Echoes

You should have heard the gulls last night.

They cooed and hawed in the fog over a rising tide.

Wind rippling echos in the mist.

Mist from what is certainly not considered fog anymore, but cloud.

Every once in a while one glides overhead, chattering, on some mission perhaps known only to nature.

Smile

We live forever in a moment;

Her head slumps in my shoulder

as she drifts to sleep

Through the window

half light fractures the red cedar bark,

peeling back layers of time.

It’s the kind of light that used to mean

time to head home.

Shadows of branches distend

to the fuzzy green and brown floor.

Mom calls me home for dinner.

I begin to slump into the couch.

My stomach rocks like waves lapping the shore.

For a moment our bodies are like the salty sea foam;

formless and not divided by numbers.

The birth of things.

Of love maybe.

Or something beyond love, something that doesn’t die,

and like the foam it returns to the sea

only to remanifest.

It won’t be long before dark.

I wonder what kind of childhood memories she’ll have.

It’s not easy to transcend Space and Time on your own.

You have to sit very still,

with your eyes closed,

for a long time.

And even then it’s not a guarantee.

It’s much easier with someone else,

The mutual understanding is already there.

An agreement to terms and conditions.

Then Space and Time collapses

somewhere between a smile.

Trust

Most of the time i can’t trust myself enough

To know that i know enough about what i’m doing.

Running on the treadmill always trying to keep up

Gnashing teeth. Wringing hands.

What is it i don’t understand?

I keep trying to fill this emptiness, with some goddamn ideal will it ever be enough?

Spiraling cottonwood seeds drift and build up like snow curbside.

Cracked sidewalk shifted and bent atop gnarled ancient tree roots.

When will I know enough to know that all this striving, this ideal of

perfection is what keeps me from peace.

Writhing

I’m sinking in this sea,

writhing,

trying so hard to get free.

Every vector point

Spins the web of consciousness

Leaning back, into technology

I could be trapped.

Covered by the sea foam

Clinging,

I’ve nowhere to call home.

7/13/2018

Industry

How are we supposed to feel secure, when we continue to make sure that we’re separate from the whole.

I did not jump up with my fist in the air and yell, Yeah! Like any good American would. Actually I snapped the picture, I thought it’d look cool for the blog, and during the rattling of tracks I felt this complete disconnect. The tracks, the train, the overpass, the buildings behind me and asphalt under my feet, I felt like the only natural thing around. Of course I wasn’t but so suddenly it occurred to me that i am the product of past generations fight against nature.

On the rails of commerce

Oil travels like detainees

On my knees, beggin

please, please, please.

What’s it all for

We’re always on the hunt for more

border wars;

trade wars;

More!

Hiding Spots (Haiku) In the Park (Tanka)

In the park we found so many trails, diverging and converging all over again. There were so many special hiding spots which we made our own, though, I knew that other kids, families, newly dating couples, did the exact same countless times before us.


Hiding spot under

Twisted branches and broad leaves

Small stream trickling


All of the trails though led to the same great grass field, with plenty of shady spots to tuck a family away and find some solace, even if it was a pretty busy midmorning. We took whichever path seemed fitting and discovered what needed to be discovered so that we could emerge in the sunlight under the watchful pine and enjoy the sprawling field to run on.


I like driving the
Other parents in the park
Crazy, by lying
Down in the grass, letting the
Kids run, acting so care-free.

This one was a first tanka attempt, written onsite, I wanted to include it, because of its spontaneity, after looking at it later though I thought I’d try my hand at a more traditional one.

Which includes according to poets.org:
the tanka employs a turn, known as a pivotal image, which marks the transition from the examination of an image to the examination of the personal response


I lay in the grass

Under big blue sky and pine

Letting the kids run,

Acting care-free and easy

Other parents go crazy.


Today, in the park, we took a hands off approach, we took paths less traveled, went along when someone else made a choice and did not worry about what we looked like. We weren’t concerned with control; making the situation perfect; living up to our preconceived ideas about what the day at the park was supposed to be. Often we are so concerned with the idea of perfection that we are scared to try, but just the willingness to try is perfection.


Earlier in the week I’d read a quote by Shunryu Suzuki:

To give your sheep or cow a large, spacious meadow is the way to control him.

Now the aim here was not to control, but rather to feel freedom. As a parent who has a tough time giving his kids the freedom to make their own mistakes, this was more a discipline for me than them. But we all gained. If i can also treat the mind in the same way, I can give up the conflicted, divided mind, and do everything with a wholeness that feels like freedom. In a way our visit to the park, with all its paths and decisions was a microcosm of this idea; regardless of all our choices and options if we give up the idea of control any path can lead to the open meadow.