Issa and Thoreau on compassion

No human being, past the thoughtless age
of boyhood, will wantonly murder any
creature, which holds its life by the
same tenure he does. The hare in its
extremity cries like a child.
...............................- Henry David Thoreau




All the while
I pray to Buddha
I keep on killing
Mosquitoes.
...................- Issa

The squirrel that you kill in jest, dies in earnest..- Henry David Thoreau

Local news at 9:14

Pothole in Costa Rica

I posted a couple of poems at annasadhorse, if you're interested in that kind of thing. Otherwise, just move along. Watch out for the potholes.

Local news at 10:42

We're home. When we left for Costa Rica, I was unimpressed by the Paul Tzanetopoulos pylon light display, and the US in general, dirty politics, the Christian Talivangicals, Wall Street, our gross consumption, all the bullshit but returning I glimpsed how, to the world, we still hold out hope. In spite of it all, the US is still a very cool place. I even liked Tzanetopoulos' lights.

Anyway, we are leaving for Oregon this morning to spend the holiday with family. The details of our trip are quickly fading but I do want to write a bit about the crazy BnB we stayed at but for all the ups and downs, when we left, everyone came out to wave good-bye, along with two of the very sweet street dogs I'd been feeding. It was very nearly tearful.

Reflection

Giant moth.
Costa Rica

Morning conversation

Now or never squawk the parrots flying over the house. I yell back, then never!

Thinking into midnight

Eye over Costa Rica

What happens when things change, when a part of you, or your life, breaks off, slips away? I don't mean the big things that rearrange the world into Before and After. I mean the little things that quietly remind us of where we are, where we have been, that make us unique to one another. Time changes or deepens those things in it's course but what happens if you do it to yourself, out of sequence, and you need to talk about it with someone and you realize that, other than family, and thank the gods for them, you have spent a lifetime parsing out bits of yourself, that you never told anyone the whole story, that you haven't allowed friendships to flourish, that you have lots of acquaintances but, when you need someone to talk to, there is no one you are willing to call because you'd have to catch them up first, or you'd have to leave parts out, or you just don't call because, well, really it isn't that bad yet, is it? What do you do? Wait it out? This too shall pass? What the hell is the matter with me?

I have friends who would get mad, or worse, hurt if they read this. What could I say to them? Oh, I didn't mean you, or feelings aren't facts, or I just needed to vent? I should have called you. That's all true so what is true? I'm not alone. I have a wonderful family. I know I'm wallowing. I know everything but how to get through this gracefully.