Language itself is a barrier.
讼
Hexagram 6
Sung - Conflict
Changing lines
/Line Three
He stands on his integrity, no matter what ill winds may blast him. Stand or fall, in the end he will remain exactly who he is.
/Line Four
Realizing the very root of conflict lies within his own heart, he lays down his arms and resolves to accept the things he cannot change.
Phase One” from Bring Now the Angels
by Dilruba Ahmed, 2020
For leaving the fridge open
last night, I forgive you.
For conjuring white curtains
instead of living your life.
For the seedlings that wilt, now,
in tiny pots, I forgive you.
For saying no first
but yes as an afterthought.
I forgive you for hideous visions
after childbirth, brought on by loss
of sleep. And when the baby woke
repeatedly, for your silent rebuke
in the dark, “What’s your beef?”
I forgive your letting vines
overtake the garden. For fearing
your own propensity to love.
For losing, again, your bag
en route from San Francisco;
for the equally heedless drive back
on the caffeine-fueled return.
I forgive you for leaving
windows open in rain
and soaking library books
again. For putting forth
only revisions of yourself,
with punctuation worked over,
instead of the disordered truth,
I forgive you. For singing mostly
when the shower drowns
your voice. For so admiring
the drummer you failed to hear
the drum. In forgotten tin cans,
may forgiveness gather. Pooling
in gutters. Gushing from pipes.
A great steady rain of olives
from branches, relieved
of cruelty and petty meanness.
With it, a flurry of wings, thirteen
gray pigeons. Ointment reserved
for healers and prophets. I forgive you.
I forgive you. For feeling awkward
and nervous without reason.
For bearing Keats’s empty vessel
with such calm you worried
you had, perhaps, no moral
center at all. For treating your mother
with contempt when she deserved
compassion. I forgive you. I forgive
you. I forgive you. For growing
a capacity for love that is great
but matched only, perhaps,
by your loneliness. For being unable
to forgive yourself first so you
could then forgive others and
at last find a way to become
the love that you want in this world.
Note to self
There is a bird here on Portugal's Atlantic coast I only hear sing as midnight approaches. I love the song. I picked the song for a phone notification before I ever heard it in the wild. Hearing it at night like this is one thing I will really miss when we leave here, one thing among many, but also one of my favorites of all times. I must find out the name of this magical creature, and what she looks like so the memory of her and her wonderful call remains with me when we go.
Industrial farming corporations battle nature but it is Nature who taught the Kung Fo masters.
"Knives cut. Buckets hold. Sometimes—the only thing you can do is get out of the way." - I Ching
"Poems? There are stacks of poems lying here. When I began to write them I wanted to prepare myself a palette of words, as if I were dealing with colours. All these words were weighted, filtered and appraised. I don't put much stock in spontaneous expressions of the unconscious." He added that long after his death his writing would "gain recognition and encyclopedias would say: 'Picasso, Pablo Ruiz – Spanish poet who dabbled in painting, drawing and sculpture.'"
08.2016
Today Frank asked to be called Fang. Prior to that is was Arrow and before that Orchid.
10.2016
Frank just asked me: mom, in water versus electricity, does water win because it breaks the electricity? Interesting thinking!
01.2017
Leo just now: forever plus forever is another time.
05.2017
Frank and I were looking at a book that talked about the first space missions and how monkeys were sent up before people. Frank did not like this and said, "you don't test on creatures, you test on someone your own size." Thought you'd appreciate that!
01.2018
Frank just now: what thing do you think will be here after us, after all the people die? Me: I don't know, what do you think? Frank: maybe...robots? Or zombies? 😨
"The very classification 'amateur' has an apologetic ring but that word, from the Latin amator, 'lover'- means one who does something for the love of the thing rather than for economic reasons or necessity. And this is the meaning from which the amateur filmmaker should take his cue. Instead of envying the script and dialogue writers, the trained actors, the elaborate staff and sets, the enormous production budgets of the professional film, the amateur should make use of the one great advantage which all professionals envy him, namely, freedom-both artistic and physical."
-Maya Deren, "Amateur versus Professional," Movie Makers Annual, 1959
It was an odd oversight as I've been watching sunlight slowly move north for months, waiting for it to finally shine on Plantie. She's the little rescue plant I moved to the narrow gorilla garden along the wall of the parking lot across the street. Others have planted things there as well so it seemed okay. She had outgrown her pot and was beginning to die. The biggest problem in this tiny garden is that a wall shades it most of the year.
It was only as summer solstice drew near that Plantie and her companions finally got to enjoy the sun's early morning rays, which they say is like mother's milk to growing things. Now that this singular moment has passed, the shade will soon return.
I miss having my own garden, such is apartment life, but how did I miss the solstice? I was distracted, rushed, busy from the beginning of that day to its end when I finally went to bed. First it was with one of my ongoing medical issues, it sucks getting old, followed by two meetings in a row. I intend to die with my boots on.
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| Flight path of the swallows |
They live as far away as South Africa in the winter but in summer we are graced by the return of the Swallows, Martins, and Swifts. I'm not entirely sure which species lives in my neighborhood, they all look similar, but probably these guys are Swallows. Whichever, it's breakfast time, so I'm enjoying their fascinating aerial ballet. In any case, they all do the same dip, dive, and swirling flight as they mine the air for food but, to be honest, I wish they were Swifts. They especially fascinate me. Other than nesting time, they spend their entire lives in the air. How is that even possible?
There is another world, but it is in this one." -- Paul Eluard
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| (Image credit: Alamy) |
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| Chiang Mai - Thailand remains of offerings from a Spirit House |
Tao Te Ching...
verse for today (*):
48
In pursuit of knowledge,
every day something is added.
In the practice of the Tao,
every day something is dropped.
Less and less do you need to force things,
until finally you arrive at non-action.
When nothing is done,
nothing is left undone.
True mastery can be gained
by letting things go their own way.
It can't be gained by interfering.
(translation by Stephen Mitchell, 1995)
How many stars can you see at night from your place on earth? I grew up where we saw a lot, the whole sky we thought. Of course, as telescopes and space probes continue to improve, we see universes beyond universes. Who knows? Perhaps there really are parallel universes, one of my favorite ideas, but back to point, asha.
I lived in NYC for a year in my 20s and, if I was lucky, I could see one star at night from my hotel room window and that only through the various kinds of pollution suffocating us. That star immediately became my special friend, a comfort, a wonder and a joy. It still is. I can still see its singular, hazy light. It's still a light in the dark; in spite of everything I may be going through, you may be going through, we may be going through, it still comforts and amazes me. Even if the star itself was extinguished centuries or millennia ago by the forces of time, it still shines in the theatre of my mind, connecting me to something greater, something enduring, a comfort in spite of everything.
Want to see where clear night skies still exist? Light pollution map.
THE IMAGE
March 28,
Worm Moon might not the happiest day if you're the worm. If you're a robin it might be a great day. For the rest of us . . . sometimes an ordinary day is best. In any case, the Full Moon in March is the Worm Moon, and it is usually considered the last Full Moon of winter. It is also called Lenten Moon, Crow Moon, Crust Moon, Chaste Moon, Sugar Moon, and Sap Moon.
Tao Te Ching...
verse for today:
79
Failure is an opportunity.
If you blame someone else,
there is no end to the blame.
Therefore the Master
fulfills her own obligations
and corrects her own mistakes.
She does what she needs to do
and demands nothing of others.
(translation by Stephen Mitchell, 1995)
-+-+-+-
source: I Ching Online
"Others have trodden this Path before you, overcoming the same obstacles facing you now, and making crucial decisions at the same crossroads. Study their journals, watch for their trail markings. Gain inspiration and wisdom from the heroes and learn from the mistakes of those who chose a sidepath. All were Seekers, explorers whose daring mapped a course you can follow."
~I Ching / Ta Ch'u
"Beware the Ides of March."
The thing is, March 15 is no longer the Ides of March and hasn't been for a long time. In the Roman (moon) calendar of Caesar's time, Ides merely meant first full moon of the month. This year (2021) the first full moon in March is on the 28th (sun calendar). All this woo-woo about March 15 is correlation, superstition, and dramatic renderings of history.
When I expand my reference a bit, what I remember is that any and every day is simultaneously somebody's best and somebody else's worst day of their life, and by somebody I mean all living beings on the planet, not just us humans. With this in mind, I'm content letting March 15 be nothing special. As my son says . . . "Have an ordinary day."
Why not ask the palace staff who were driven to tears
who, exactly, "made them cry"? Megan or Kate?
It's not a mystery to the people it happened to yet the press and palace carry on as though this is an impossible question to answer therefore why ask it, just go on with the hand-wringing and suggest answers to questions that are not theirs to answer in the first place. It's all a sham.
written and recorded by Gillian Welch
Lawrence Ferlinghetti died last night. He had a good long run, a hundred and one years. I'm guessing he outlived almost everyone who from San Francisco's original beat scene. Uncle John turned me on to what was happening in North Beach when I was a kid. I couldn't wait to go there and to Ferlinghetti's bookstore, City Lights, and did eventually when I got old enough. The whole scene was another 'boy's club' of course but the writing and music was good, kicked some walls down. It's still there, by the way, the bookstore, and worth a visit next time you're in SF.
Paris Review obit
Besides being a stellar pianist, jazz composer, keyboardist, bandleader, and occasional percussionist Chick Corea was a truly kind man. Back in the early 80's, one of the darkest, most
isolated periods of my life, I wrote him a letter. I have no idea how or
why I had his address. I don't even know how I got a stamp or envelope. I was living alone in a trailer in a holler in West Virginia without electricity or running water. I think a friend had played some gigs with him.
Anyway, I wrote him and some time later, a letter showed up in my battered mailbox. He encouraged me to hold on, to trust the path. It made a difference. In all, we exchanged a couple of letters. He invited me to stay in touch, but I didn't.
This is an atypical piece for him but it speaks to me.
He died a couple of days ago at the age of 79. Now, I have no idea what (if anything) happens to an individual after death but . . . thank you for your kindness and best wishes, Chick Corea, where/whatever you are now.
