps neither
Today she was thinking
About that tea invitation
Chameleon writ large
Seeking anonymity in
The heat of the afternoon
Hoping to get off the hook
For what others have
Come to expect of her
That “time of the day”
And yet it’s all so fleeting
Yesterday’s invitation
A glimmer, is not Today’s
El Rito – Kagyu Mila Guru Stupa campground
8-16-14 2:59pm
The notion of a virtual blog tour landed here upon being sparked by my dear friend and colleague Daniel Ari, who made the initial suggestion that I might like to participate in such a tour, following his blog tour post (a poet friend and colleague had invited him.) I felt the spark land and since then the question has been did the spark become an ember and did the ember survive? Or perhaps another question might be was it a virtual spark and does it, now, have what it takes to light this contemplative, virtual fire? Perhaps. Shall we see?
What is not a perhaps is the whole-hearted conspirator I find in Daniel Ari, the person, being, and creator afire. I invite you to visit his blog Fights With Poems, as long as you have more than a moment to explore and drop in. Daniel’s projects are a many (writing, publishing, teaching, collective blogging and more), his stretch is broader than most and not confined by his idea of himself, if I can say so. One project of note is his forthcoming book, One Way to Ask, a book of querons, a poetry form of Daniel’s originality, inspiration, and making. For this book, he is collaborating on many levels with artists and other co-conspirators, which has Daniel’s signature of ever-ready-to-remake-oneself with each sitting, writing, and re-versing. It has been my honor and stimulation both to be included in amongst the co-conspirators included in this book. I look forward to the publication of One Way to Ask.
And thank you, Daniel, for inviting me once again into territory that I may not otherwise find myself in if it weren’t for you and our connection! (Another such invitation from Daniel brought numerous years of my participation in his collective blog, IMUNURI. Currently Daniel has 131 submissions there, I have 57, and ten other poets have submitted their works/poems there, as well.)
A photographic interlude as the blog tour continues…
The Virtual Blog Tour comes with these party-c-pant questions (putting on these party pants is one way to participate!)
1) What am I working on?
I don’t know what I am working on until I am working on it. Even then, while I am “working on” something, it is more precisely working me or opening out through me or pondering within this persona/non-persona. It doesn’t seem to be my way or mode (at this time) to know what I am working on. What does come, at times, is some kind of knowing being expressed through words on paper or words being typed on a computer or iPod screen. Question #4 seems to be creeping into #1.
2) How does my work differ from others of its genre?
Similarly, I am not aware of my poetry and writing being of a specific genre type. If you know otherwise, please let me know! Ha! What comes through as poetry seems to be unique to itself. I will say something that does come to say around this question: the poetry I write comes from or via direct experiencing, an internal voicing or somatic experiencing as the words present themselves. I would not say that I don’t think about what I write, but something like that. It seems to me that I am ready when something seems to come through and have easiness of expression as words in some kind of structure close to what we call a poem. Poems as awareness as felt sense, perhaps.
3) Why do I write what I do?
“Why do I do what I do?” as a question seems to come out of some unseen or unconscious motivation to seek security (or need to know) when security of that kind is simply non-essential. So, for me, there is not an need to answer such a question. The poems ponder enough on their own and simply get written (or not.)
4) How does my writing process work?
There are tastes of this question in the previous answers 1, 2, and 3. What else I might share here is that there is some kind of seeding and then a gestation period and then, perhaps, a kind of birthing in the writing. The writing usually takes my full attention and is something that moves through and I respond in the now. Often there is the anticipation of something before it finds its form as words on paper, mostly as poetry, sometimes as contemplative writing in prose, sometimes in photography or a combination of the aforementioned.
The writing is a kind of direct experience, as in I am present for something as it is felt and expresses as words. The photography, too, is a kind of calling or marking of direct experience and has a numinous quality within it. What gets expressed, conveyed, felt, or sensed through the sharing of these, I also do not know what that might be. It is like breathing for me. Or at least that is how it comes today to write about such things.
And finally, the blog tour may continue in a similar fashion to above, if I have other bloggers to invite for you to check out with blog tour posts of their own. However, I found that I did not have currently active bloggers to invite! So I invited both a poet/artist and a songwriter/musician/poet to start their own blogs such that they could be included with accolades in this Virtual Blog Tour.
Perhaps they will do just that and at least one new blogger will be featured here in short time. I will update this entry with their URL and some of what inspired me to invite them to participate. Perhaps.
I say these things
You laugh
What heart are we
And where
The attachments fall so
Heavily at my feet
Stubbing toes and more
I Am That
Does it matter where
I Am
Relax, says the sky
I am here
You can’t go anywhere
Without me
This vastness answers
All my questions
Just because they appear
To be moving
Doesn’t mean the clouds
Abandon us
You have finally stumbled
Across my breadcrumbs
Now it’s my turn to laugh
Because you are the path
Finding your way home
Could never be easier
Conjuring vastness
There a hundred fold reward
Who has strayed
Off the path perhaps me
Order is never lost
Only found that single garment
A dazzling raiment
As I plainly step out of my skin
The absolute waiting
Beyond comprehension
A stillness not
Measured nor breathed
Paths converge
Never having been split
A new land was visible, as well as undeniably felt today. This land was a land of clouds, in perfect synergy with the geological, earthen land masses that appear so permanent and reliable. The cloud cover was ever changing today, reliably so. The play of light and shadow cast exponentially greater than the day or two before when I took in the simple play of afternoon light and shadow on the slopes of the Adams Gulch trail north of Ketchum (where I’ve been communing with animals for the last three weeks.)
It was as if I had arrived in a wholly new place. The clouds joining with, marrying, in a deep interplay with the curves and slopes of the mountains and hills and creek valleys everywhere around me creating a new order of scape. I was drawn to capture the shapes and the light and the feel of these ineffable contours again and again and again. Everywhere I turned, yet another land to move with, to be wafted by, lifted up while my feet remained with the ground below.
Where is it we dwell, truly? There is only one small portion of ground that our physical form rests down, touches down, meets contact with and makes real that place. All other aspects of space are perceived, even if they can be mapped, recorded, seemed to be held real ~ all these are simply a pointing to. Such is the magic of the cloud land or cloudscape, no maps are made of these.
In that way, clouds are akin to so many other changing thus not permanent things, not expected to remain the same. What is it about cloud nature that our brains so resonate with their phenomena? Are we not so much closer to cloud than steel or glass or even wood? We are so changeable by so, so many aspects and factors of life that shape us, constrict us, show us off, dissolve us, heighten and sometimes perturb us.
I will meet you here
We are at home in the sky
There no ladder climbs