Lazy Day

So today was spent without much activity; lethargy overwhelming. Lots of schoolwork, lots of writing. I played the trumpet for a bit, which made for a nice respite from things. Time kind of wastes itself very easily, and makes you aware of how quickly it slips away. So today I was thinking about the expression "spending time," because it's an interesting one. Why do we feel as though we have the ability to spend time as if it were a commodity. Isn't it more true that time spends us, that we are merely along for the ride and that there's nothing we can really do to stop the flow of time? Death scares us, and youth blinds us. We try to mature and work our way to maturity, but then once we reach it, we try to hold onto it with clammy hands and grasping fingers. The rope will always slip from us. Loss is inevitable. Decay is relentless. Nothing in the world is eternal.

Taking that into account, I feel as though there should be some way for us to make sense of decay, to build from the ground up. To continue living with the knowledge that everything that we do will wither and die. If astronomy has taught us anything, it is that the constants of the heavens are ephemeral, the sun will collapse in on itself eventually, the stars will die and wither away. The first law of thermodynamics. The law of Entropy. Chaos will govern all. Because it has to.

Learning to Dive

Today's post is about learning how to dive, something which seemed to be the theme of my day today. Diving into a lake on a sunny afternoon in mid-July is so refreshing. But today, while I was jumping into the water at all different angles, I noticed a few people at the edge of the dock who were teaching their friend to dive. The first thing I noticed was how awkward she was when she tried to jump. Before the jump she would be in diving position -- hands locked, head tucked in-- but as soon as her feet left the deck, her hands came up to brace her, and her knees came up in front of her chest, as if she were falling not onto water, but onto concrete.

She had such a deep fear, that no matter how much she told herself that there was no danger, her body refused to believe her. Her muscles seized up, and again and again she fell into the water, but never as gracefully as she desired. I'm sure you all have seen something like the girl on the dock; maybe it was an awkward diver, teetering at the edge of the diving board but refusing to jump. In any case, the theme is the same in these cases: we are faced with fear, and we can overcome it, or not. For some people, though, it may be a different problem. They fail to recognize their fear, and so are unable to change the impact that it has on their lives.

SO. dive into fear -- its often nothing more than a veil, and if you find that it's justified? Then you have much more pressing issues than regret.

30 Minutes

So today is the first day back to the keyboard in a little while. I did some pen and paper work whilst i was away, but really not that much. Ever since things got so filled up with testing, my writing life has seemed a bit stifled. And I can feel it now while writing this. It's a little bit strained, and going on without pausing to think is difficult. like starting up a cold car engine.

They do that in Minnesota, you know, when the temperatures drop so low that leaving your car exposed could spell death for the poor machine. So you get a cord, and plug your car in so that the ice doesn't reach your engine. It maybe looks a little bit awkward, but in this case, function certainly trumps form.

Keeping things alive when they shouldn't be. We do that a lot. We as a culture have learned to try and hold on to everything with an iron grip, but all that achieves is that the rope of faith cuts us even deeper as it wrenches itself free from our grasp. I'm not saying that we should just leave things as they are, such inaction is dangerous. That's why i loathe the word "fate." It promotes inaction, it allows for lethargy, and seeds passivity where activity should be. But you can't argue with the fatalists, because OF COURSE you would argue.

I don't want to take my fingers off the keyboard now. What I want to say doesn't really matter, so long as the typing continues. Keystroke after keystroke lands with it's own unique intention.

I see the clouds gathering in my mirror-pool
where my faith defines reality.
her surface reflects my heart;
her heart is hidden from my vision

where a fish once was I see bones
where green once thrived I see grey
I look at my reflection and see
only mottled skin and dried gums

a drop of rain hits the surface of the water,
distorting my perception for a moment
as ripples race outward in concentric circles.
a drop of rain hits my eye.

when I was young, I saw visions of the future
and the people praised my ability
when I was middle aged, I saw visions of the hidden present
and the people feared my insight.

now i see nothing but a shadowy reflection of the past,
the people do not care-- they wait for me to die
and I do as well, sitting beside my Eye, as the rainwater
comes to take me to bliss.

***

Lao Tsu said that the true master does without doing. I say that before becoming a "true master" one must do and do and do until they know that doing without doing is not inaction, but effortless action. As fluid and natural as the flow of water from a mountainous source to the ocean.

Insecta

The white terrifies me; the sanctity of the first page is powerful.  It stands before me now like a veil that I am now blotching black. And black. And black.  

I am a slow writer, by all measures.   I reread and rewrite with maddening frequency and finally, after all has been said, toss my work away like a discarded exoskeleton.  I've crawled out of it, emerged from it -- why should I return?

This blog will be about my thoughts on different things, not political, not controversial, merely things.  It will be a silt-filled torrent where my other work may be more accurately described as a pristine spring.  I want this whitespace here, to talk to myself, and to talk to you.  So that's what I'll try to do, for at least 15 minutes a day.  If I'm away from the computer, I'll write it down in a notebook, and then update it here later.

Maybe I'll describe the day's events in a sort of bland narrative, or maybe I'll describe a scene I just imagine.  I am a bit fond of stories -- I'll try one now.  

You feel yourself waking to the smell of damp earth and the gentle nudging of a ladybug.   You open your eyes slowly, then squint as the sun makes his "good morning."  The ladybug is walking along your palm; her tiny legs tickle your skin.  Sitting up is hard, but you manage just as you have every other day of your life.  You flex your neck and let loose a glorious roar.  

Sit up, sun warms your face.  He is higher than he should be -- you've overslept.  Maybe this time it will be okay, no-where to go, nothing to do.  Maybe this time, it is a blessing that you are no-one.  Because in being no-one, you are everyone.  Like the worker ant or the single ladybug -- each insignificant, each integral to the circus of life.  You are the steel girders that support the trapeze artists.  Unglamorous? Certainly, but essential.  

Now you are more powerful than anyone, you, in innocuous ubiquity.  Your situation is more glorious than any hero's because without you, there would be no land to save, no kingdom to conquer.  The mindless drones of the bee-hives, I wonder what you think while you are still alive.  I wonder where you will go, with you furious, but fickle flame.  

***

So not really a story I know, but I did say this would be a silt-filled river.  I won't edit what I write here, this will be pure, raw thought.  Thanks for joining me, and I hope there will be more to come.