THOUGHTS TO COUNT
.............hopefully counted since april 25, 05 ...........
Google Made me do it
The return to blogging. Google is now owning my life. I've subscribed to an increasing amount of their services, but hey, for a lazy bloke like me, its a rather easy one stop shop.
Good job google.
Lets see how long the honeymoon will last.
It would seem that by some roundabout way, I am back at the Blogger, expressing in the Bloggersphere, or whatever the die-hard-cores callin' it these days.
I call it throwing text into space.
See where it surfaces.
I'll be back.
I can see not a bud on a branch of a winter-worn tree, nor can I see but an infant bird or young squirrel playfully jaunting. The sun hangs low on the sky's belt and indeed I will not share in it too much longer this day. I feel not the tinge of freshness in the air nor can I say it is a pleasing spectrum of scent. Moreover, I know the winds now to be wholly absent of reminder of longer nights and warmer days. The rains have not cleansed the ground. They have not come to share themselves with us; to make us full and happy.
Yet I, here, now, in the absence of all these things corporeal, without evidence or indication, KNOW what is to come. I KNOW as do all the coated and clothed people who walk now beneath me do, what lies on the most immediate and eventual horizon. We together are scentient. We have no need for the great indicators which our senses derive. We walk with lighter step and wake with lighter heart. We congregate and commiserate on the daily, as it were our only conclusion of the moment. We together KNOW, SHARE and FEEL that which our blood and soul has made unmistakable. We walk on together, ambling with smiles and intent. Born again, alive anew and awakening to perception.
Now it is so soon.
And soon is the only necessity.
What was this movie inspired from? Did Paul Simon have something to do with the plot-line...was he a seducer/seducee of his peer's mothers...? You can probably bet on NO.
The best part of this movie, for me, is the sequence that starts off while Hoffman is sunning himself in the pool...leisurely floating on a raft....There's a terrific little acoustic number playing joviantly in the background...something to do with the description of the months of summer....
Hoffman gets off his raft, swims to the edge of the pool, pulls himself out, and ambles slowly up to the house, while buttoning up a bleached white shirt.....He moves inside and the scene changes to the interior of the Taft Hotel, where he casually lies himself on the bed and promptly, the aforementioned Mrs's starts unbuttoning that shirt.....segue into a closeup shot of him smoking a cig against the black headboard of the hotel bed, while his fling is lying across him....she's out of frame and now the camera pans back....he's sitting in his room, detached from everything, and closing the door to his parents.....once again, he gets up to move to the pool, and dives in....swims to the raft and pulls himself onto it....the segue into his climax in the taft suite....
The Mysterious Female
My impatience jumps out at me from the page, and it stabs at my resolve.
I can feel more seperate from myself, streaching to learn the importance of values.
Today, I remembered the first time that I realized it was important to tell people how you feel about them. It seems long ago. Contrary to what I perceived then, the revelation came in a dismal environment. I had pushed my closest relations to the edge, and I had turned in those I loved for the uncomforting magnificence of the world's empty pursuits. Even in that time, I had people all around, but to connect to them was impossible. My most valuable lesson was learned in that time. I told those who I knew I loved them. I understood my mistakes and accepted them with a sense of finality, but with also an appreciation for the future and second chances. I think it was in a most dismal time then that I had seen these things. I think only now that with hindsight I can make out the darkness.
And one day there was a rainbow. It was in May, at sunrise. I had spent the previous night on a rolling high. We laughed and joked, we played like kids and never thought about it. We moved outside in the early hours to get stoned in the park. On the morning dew grass. In the summer morning sky. A rainbow, loud and beautiful, arched over the sky. Bridging our futures with our past. How many ways can history repeat itself?
I took from that day these memories, a book and a belief. When I finished the book I nearly cried. I was on the last chapter, on the bench of the golfcourse near my house. My father was in sight, on the hill that was so large in my youth.
Dominique Francon is in New York, ascending a construction elevator on the city's tallest skyscraper. She recounts her emotions, her amazement, her humbleness. She remembers the years of seperation from her love, she recalls the visible wounds she acceptingly suffered for him. She ascends further up the building, now only a raw steel structure. She sees him. He is standing as part of the structure itself, hundreds of feet from the earth, building toward the sky. She knows him. She knows he is a man of his work, not seperate from it. He is a man of virtue, value and uncomprimising spirit. She arrives at sunset and as he recognizes her, he is not suprised, he is understanding. And he sees in her the same soul of virtue.
I nearly cry. It is warm; a late May evening, still with the freshness of spring in the air. I can't move, I am wrapped in her arms. I wonder if this spirit exists. Can I follow this belief? My father is still ahead of me. He is on top of the biggest hill of my childhood. I stand up and run to where he is and try to put everything into words. He understands, I know. But you have to try to put everything into words. Then the time is passed. We join together in games we've played for years. Though, now, I am keenly aware of the time and of the spirit in that place.
Things are cyclical. There are dismal hours. There are places of ill. Though, they are never without friends, never without hope, and never without spirit. The most inexpliciable is the most true. The most intangible is the most real. It is not what is seen, but what is felt that leads the way. It all goes on.
Something from the Tao Te Ching:
The Valley Spirit never dies.
It is named the Mysterious Female.
And the doorway of the Mysterious Female
Is the base from which Heaven and Earth sprang.
It is there within us all the while.
Draw upon it as you will, It never runs dry.
I mean, what do you have to do these days to stay in good terms with people....I think everyone needs to take a step back and look at their lives....Here, in my little group of Montreal amis, I find that we're all just losing ourselves in the last moments of our time together....as we all approach a graduation date, we begin working harder and losing site of the relationships we've built and the time we've spent together over the course of the degree....history repeats itself always, and luckily there'll be a big throwdown after all the stress of this final rush is over...but that's not enough for me...I have begun to value the people much more than the degree...without these folks, I wouldn't have made it through this thing alive...and now, at the end of it all, people seem willing to throw themselves into little pools where there is no interconnection...what a pitiful waste of time...Please, for christ's sake, someone value the truth and not the affront. That is all I ask. Take a step back and look where you'll be in 3 months...out of contact and into something new. The present is all there is and it shouldn't be sacrificed for the supposed future.
Lets wake up and be in love for the day.
Senses..and Jackson Pollack,..