It’s been a long day

fumerolle_Johanne-cullen-woman-tired

I see and inhabit beauty in a blink.
But it doesn’t change me within.
It doesn’t release the iron jaws of worry,
the buzzing hurry,
the dull certainty that I am, we are,
the world is spiraling down.
Where are you in this?
How can I access the energy
that used to hold me aloft?

~ Dani Kopoulos


Notes:

Miracle? All of it. 

fingers-fingertips-touch

“I can’t feel anything in my fingertips,” Manning said. “I’ve talked to a doctor recently who said, Don’t count on the feeling coming back.

The ESPN pundits were chattering about the NFL preseason in the background.  Upon hearing Fingertips – Feeling – Not coming back, my attention moves from the morning paper, to the broadcast. I listen.

“It was hard for me for about two years, because one doctor told me I could wake up any morning and it might come back. So you wake up every day thinking, Today’s the day! Then it’s not.”

I gently release my grip from the newspaper, and with feather touch brushes I slide my fingertips over the paper. Back and forth and then again.  And again. And again.

Skin on paper.

A boy, hand in his pocket, fingers his favorite polished stone.

The paper is dry, smooth.

I release.

A trace of ink stains both fingertips.

Today’s the Day!


Inspired by Albert Einstein’s quote: “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”


Notes:

They do. They do.

bird-singing-morning

The early morning hour
should be dedicated to praise:
do not the birds set us the example?

~ Charles Spurgeon


Notes:

Color


I was watching this video (3:15 am, in the dark) and seeing florescent orange in my peripheral vision from the digital clock on the dresser – and feeling gratitude wash over me.  I marvel at what technology is doing for people like Neil Harbisson (and so happy that I can see more than gray-scale.) Bottom line: Moved.

“The life of Neil Harbisson is like something out of a sci-fi novel. Neil was born with achromatopsia, a rare condition that leaves 1 in 30,000 people completely colorblind. But Neil isn’t colorblind, far from it. After convincing his doctors to implant an antenna onto him, Neil now possesses a new sense – the ability to hear colors. Neil takes you through a day in his life and you into an entirely new world.”


Source: Sho & Tell

Under Pressure?

painting-Almedia-blue

I listed my blessings: all those
I love who hold me here.
I looked up at the thick
interlacing of branches above my head
and saw, high up, the bright blue
of air I might breathe, air I could swim to.

—Gregory Orr, “Under Pressure,” in City of Salt


Poem: I Hear It Deep In The Hearts Core. Art: Helena Almedia (mennyfox55)

It’s been a long day

tired-fatigue-black-and-white
Days go by so fast.
Fading, fading.
Leave no mark but fatigue.
It becomes so huge.
It blocks out everything.

~ Tennessee Williams, from Notebooks


Notes:

Hello… they seem to cry, who… are… you?

Also invariable present at some indefinable distance are the mourning doves whose plaintive call suggests irresistibly a kind of seeking-out, the attempt by separated souls to restore a lost communion:

Hello… they seem to cry, who… are… you?

And the reply from a different quarter. Hello… (pause) where… are… you?

No doubt this line of analogy must be rejected. It’s foolish and unfair to impute to the doves, with serious concerns of their own, an interest in questions more appropriate to their human kin. Yet their song, if not a mating call or a warning, must be what it sounds like, a brooding meditation on space, on solitude. The game.

~ Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire


Notes: Related posts from Edward Abbey: Desert Solitaire

Suddenly it lay before us, restless, mighty and unending.

ocean-sea-wave

The sea came towards us like an immense silver sail.
Long before we reached it we could detect its salt breath;
the horizon became ever brighter and more distant,
and suddenly it lay before us, restless, mighty and unending.

~ Erich Maria Remarque, from Three Comrades


Notes: Prose – the distance between two doors. Photo: Shae Fierce

Sunday Morning

delicate-arch
Many have made the climb to Delicate Arch, so many that the erosion of human feet is visible on the soft sandstone, a dim meandering, path leading upward for a mile and a half into a queer region of knobs, domes, turrets and coves, all sculptured from a single solid mass of rock.  What do the pilgrims see? The trail climbs and winds past isolate pinyons and solitary junipers to a vale of stone where nothing has happened for a thousand years, to judge from the quietude of the place, the sense of waiting that seems to hover in the air. […]

If Delicate Arch has any significance it lies, I will venture, in the power of the odd and unexpected to startle the senses and surprise the mind out of their ruts of habit, to compel us into a reawakened awareness of the wonderful – that which is full of wonder.

A weird, lovely, fantastic object out of nature like Delicate Arch has the curious ability to remind us – like rock and sunlight and wind and wilderness – that out there is a different world, older and greater and deeper by far than ours, a world which surrounds and sustains the little world of men as sea and sky surround and sustain a ship. The shock of the real. For a little while we are again able to see, as the child sees, a world of marvels. For a few moments we discover that nothing can be  taken for granted, for if this ring of stone is marvelous then all which shaped it is marvelous, and our journey here on earth, able to see and touch and hear in the midst of tangible and mysterious things-in-themselves, is the most strange and daring of all adventures.

~ Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire


Notes:

Big Blue

big-sur-pacific-ocean-blue

When Big Sur copies Mark Rothko
Pacific Coastal Highway, CA
iPhone 6


Source: Annelise Moore