Meandro - Witness Within

geneology, 1995

2012-02-16T22:48:00.004-05:00

geneology, 1996

2012-02-16T22:44:00.001-05:00

quasimodo, 2010

2012-01-16T12:14:00.002-05:00

cochrane, a detective in a short story i'm writing

2012-01-16T00:47:00.001-05:00

cochrane, river

cochrane abhorred art. he could or could not think whatever he wanted about a piece of art. there was no real barometer, nothing but passing fancy. he needed to know more, know too much. motivation and direction came first. then as many details as he could ascertain, could absorb, until a whole and vibrant picture began to emerge, arc and trajectory and choice. he wasn’t willing to make the leap of faith that being an art lover seemed to require of him, to let go what he knew for what might be. he didn’t like the feeling he got, a lightness in the hands and feet, when he gave himself over to the idea of some thing being great. it was all important. and in that moment something in him felt ill and knew he was disregarding some insignificance that would mean much more to him in the end. as he studied the river’s edge, walking slowly from where the girl was found, his nose was filled with the smells of deep earth and soil and the rich mixture that fallen leaves release as they are displaced under foot. it was going to rain.

free-falling from space dream

2012-01-15T23:48:00.006-05:00

free-falling from space dream, audio version. try the link above.

i am outside my ship - traveling with it tens of thousands of miles from earth,
in weightlessness.
i am alone among the stars - in the universe there is an excitement
and energy, an engagement. focus.
i begin to fall toward earth and am fully alive.
i free-fall, as the stars move and earth comes closer into view
i am pulled at full speed.

duhkham eva sarvam vivekinah

2010-02-06T13:08:00.000-05:00

all is pain to those who discriminate

this needs a home here

2010-01-26T23:31:00.001-05:00

this is my cousin john, and his sister, my cousin gail, gail's daughter abigail on the left and my son lukas playing the drum, my daughter treme is playing the xylophone, and off camera my son marek and gail's son jordan wrestle. as i was filming the kids together gail and treme began to play some music. after a few moments this voice enters the room and it is john, my brother, singing out this song he makes up for us all. he died not long after, and my beautiful cousin gail passed away as well. i love this little gift, this little thing. sing sing sing.

video:
i love you john and gail!

i dreamt of birds for the first time

2010-01-10T23:25:00.000-05:00

i dreamt of birds, releasing from flowers, high up in the sky. by reaching up somehow i activated a birth process. the flowers were beautiful and many petaled, none would know a bird was enclosed. as it broke free from the coccoon of the flower it began to fly for the very first time, with a burst and a flap. i was in love with watching this happen, and then my daughter was beside me, she who loves all creatures and she was worried. watch, i said. and we marveled.

tuesday morning dream

2010-01-06T20:00:00.000-05:00

'distances would make sense if they were allowed to be insane'

this occurred like a mantra before i awoke, coming from wherever that place is that these things come from.

a dream deferred is upon us

2010-01-05T03:35:00.004-05:00

i dreamt of heads unearthed. statuary. it's jesus i said, st. benedict. his head was huge and angled and biblical. i leaned it back so that all could gaze upon it. what have i found in the rubble? below the surface prior gods announce and resign. below the date the inscription 'he brings the light into the world', or the word. the large earthen head, broken now, and by it's absence a body still buried, the buried body of the bringer of the word, still, one with the source - inseparable, unbroken and unseen. fool's gold looks like that sometimes, is disregarded when life itself moves with wings beneath its tease of solar shimmer.

LUKAS!

2009-12-29T18:19:00.001-05:00

HEY I LOVE ME SOME LUKAS, YOU KNOW?

pranassage

2009-12-29T13:14:00.001-05:00

the power of pranassage and self awakening yoga is quite beautiful. as i have had a chance to work one on one with people since my return from nosara i am noticing its very particular and subtle power. i would love to work with a room full of people at some point soon. i am exploring the movement myself, on my own, generally in evening sessions when i have time to give to that process. a lot of creativity is happening as i move freely from what feels interesting to what else feels interesting. deep gratitude for the wisdom of the body. namaste.

a new year, new life,

2009-12-18T11:00:00.006-05:00

where have i been since august and what kind of blog appears every 4 months? as my friend jared said in his blog recently, maybe this is the way it will be. it has been an intense few months to say the least. i successfully sold my condo in a down market at a time when the pace of my work and my life would not allow me to keep it. it was the family home, the place we worked so hard to buy, something i wanted for my children. all of the cliches and archetypes apply, and they all had to die. it was hard to let that go until i came to the place where it was time. that isn't something i could forecast or predict. my marriage was over, it had been three years, and yet this other element, this vestigial architecture, which had long outlived it's usefulness was also asking, needing, to be released. it was an important home after the separation and through the divorce, important for me and for my children. it was familiar, comfortable, and across the street from their school. when it was time it was as if the past had never existed. i threw everything i had into making it salable, and that took all summer. i painted and sanded and sickened myself when i didn't use any kind of mask. i was so involved i sanded in clouds of paint dust until i couldn't breathe. i landscaped, i painted, i dug in with a purity of energy i hadn't felt in a long while. i was transforming, manifesting something new, releasing, and it was exciting. it was in full swing. we got a closing date of september 30th and i found a new apartment in somerville for the following day. why stop there? i had researched yoga trainings in the summer, found nothing locally, and got word about a 4 week training in nosara, costa rica starting in early november. after a bit of research into what looked like a beautiful program i sent off my application. and 6 weeks later i am a yoga teacher, and more importantly, still and always a student.

for linda, 2009

2009-08-03T09:43:00.002-04:00

the clouds
run to the north
like candy cotton rorschachs
out of the trees
and over the rooftops
a dolphin becomes a circle
devoured by a woman offering her ass
her skirt lifted by the breeze
memory keeps us company like these
i was a boy of formless promise
now a burning man of forgiven premise
breathing fire

forgiveness

2009-06-29T23:14:00.006-04:00

please take a moment to forgive anyone who has done you wrong, to forgive everyone who has hurt you. take a moment to forgive life for any victimization, loss or hurt you have suffered. and please also take a moment to forgive yourself for anything you have done that needs to be forgiven. forgive yourself, however long this takes. i am doing this with you. let's move into the earth, into ourselves, as we do next, with a new heart. if you would like to pass this on to anyone you care about please do so. thank you so much.

what kind of man am i?

2009-06-21T14:07:00.001-04:00

what kind of man am i?
would you hold me in cold blood?
would you wrap me when i'm done?
would you tell me if you could?
would you find me in the wood?

i'll be looking for your answer there
maybe in the clearing between breaths
or in the air
fireflies dance between our lips
among our stars and i look up to find you where you are
happy
my hands explore your every surface
my mouth a new soft purpose
together we dream and make this happen
our night at the cabin

i'm back now and i'm alone, maybe this is not my home
i'm looking for the extra key, i'm out here naked
they're coming for me

what kind of man am i?
would you tell me if you could?
would you wrap me when i'm done?
would you hold me in cold blood?
can you find me on the run?

yoga

2009-05-13T13:31:00.000-04:00

According to one source, the word kundalini literally means "the curl of the lock of hair of the beloved." It is a metaphor, a poetic way of describing the flow of energy and consciousness which already is said to exist within each person. The practices are said to enable the person to merge with or "yoke" the universal Self. This merging of individual consciousness with the universal consciousness is said to create a "divine union" called "yoga".

littanies, 2009

2009-04-19T12:25:00.002-04:00

magic man, leaves all to happen as it may.
litany of the infinite kitten, he say.

death and what comes from it, part 1

2009-04-16T05:07:00.008-04:00

through the conscious connection with my death - my hades - my underworld - i am rooted and feel more real, grounded. the ego is capable of such heroics but without the touchstone of death it feels unreal to me. like losing touch with something fundamental.

demeter
________

ge/gaia
_________

chthon

demeter, (she is also cthonic, of the earth, and pre-olympian. the roman equiv. is ceres) bringer of corn/grains, thus hope for better in this life and the next. preserver of marriage, bringer of seasons. earth and above. also destroyer of all life. so powerful that she could cause hades to bring her daughter persephone up from the underworld.

gaia, or ge, a primordial goddess, (cthonic, of the earth, and pre-olympian. the roman equiv. is terra). personifying the earth. the earth itself. she brings forth the sky, uranus. rooted in aia, indo-eurpoean, meaning grandmother, thus grandmother earth. jung suggested that the archetypal mother was a part of the collective unconscious of all humans. such mother imagery underpins many mythologies, and precedes the image of the paternal "father". this helps explain the universality of such mother goddess imagery around the world.

chthon, not a god but a greek word for within the soil itself. in, under or beneath the earth. of the earth. subterranean. fertility, abundance and the grave. related to a form of ritual sacrifice, often at night. in jungian psychology, the term chthonic was often used to describe the spirit of nature within, the unconscious earthly impulses of the self, one's material depths.

the quaternity, what is squared?, part 2

2009-04-16T05:05:00.002-04:00

so this has me thinking about something similar. the egyptians had it flipped so that the male, paternal figure was earthly and the mother image was celestial, of the sky. geb and nut. she was the real deal, the sun and moon moved through her body at night. the earth, or geb, actually translates to 'weak one'. i can see a lot of connections to more recent belief systems, coming right out of that area, like the more modern christian view. but now the father becomes everything and we are given a trinity. life after death, as with the egyptians, is paramount. ascension, no false idols, 'only thorough me' etc. but excavations of pre-isrealite and later settlements still find thousands of female figures, fertility images, and goddesses. they were obviously not released by people just because there was a new system on the block. they were worshiped and held right alongside the new almighty. they were not of some hereafter but of the earth itself.

so the trinity:

holy ghost
_______

son
_______

father

plus the other three-in-one:

feminine
_______

body
_______

shadow

the trinity, the familiar triangle, plus the body, the shadow, the feminine, as one, and we have a quaternity. a square, or squared off circle, something whole, rounded. the development or evolution of spirit needs the earthly base, comes from the ground up. we cannot ascend without rootedness, or if we do it is at great cost and risk. perhaps like icarus? and after all, where was icarus' mother?

for my yogis

2009-04-12T22:33:00.007-04:00

that's it, the twists and turns in high def. i've never seen an x-ray of my spine but this kind of blows my mind. it's called idiopathic scoliosis, or 'without known cause'. it's genetic, but what isn't?

a challenge, march and april, 2009

2009-04-07T08:59:00.004-04:00

i finished a 30 day challenge in yoga yesterday. having only done 4 or 5 days in a row previously it really was a challenge and opened my eyes, perhaps in a new way, of what the body-heart-mind is capable. this yoga is a very special process, not unlike the process of individuation itself, or the process of a flower, or of light moving across the floor. it is regular and grounded and attends both the details and the disparate. physically i feel more solid, more able than i ever have in my life. after wringing myself out, reforming, letting go and returning for day upon day what is left feels more essential, and more expansive. process is work. we may see the river as joy, or power or eternal or suggestive of something else but it is doing the work of river. i didn't do the 30 days, i realize now, to accomplish that feat or say i did the 30 days, but to attend to the work of self. to recognize the simple, fundamental work of river as it carves it's way to the sea.

from my friend lee, i am so thankful

2009-03-31T14:14:00.000-04:00

“i hope you’re feeling okay. i just want you to know that i love you. you’re a good man. and um, i just, i’m sorry that things didn’t work out between you and your wife, ex-wife. but you are a good man and i love you for it. stay cool and keep your head above water. and um, if there’s anything that you need and i have it at my disposal, feel free to let me know if you think there’s anything you think i might be able to do. i love you very much michael. and give me a call when you get a chance, no pressure. ok then. i love you mike and i’ll call you sometime next week unless you call me this weekend sometime. ok. alright then michael, i love you.”

i do not know what i do not know yet

2009-03-09T02:05:00.001-04:00

i see i see
this is not the way it will be
in death throes
i convulse at once touching
the earth, serpentine, like a sine
disbelieving the change
i am throwing you up
bulimic
it is a long way from my tail to my head and back again

some cafe, 2009

2009-03-09T01:50:00.003-04:00

in the middle of the floor
by the door
i jackhammer my way, cab calloway style
doing minnie the moocher
jump
the gap between your lips, perfect
super smoocher
your smile says ‘i’m really unhappy but i could be happy with you’
so brand new to your mona lisa voodoo
insane matchmaker
i can feel myself in all the different times of my life with you
birds fly grass thighs sway to the sweet touch of what i begin to not remember so much
and just for a moment i am with you
and just for a minute i am your friend

my father visits again, valentine's day, 2009

2009-02-14T13:55:00.005-05:00

my father came to me in a dream last night. he is ready to go he said. he looked great, softer, wiser, still beautiful. black hair and a face like i hope to have some day. we hugged at the back door. he had found some work paying $1 an hour. he was happy with that. modesty and a willingness to forgive himself. he had those qualities last night. a quiet determination. not showy, not boisterous. he took small things out of his breast pocket for children and put them aside. we sat on his bed knowing this would be it. i woke up.

my father died in 1973, but like indian spirits through the ages he has been returning mostly at night so that i can carry him in a new way during the day. he is a welcome presence, he is changing even now. i love him so much.

mom, january 14th, 2009

2009-01-16T23:38:00.003-05:00

mr. lawrence, 2009

2009-01-13T21:30:00.007-05:00

this is mr. lawrence, phillip's grandfather, 17 years after i first met him. the neighborhood around him has changed dramatically since katrina. i notice the trees are missing, the beautiful plum. there's less shade, less green. and there is a drug house next door. "young people, goin' down that wrong road. only lead to trouble. smokin' that weed. lead to that white stuff, then that her-oin....i see some 80 year old still lookin' for that fix. say you can't go down that wrong road, don't lead nowhere". he's friendly with everyone, and they shoot him an 'alright mr. lawrence', but he keeps a wary eye on the traffic continually pulling up out front. he lends a man a few dollars, a man he knows who comes up to his fence. then watches as the man tries to casually head next door. he just looks at me with these sad and knowing eyes, eyebrow raised with a little smile, as if to say, 'whatcha gonna do?'. our neighbor vera died during katrina and was buried in a makeshift grave at the corner of jackson and philip st. it made the national news. her partner, max, died shortly after. they say he just couldn't go on without his vera. i can still hear her voice ringing through the french doors as i tried to sleep in. it all seems just a bit harsher now. mr lawrence is still doing work on his home. he has removed trees, is planting trees, and is working on his front porch. his magnolia, "it was all hollowed out. coulda fit you and me up in there. coulda been a threesome up in there". he is the same man, softened some by the years, the children, the grandchildren. the light in his eyes, his face shines when he smiles. just like philip, his grandson. the doctor won't let him drive anymore so he feels a bit stuck on his property...but there's always work to do. in that way he has not changed, he works. he had open heart surgery and shows me the scar. then he brings out his pictures from a trip to washington state, where he went to see his sister. his pictures are of houses there, houses that he liked. and some of his sister's house and his sister, and the mountains. he brings me in and shows me his father, handsome in uniform in ww1, who would be 107 if he was alive.

i'm hoping i get to go back soon to visit again and show him some of the pictures i've got for him.

i love photography, yes i do, 2009

2009-01-13T20:43:00.003-05:00

my new favorite photograph

bike kill, new years eve day, 2008

2009-01-09T23:09:00.005-05:00

liz liz liz

christmas morning, irish channel, 2008

2009-01-09T22:23:00.003-05:00

mama jensen, second line, in the 9th ward, 2008

2009-01-09T18:09:00.004-05:00

what i did on new years eve day, 2008

2009-01-07T12:14:00.006-05:00

new years in new orleans i was at a bike kill. it was the most fun i've had in a long time. these people know how to kick it. jousting, chariot races, mayhem. pictures to come.

divorce, 2009

2009-01-06T12:02:00.004-05:00

ade, on frenchmen st., 2009

2009-01-05T22:21:00.007-05:00

"ade, you're different every day man."

"what? i have no identity....i have no laundry....america is crazy."

sartre

2009-01-05T21:53:00.007-05:00

“life has no meaning a priori. before you come alive, life is nothing; it’s up to you to give it a meaning, and value is nothing else but the meaning that you choose.”

"even this disability from which i suffer i have assumed by the very fact that i live; i surpass it toward my own projects, i make of it the necessary obstacle for my being and i cannot be crippled without choosing myself as crippled. this means that i choose the way i constitute my disability (as 'unbearable', 'humiliating, 'to be hidden', 'to be revealed to all')."

"neither sex, without some fertilization of the complimentary characters of the other, is capable of the highest reaches of human endeavor."

new orleans returns, 2008

2009-01-05T09:12:00.009-05:00

new orleans was a beautiful time. i'm moved by the energy and work ethic of the people i encountered, people who are committed to staying and rebuilding. i did some work with rubarb (rusted up beyond all recognition bikes), a community bike shop out in the 9th ward at galvez and tonti. they are open several days a week and provide kids with bikes, parts, tools and the support they need to fix their bikes, build a bike and get a bike on the road. it's also a real community space, a learning center, a place where kids can share time with each other and adults while learning about bikes, about life and about working together. a bunch of us, some kids, liz and lani and i, went out for a bike ride delivering their rubarb christmas cards to the neighborhood. pictures of the ride to come. i also worked with the bridge house. the bridge house has been in new orleans for a long time. as it says on their website, they are a place of intangibles...please visit their site to find out more. if you are at all interested in donating money or time to new orleans you can't do better than these two organizations. there is, of course, still lots of rebuilding going on, and lots of work to be done. our suffering economy is being felt by people in new orleans as it is everywhere. however they are still reeling from the devestation caused by the after effects of katrina. giving to, and working with, particular local efforts is necessary and effective.

new orleans is on fire, 2008

2009-01-04T08:11:00.022-05:00

a collage i made while sitting in the kitchen at the 2420.

first steps, new orleans

2008-12-21T20:13:00.010-05:00

i hesitate at each step, here
my home away from home
forgotten from all the same angles
along canal, i hear the call, feel
down where the bottom is split with rails and wires
the spirits wake and spit and sleep
my own left hand belongs to me less, that mess
that bad hand, the hands of david she told me on royal,
pulling my hair, virile
i drag my ass to the corner of decatur
heavy purposeful ancient gator
i know disaster is having her way with me
she never gonna let me go
that's so, and so and so, and still i forgot
where her thigh rubs up against the back of my hand,
up along rampart, up along the edges, i forgot,
up along the cemeteries, i forgot, up along the projects, i forgot
up where the road meets the bayou,
up where the shotguns are like dominoes, i forgot
how city park spoke to me in the dark and promised
things she couldn't deliver
how i ran to the river, that dark and muddled flow,
and huddled with my arms around my knees
crying into the rocks and dirt, and
that muddy it took every bit and didn't give a shit
welcome home baby

and i would like to turn the corner and see you,
mickey and oliver, otter and squish, jay and jane and chain, thomai and toni and hans, and ralph and mat and michele, steven and adrain and wash and valerie and rodney and chris and pretty boy jason and lj and jason and jeannette and lee and tod and brian and kate and ade and all the saints...

new orleans, 2008

2008-12-21T19:57:00.004-05:00

it all comes back
thick syrup moving me through, moving through me.
i'm crying all the time.
moving me beyond my own memory of place
my streetcar is named remember and it moves at it's own pace
i am this city
my body lights up with the smells
my body lights up with the smiles
my body lights up with the love and acceptance
even in tremendous circumstances
historically accurate
immaculately consistent
disastrously delicious
this place
this place here
i'ma holler atcha
i'ma ask fer ya
alright now
i love you

naushon, 2008

2008-12-17T22:40:00.004-05:00

from a wedding on naushon this fall. it reminds me of the image of my son, here.

self portrait, 2007

2008-12-17T17:34:00.004-05:00

yes, your honor

2008-12-15T11:09:00.004-05:00

1040, 12/15/08, divorced

aka irretrievable breakdown

divorce, 2008

2008-12-11T11:54:00.004-05:00

divorce is quiet
not unlike that moment when you roll away from your lover,
when the time is right
after the heat and the fire and the light
reluctantly, necessarily, longingly, still
this visit is over

for charise, 2008

2008-12-08T10:29:00.002-05:00

when i close my eyes i still see you
brown
charise
blue jeans
hair and lips
part in the middle
your sweetness comes
smoothly through the fuck yous

on the ceiling a place for your face
as i drive myself home
over and over you let me play
as long as i want to stay

eighteen

phillip's porch

2008-12-04T20:19:00.012-05:00

this is phillip's porch. we would hang out between my porch on the left and his on the right. his grandfather, mr. lawrence, was a great character, and a great man. in a difficult new orleans neighborhood he was the firm hand that led to most of his children and grandchildren finishing school and going to college. he was a man who was always working, getting things done. he worked estates in other parts of louisiana, and when he was home he helped my landlord, who was dying of aids, with everything a homeowner would normally have to do. he once went out in his pickup truck with a shotgun to get back a water heater taken from an abandoned property across the street. i had watched the whole thing transpire, saw the men and the heater disappear, but in my new orleans summer haze i thought maybe it belonged to the men who took it. they seemed to know exactly what they were doing. he came out on his porch, as if through some sixth sense he knew something was up, and asked me what happened. i told him. it had been wheeled away in a shopping cart. he went back into the house, came out with the rifle, jumped in his truck and said "i'll get that water heater back". he was back in a few minutes. when i asked him what happened he said, "i found 'em up the road and i said 'put that man's water heater back.' they kept walkin' so i got out in front of 'em, raised the rifle and i said 'you put that water heater back up in my truck', and they did." later he explained that if he let them start taking things then everything in the neighborhood would disappear. there really wasn't much more to it than that.

in december

2008-12-02T17:45:00.001-05:00

lustrous evening
put on lipstick
remembered her inner life
drew the shawl over her lofty shoulders
and laughed

still, in the quiet that followed, still
without my friend, i slept
to remember the first death

a handmade scarf
seemed to float above the frivolity

in december

mass mental

2008-11-19T20:29:00.010-05:00

a mental hospital in winter. i found this place accidentally because i can't keep out when the signs say keep out. it was the most haunting surreal place i had seen outside of new orleans. i went back several times. in the middle of this sprawling empty complex of buildings, which was completely embedded in the woods, was a town square with a town hall style building with a clock, and a church. and a rotary. it was beautiful and foggy. i felt like i had found the abandoned set of some post-nuclear film. or the twilight zone. it was 1950 and it was empty. there was an untended nameless graveyard and an abandoned swimming pool that was completely covered in, so that the level of the weeds and soil was level with the edge of the pool. the diving board hung inches above the ground. the manacles attached to the cold ceramic claw foot tubs were silenced. the paint rejected the walls entirely, on it's way out, in every possible incarnation of industrial color. a history of poor choices. a screen door opened onto a courtyard like apple pies. wheelchairs and electric shock. so many sounds in the middle of the silence. layer upon layer upon layer in building after building after building. mass mental.

central park prayer

2008-11-07T21:17:00.007-05:00

in the summer before 9-11 i walked central park from top to bottom. i would start down south and work my way up through the day, and then try to enter that exited area the next day, trying to slowly make my way through. i found this image one morning. i sat with this man by the edge of the water. waiting. watching. later i noticed the twin towers.

chuck, 2008

2008-11-07T21:12:00.002-05:00

he emerges something like an echo
his armor blue velvet and colorful tunics
sumptuously hovering
in a borrowed time-frame

a rented suitor, roused
in some epic poem
immediately, and without qualm, ablaze

chuck
tangible and transient, descended

the exchange of energies, between floors
the cross pollination, from life to death
spattered, he looked laquered
on the pavement

beneath this portrait
were plum-colored pools
his face was grey

i wanted to say
i did not get to say
goodbye

the forgotten document, 2007

2008-11-07T21:02:00.004-05:00

the forgotten document
the lost marriage, certified
the sunshine
in my face on the bridge
in my face on the road
in my face in the city
the smile from inside at the losses
and the gains JFK
the secret the smile the silence
i walk in circles

i give you america
it has been yours all along

reverse direction, take off the suit
avoid the kids and coffee, your thanks
your tears, 'it's just so emotional', again
but not for me, the silence throbs

later, up the stairs, the last child is sent
the one we call 'the dealbreaker'
first envoy of the new world
with a message for the other man

this land is your land

camp whatever, 2008

2008-11-07T21:01:00.002-05:00

in the middle of the woods, by the parkway
picking up trash and dead soldiers, she said
'sleep sleep sleep, cuz when you wake up you'll be all alone'

piss and shit and slugs all over camp whatever
drunken adonis, drunken bull, drunken wound
two, laying spoons on the ground, we found ourselves
beating each other about the head, with meat fists,
we left ourselves behind

horseshoes, wheat cent, needles and beer
dreams of knives, the roar of raw pain
scarred, scared, skid row, scattered
faces tattered with small cuts like red kites
lovely little lawn mower bites
already starting to heal

adolescence

2008-11-05T10:42:00.001-05:00

tea party simplicity
and a greasy disgust
greeted one another in the miscarriage
of my adolescence
private illnesses, violent thoughts, standard pains
greeted one another in the accounts of their own little troubles
compelled to spend no longer restoring promise
i lit the golf course on fire
explored women's underwear
and stole sterling silverware
as dancing couples brushed past me
disgusted with myself
i tried to form
an ethic
more immersed in suffering than even i could bear

inspiration

2008-11-05T09:43:00.004-05:00

this is really inspiring. a time of shift, the beginnings of a new consciousness. 'change' doesn't feel powerful enough. change is a constant. this feels like an awakening. i'm excited and inspired by the choices of my fellow citizens. i keep thinking about kennedy, and richard pryor, and the civil rights movement, all moving, all bubbling up into our larger, sleepy national awareness. 'we shall overcome' has new meaning for me. a promise realized. a waking dream. a new connection between heart and mind.

in traffic, for sherie

2008-11-02T21:49:00.001-05:00

my nuclei are all smiles today, opening
my heart
listening for your heart
in traffic

a love moves in, for sherie, 2007

2008-11-01T21:32:00.000-04:00

i miss you, too
i have been dreaming about you all morning
love and calendars and clocks

'what is this?' something within wants to know
doing this new thick math, slow
scraping at the backside of my soul

a love moves in, is already
alive in these dark quarters
forward looking, laying alone

i rise, for sherie, 2007

2008-11-01T19:29:00.001-04:00

we have breathed and brought the season
which will see you leave, together
sewn the fabrics of past and present,
unzippered, between sheets,
barefoot, boldly, beautifully,
full moon, half moon, new
halfway around the world from you,
i rise

self-portrait with wheel

2008-11-01T17:05:00.005-04:00

laura lush sublime, 1994

2008-11-01T10:32:00.000-04:00

quick knee in the wet spread
a gleam of music across the pond
Aunt Bessie was thinking about her lunch
cigar in mouth, all wheels and speed
my pale eyes turned grey milky
we camped on the plain of yellow grass
unbuttoned gyrations spurting vapor trails
laura lush sublime

sunken trees crept slowly under stars and panther dreams
our mad twitching spasms bumped the hull
and out there on bronzed water
where monkeys screamed
dawn came, always a fool, her caramel eyes would want
childish stories
in the upper air i'd follow her anywhere
laura lush sublime

when we were monarchs, 1994

2008-10-30T15:19:00.001-04:00

when we were monarchs
for an entire morning
and the golden dawn and tremulous evening
hung like draperies in our new chemical sky

we blink at the sun and we scratch
my loins stirring like furnaces dipped into serenity

the uproar of blue wine
the new winter rain
loosens peninsulas of my spreading self
that do dances like a diva-Christ across pools
of our voluptuousness

your magnificent shoulder blades
and the telephone poles
run, in the wake of the awakening phosphorous
scattering daylight and the shutters from old shotguns
down to the brown gulf

green night rebounds, enters the corners
hairnets of lightning strobe our bliss
coating our ferment like gunshots
in the abyss of exalted doves

outside the hummingbird, 2008

2008-10-29T22:59:00.007-04:00

outside the hummingbird
she'll be just what you want
and nothing at all

hoping someone will take her
without giving anything away
this shrouded dowry awry

i can still see the dull light in your eye
mine to brighten
that upturned lip so hard to impress
i danced for you on the basketball court in my dress

rubber asphalt sheetrock hole

we never spoke that was the deal
i'd circle you and kiss your back wheel

at the sink

on the floor

on the silvery deck above the crackheads' door

i didn't know what was expected
i came out of myself

erected

in this unspoken dream

i was going to do whatever it took
and you were not going to tell me
what that was

so i put the money in the jar for our getaway car

here we are

halloween

2008-10-29T14:28:00.012-04:00

halloween, 2000, turner at the tate. my son, my wife, my son. the hallows are upon us again.

father called, 2008

2008-10-29T13:51:00.009-04:00

father called
from the city
a breath, a voice
narrow hips, pale skin
memory moved to my fingertips

i am back at the beginning
a kick, a poke, the swell
of something growing

i hoarded what i could
his smile
his blood
his violence

these sonic details
envelop, hard, bright, blindly

i am crying at last

epistrophy

2008-10-27T00:01:00.004-04:00

'i am not my complexion'

keith jarrett, october 27th, 2008, in response to people in the audience telling him they were taking his picture 'because we like you'.

train

2008-10-25T15:19:00.004-04:00

i just found this image in a bunch of negs from a few years ago. for some reason it has me by the throat. i'd never seen it before but i believe it lived in me in some way, calling to me...'remember me'.

i surf

2008-10-21T18:42:00.011-04:00

i went body surfing out at good harbor beach during hurricane kyle, while tropical storm laura was developing out at sea, far off the nova scotia coast. it was a sunday. i had felt pulled to the ocean that day, really since the night before. my sons marek and lukas came with me. one of marek's names is kyle, named for a surfer and artist i knew in nova scotia in the year marek was born there. that was the year of hale - bopp. i can remember it in the sky over the house and how it would accompany me out to the valley, leading the way out, hanging, to see my wife laura and the children. that was the year of crying. that was the fall that brought marek, water unbroken, into the world. that was the beginning, really, of the end. kyle would surf lawrencetown beach. it had the coldest water i've ever felt in the summer. the midwife pushed gently at the clear, rippled film and our son came forth.

there we stood on the beach, in awe. me, marek and lukas. kyle. laura at sea. it was definitely all on fire that day. it was a powerful day, full of raw beauty and return. the ocean is always about return for me. and renewal. i went out into the waves and after being battered and slapped and spilt, went down and grabbed at handfulls of sand on the bottom as i dove and pulled my way through. below, pressed down, smiling, in the cold grey-green underworld. forgotten. i emerged, and took a breath. the pull and release, the joining with the rush to shore. thrown up on the sand. the mist so heavy that it was as if water and air were one. the softness of the bobbing surfers. the disappearing dog walkers. the free dogs wheeling in the sand. the boys called to me. so faint and invisible, only suggestive of sons. small friends of monet’s in motion. arms and muffled shouts. they had found a dead seal washed up on the seaweed line. she seemed to be an adult grey. it was hard to see any signs of trauma, but the back of her head was bloodied. such a beautiful animal. such a perfect shape. the females can live into their 30s. had she brought children into the world? i pulled a tooth from her lower jaw. a canine. my wife was in her 30s. a similar size and shape. reminiscent. perhaps laying somewhere in a similar position. reclining. we were now two years into our separation. can we still count those as years of marriage? are we 10 then? or 12? either way, we didn't make it out of our own childhood stunted. a life cut short. 30 years of living in the oceans sounds really good to me. i could start now. i tried to roll the seal over for lukas. he wanted to see where she was hurt. i put both hands on her side and the first thing i felt was warmth. it felt familiar. the dead weight. the oils and the smell on my hands. i went to the water and sand to try to work them from my fingers, but they would not leave.

we found a snail on the way back, away from the beach. gloucester, we call him. he was on the sidewalk heading into town. not far from the bar made famous in 'the perfect storm'. he has now been joined by a leopard slug, rescued before the first frost, who has laid a pile of eggs and lays curled around them. slugs and snails are hermaphrodites, they are both male and female. i have dreams now of my slug body. ready to be both, as the need arises.

peace

2008-10-21T08:05:00.014-04:00

my friend lv and i went out to the peace abbey in sherborn, massachusetts, recently. from wherever you are it is worth the trip. she was performing with sgt. maxwell's peace chorus. it is incredibly moving to be in a place where the fundamental is peace. i remember the 60's and 70's and how often we would flash the peace sign from our car to everyone we saw, just hoping to get the sign back. so often it came back with a smile. we were children but it felt like we were a part of a movement. stop the killing. stop hurting each other. we are not in danger. this can't be our way. that war resulted in nearly 3 million vietnamese deaths and 60,000 american deaths. and of course uncounted casualties and trauma. i was traumatized by that war. the green cast on the black and white television in my livingroom gave improper cover, camouflaging the horrors taking place in the jungle but giving a haunting reality to the leaves and light and suffering. i see fatigues and rifles. i try to see the cong. i am eight years old. i am growing into what will, at full size, be used to continue the telecast.

lock the knee

2008-10-21T07:06:00.015-04:00

roots are important. the great unseen. like the unconscious itself. my connection to the earth is changing. i feel great joy that i am here, one among many, of this same soil and water and air. of one. of one moment. the health of the physical body, being in touch with the physical body, the physical body itself, is a manifestation of the earth. we share the earth, this birth mother, and coincidentally are becoming her caretakers. as we spring forth from the earth and learn to care for ourselves we realize we need to care for the earth as well. the earth is our larger self. the word yoga is derived from the basic root yog, which in hindi means uniting, a yolking of one thing with another. also from sanskrit, yuj, meaning 'to unite, to integrate or to cohere and is thus taken to represent the highest state of union, integration or coherence between individual or personal or human consciousness and cosmic or universal or divine consciousness.' so speaking, the yoga is uniting with source. in many asanas, or postures, you are required to lock the knee. bikram says 'you must lock the knee', and 'if you can, you must'. so there is no chance of missing out on this primary connection to earth. in a standing posture, you are rooted through the ground, through the earth. the pull of gravity, of the earth and the complimentary rising, treelike, of the human form. that connection or force can be imagined coming up from the center of the earth through your feet, through your locked knees. as you rise away, with spirit embodied, you can feel the gravity of the earth in all of your cells. the death that is to come, that is ever present. i am in process of both rising up within that gravity and being returned to earth in each moment.

day one

2008-10-21T06:35:00.001-04:00

to witness within. without. without judgement. i see witnessing as the ultimate teacher. there is no attachment to outcomes. it reminds me of a return to earth. a sinking in. an interment and return to soil, where the tree begins.