Monthly Archives: March 2017

This Old Life (Live)

This program is broadcast live, un-scripted and un-rehearsed.

Building. Demolishing. Rennovating. 

The choas is captured along with the rising structure.

Construction never pauses, even during the commercials for spray starch and the local ambulance chaser.

Keep the cameras rolling. Let post-production chop it up and splice it together for the re-runs.

The cranes move behind the scenes, backdrop to the hosts’ argument caught in cam 1 and cam 2 over removing water from that hole, patching that piece of pavement, and who is going to make the lunch run.

Jeans, boots, and safety goggles. Gold and orange vests. The night crews are setting the work lights while the stage crews are moving the spot lights.

During the foreman’s spontaneous monologue, the cranes are engaged in movent from the laydown area to the pick zone, setting trusses, christmas-treeing joists, and preparing for the topping-out.

Drama makes the show compelling, but the bricks, the driven nails and the planted cherry trees will be here years after the show is cancelled and the contracts have expired.

Closing shot under the credits and theme music: expanding frame, exterior – the family sits down at the table,  laughing as the last one entering the room draws the curtains. 


Naked

“The loss of mystery occurs simultaneously with offering the means for creating a shared mystery.  The sequence is: subjective – objective – subjective to the power of two.”

 John Berger,  Ways of Seeing, Penguin Press, 1972.


Point on a curve

There is a point you pass and never see it.  When you wake up and don’t react personally if it’s cold, rainy, sweltering, or mild, you’ve passed it. You don what you think you need, prepare for the environment, take your chances and count on your best self, your faith in your own resiliency and skill that those are enough.

When winning and losing still matter, but you stop re-playing the losses and missed opportunities in your mind with a sense of regret, you’ve passed it. The universe isn’t focused on thwarting you – it isn’t even considering you.

General unfairness in the world wears no specific name tag. Unlucky stars have no bearing, and yet your luck and fortune continue to fluctuate. Specific affronts, on the other hand, are drawn in solid contours. Obstacles, just or unjust, reveal themselves for what they are, often opportunities, often needed challenges.  They resist generalities.  They have names.

When the brilliance and vibrancy of the world has increased, but so has the seriousness and gravity, you’ve passed it.  You move with greater purpose and the moments of directionless stasis are more rare, sometimes only present as memories or left-over notions. You shift your concerns from small to large and back again, without losing your grip.

I wouldn’t call it transcendence, though it is akin to the notion.  More like living in true color. You begin seeing the relief in high-definition.

Shy of that point, you may get stuck. The cloud around you is glued to your skin. Time may push you through it, but I believe you have to consciously decide not to carry the cloud with you.

Once you’ve passed that point, you start piloting the curve ahead, plotting it, changing its direction, gliding over its curves, and dodging or barreling through its uneven patches.


Telephony

That device that my son uses to text me cryptic, yet extraordinarily complicated logistical, immediate, and preferential information requiring my action, could use an enhancement.

If there was only some way the developers could add some sort of 2-way, real time, voice-based communication; some tele-phonic feature that could work directly with my own device. That would be great.


The devils’ dance

Turn and return, lines heave
then collapse, syncronized stomp,
the hive twists and crosses,
finding hands to clasp,
twarting the casting of
spells, teeth bared in smiles,
jaws tight against a counter curse to the chanting,
round the corner, slide away,
and in empty seconds,
swing and tap an oath
to this hissing fiddle’s rhythm,
and the neighbor’s screws,
under and over to dance with
a devil new.


The last days of winter

Walking together with the dog,
the air is heavy, a waterlogged cold,
though the wind reminds me of
winter’s true desire, now fading,
to be crisp, keen, knifey.
The sky is dark at this hour,
shifting all hues toward dark blue and
purple, even the young grass, now
poking through mud and the season’s decay.

Ten minutes pass, lights off, door locked,
the sky has trimmed itself a bright blue.
I walk to my car, frost no longer
wrapping the panels, as I set wheels in motion.
I fight against the glare as a
mandarin sun swings above the treeline,
my eastward push slowed, with the others,
on the salt stained highway
heading into spring.


Sustainable

Truth is that life is struggle.

Accepting that, dropping the frustration at inconsistency and the search for righteousness, makes way for applying considerable skill and resources to the short view goals and the long term plan.

Each circle emanating from me, from my very self outward to the world I know, gets a part of me today. Today, some events in the greater circles will get special attention. Excitement and organization is building around an idea, my idea.

Today, I’m planting more seeds in one field as I reap the harvest from another.

I am the earth I tend, and it is high time to get back to work.


A break in the sky

Sun storm, horses pounding
through silver boulders,
lowering their heads to
snort vaporous spouts,
mist laminating their blazes,
a trailing cyclone of clouds
braiding their tails,
they land at speed,
full gallop through the lifeless
shadows of March.