A Victim Somewhat Present in the World

Or “Why Ghosts Work so Hard to be Seen” * It is a kind of transgression – moving through the world without definition. Like ghosts. Predictability is absolute control, and we like boundaries, boxes and walls. We draw them on and around one another. Invisible lines – undeniably present. There is an insoluble tension between…

The Lost Canon of Alternative Arts

We will all disappear anyway. What’s in a name? A rose… We fragment. As will the life that once caught itself whipping around the sharp corners hanging desperately after a name – or pulling one behind, as heavy as a tire in the sand. I’ve watched them. The runners who train at the beach, pulling…

Onomatopoeia 1

These flat days of winter are never about a loss of hope. It’s a loss of desire. These days where the edges lose shape, surfaces reflect dull surfaces and the pieces of the world are packed away bit by bit, wrapped in featureless swaddling and stacked in damp cardboard. Don’t get me wrong – there…

“Not waving…”

The sound that comes: ssshhhh. Maybe instead of a word for the year, I need a sound. Maybe it will be more meaningful for me to swap out “om” with sssshhh in morning meditations. It’s the sound that comes when the tide pulls out. When a person tries to calm a baby.  Or someone else….

What Stories

My second cup of coffee. The space heater is already turned on, but I don’t remember doing it. And once again those last twenty minutes having slipped by accounted for – not as in black outs, or anything concerning –  just a matter of inattention. Birds sleep half-a-brain at a time. I am awake this…

A Little, Too Little

Still Leonard refuses to go into the yard alone when it is dark – which is pretty much always these days. I think he’s afraid of the hedgehog that lives in the holly hedge. He has to pass that corner before the yard opens up facing the road – and the streetlights. I think I…

The Overview of Burning Hearts 2020

And a very domestic start to the year. Last night we spent the evening with good friends. We lit sparkler hearts and toasted with champagne as the calendar flipped. And I was introduced to a New Year’s tradition: 12 grapes. One for each month – 12 wishes for the coming year. After enough food to…

A To-Do List

Tomorrow I will run on the beach. The 9th year of a personal tradition for New Year’s Day. Today I will try to tick off some of the things on my to-do list before I head back to work, and into a new year. I write lists. And sometimes I find them lying around the…

In the In-Between

Missing instagram. The constrained attention of a photo-a-day habit – when it really is fine not to add an interpretation of the moment. To point – and let it be. And let the words come when they will. When in a quiet moment, the dragon decides to move through. * These days are in-between the…

Solstice

The sun turned two days ago. And isn’t this the way it always is – so ready, so over-due for something to change, only to find myself lagging behind. The sky is a lazy white, and as bright now as it will be all of today. There is a silent mumuration of starlings over the…

Form Two Lines

These days nothing feels as it should. There is an off-ness in the gusts of wind, in the bad news that I read from the local paper while the dog pees on the dying bush that is his 4.30 a.m. go-to spot. I’m going to have to find a new morning routine for the two…

In the Coming

There is a wisdom in traditions. They must be borne of intuitive responses. The first of December means the Norwegians bring out the advent lights. These days – when leaving for work in the dark and heading home in the dark can make me feel robbed of something – these small lights evoke sensations of…

Halving the Distance

Some mornings, even dark mornings, the world seems too bright. And I feel an extra pressure to step up. To be good enough. It’s as if something is hawking, mustering, whistling a rally cry. I have no idea what for, but there is rising sense of urgency, a sharp edge of panic touching my diaphragm….

Seen on My Run

A loud run. The wind in my ears, even through the scarf. My right knee with its brittle rubber squawking, my left hamstring belting obscenities like Ethel Merman. Then turned to head back, quiet and easy. Then came the rain. Go figure.

Advent Sunday

It isn’t often that I feel terribly out of place. That I am acutely aware of being transplanted. That I feel a pinch of want – the severed root that cannot nourish – and I feel just slightly withered. Sometimes from sorrow, for no reason, you sing. For no reason, you accept the way of…

Routine

It’s mild today, but the bridge was sure to be slick with ice, so we kept to the trail west of the lake. E. got me up from the computer and out the door. And Leonard Edgar seems to finally have his mojo back, while I lagged behind taking pictures, effectively running intervals to keep…

Memory & Anticipation

So much of the Buddhist philosophy makes sense to me. Except the aspect of non-sensuality – at least as I am understanding it. To give up the pleasure of the senses, seems to me a premature death. Surely one can consciously experience and enjoy being in the world – this very physical world that we…

Seeking the Sun

from whatever perspective offers itself. Work days in a literal black box, desk facing the wall – I have to remember to take the time to seek out a window. A reflection of the setting sun, early afternoon. Somewhere in the world it’s Thanksgiving, with all its ambivalence.