sunday tradition
I am in one of those situations where I hold no regret, yet I'm unsure if I should.
It is curious to me how unreliable memory is. The details included in what is stored hardly reflect true happenings. Once stored, the mind can fetch and edit memories, sending them back changed.
Dusk on skin.
Warm grass bed
blades reducing pantheon
to memory.
Identity behind Locke &
key, swallowed with the
dawn. Birdsong flooded,
cracked the dam
overwhelmed the children,
like the sleeper wave who
is King down under.
Make ruler the idle mind.
Turn on your hinges.
O sleeper.
Awake.
Sap exfoliating cheek -
tree in my clutches.
Never let go.
Lonesome & mad -
but open. Closed.
Open. Morning, the heroic
hours. Evening, the devil's
song. Midday, no man's land.
Creature of habit; habit
makes me creature. Defile
the pure to remember my
heart. My heart. Never a
greater lie. Skin peeling
away at dusk again.
Itching & nerving,
lacking any hurry.
Overtly choosing self!
Volumes of unknown thought
exacerbating ripped mind.
Young and never younger
on ticks doomsday -
unbeing on a normal Tuesday.
Serotonin sabotage.
Trace trail's tail toward:
I'm late, I'm late, I'm late.
Lost in the looking glass.
Lost the hidden message, read again.
I resort to prose so I'm not stuck against the wall.
A sentence with one meaning is a gem with one surface.
Unleash lexical nexus and absorb Indra's net.
Each cut shows a new world - made of same facets -
yet completely new. Move an inch, find beauty in its
infancy again. Rob the cradle of lights, never premature.
Pandora's box desired to be open, I swear.
The best lies are almost true.
The ugliest art is almost beautiful.
The intent is the texture.
The fruit is the voice.
Writing is breeze to my mildewed soul.
Pardon the smell, I don't know what I'm doing.
I used to think being busy was something to be proud of. I used to think a man with no plans was a disaster. I used to think my bosses were geniuses. I used to think business books were wise. I used to think sour milk was better for you. I used to think time cures all wounds. I used to think my family was going to fall apart if I didn't smile. I used to think I could get away with lying. I used to think about what other people thought of me. I used to think everything was going to be alright.
I used to think.
Life abundant -
in the nosebleeds.
Why do you ask my name seeing it is wonderful?
It is a fearful thing to fall in the hands of the living God.
Old soul lovers,
except one has gained the world,
lost the others.
Heart folded neatly &
put in the wash bin.
But never clean it, please.
In case I get to use it again.
Yes, even if you're washing the whites.
Don't you remember?
It was never white, never fully clean,
never fit for use, never worth having.
That's how we got here in the first place.
And that's why I replace it with the pacemaker.
And why I rip it out any chance I get
and wait until the last minute -
last possible second -
before putting it back in.
Here's my secret.
My fable.
I enjoy arrhythmia.
My eyes roll back in my head.
Harmony won't vibrate your bones unless discord first hardened them.
Have you heard how the baby's heart syncs to the mother's in feeding?
Have you felt your gut when something bad happens to a loved one far away?
Have you noticed that every angel is terrifying?
I'm sorry for the riddles, but my life is one.
I fear it's the kind that passes mouth to ear at soirees.
Hushed and shameful, brings hair to stand on end.
And how will it end?
Hopefully how this oeuvre started.
Because the rag is stained.
Not as oil, as glass.
Yet, I cannot know.
It is not my riddle.
I am in a new place reinventing myself again. At what point is it even considered that, given it's happened at least thrice this year. I'm excited to have enough time to sink into my chair & experience my funeral. I've distanced myself from any airport such that it'd take gargantuan effort to travel (actually there's a small airport and I plan to befriend a pilot who can teach me to fly). It gives me a real reason to decline invitations. So I am here. Breaking the malaise each morning best I can. Unearthing what love I stand to give.
How much content will save my soul? I'm not sure facts ultimately matter, or that they're possible to master. How am I living? I hold the standard of perfection, but loose expectations. Yet what is loosed on earth is loosed in heaven and now I'm surrounded.
Seeking union through surrender & knowledge through application.
Hoping for a good set of friends here and a new summit each weekend.
This will be a pleasant phase of life.
I have a date with a map tonight, studying trails. Makes me feel like I'm in a movie. Big ol' map spread over the table. Examining topographical lines with furrowed brow, measuring fall-lines, and pretending I'm going to get to every summit within 100 miles..
Driving in I fell in love with this valley. I have a tendency to lean a bit far over my skis. Purchasing a cabin I've never seen in a place I've never been to for more money than I've ever spent felt like that kind of dumbness. But it wasn't. This place is awesome. Wildflowers, aspens, sweet mountain smell, brilliant rock formations, vibrant climbing community, sun most of the year, the birthplace of modern mountaineering (some say you can still hear Fred Beckey cussing on a nearby crag when the wind lulls), and a quiet enough place for me to settle. Yet still enough people where I don't think I'll go mad.
This is quite the life.
Utterly grateful.