September Wrap

A couple of super nice trips this month. Climbed Mount Humphrey's with Vandy, and went to Portland to see Eli and Amber (and Amos and Rich). I don't need to tell you how much I love my boy Eli. How much I miss him. In October Cathy and I are scheduled to do a week in Alpine at a new cabin. I look forward to telling you about it later.

Here's what I got this time:

As I slide closer to the lowest common denominator
I find myself becoming part of the problem.

Pick the seasonal fruit
don't wait another moment
any thread, pick it up and weave
a lover's tale
with all your heart.

all reality is virtual

ice cream
when it's time to scream.

happiness is self inflicted.

i often hide my selfishness behind my unhappiness.

Auditor: A person who makes their living talking about you you do for a living. A good one can keep you from doing it too.

I've come to the conclusion
even though quite a few of us don't act like it,
and you know who you are
we're all in this together.

Portland: The town that cards.

If I hear tomorrow, just one more time!

and now from some real people:

art is an obligation. Terance McKenna

1. Get enough food to eat, and eat it.
2. Find a place to sleep where it is quiet, sleep there.
3. Reduce intellectual and emotional noise until you arrive at the silence of yourself, and listen to it.

Richard Brautigan.

The lady whines, then dines; is slapped and killed;
Yet it's her killer's blood that has been spilled.
A Mosquito by Brad Leithauser

There is not any memory with less satisfaction in it than the memory of some temptation we resisted. James Branch Cabell.

If we cannot see how what we are doing or not doing is contributing to things being the way that they are, then logically we have no basis a all, zero leverage, for changing the way things are -- except from the outside, by persuasion or force. Adam Kahane.

that's it for this time. All my best, your bobJuan.

True Love

Today I feel it again,

a bit stronger, like it was 1990 or something

no, better than 1990 or something

Your persuasion last nite

got me

your kiss this morning

got me

your smile and loving grace everyday

gets me

when everything else wears me down

you bring me up

it's my turn

isn't it?

you've certainly shown it can be done

true love.

[Picture stolen from here.]

This

time's up
put your pencil down
and turn in your everything
you heard the bell
go on out and play

when you come back
we won’t be so serious
we'll start from scratch
a clean fresh sheet
and no pencils either
crayons and water colors for sure though
and maybe some glitter and glue if you like
now go on and have a good time

good morning
welcome back
aren't you the lucky one
alive another day
now let's get started
after your nap we'll have some lunch
and then you can
paint something grand and splashy
anything you want

what’s that darlin?
you don't know what you want?
look over here baby
it's really quite simple
you won't believe it
all you've ever wanted is .... this.

At The Meadow's Edge

He was young handsome paralyzed
in a bed at the meadow’s edge
of life’s greens and browns and the sunshine too.
Little birds and bugs buzzing the mid blue air.
He told me it’s all mind.
I sat beside him for a moment or more
feeling the caged injustice.
Through the meshed lense of his sunglasses
I could make out his eyes
He turned again to the meadow
isn’t it beautiful?
and it was so, just as he said.
I hope to see him again
he knows things

Pic found here: http://www.richclemart.com/gallery_studio.htm

The Hug, A Poem by Tess Gallagher

A woman is reading a poem on the street
and another woman stops to listen. We stop too,
with our arms around each other. The poem
is being read and listened out here
in the open. Behind us
no one is entering our leaving the houses.

Suddenly a hug comes over me and I'm
giving it to you, like a variable star shooting light
off to make itself comfortable, then
subsiding. I finish but keep holding
you. A man walks up to us and we know he hasn't

come out of nowhere, but if he could, he
would have. He looks homeless because of how
he needs. "Can I have one of those?" he asks you,
and I feel you nod. I'm surprised,
surprised you don't tell him how
it is-- that I'm yours, only
yours, etc., exclusive as a nose to
its face. Love-- that is wheat we're talking about, love
that nabs you with "for me
only" and holds on.

So I walk over to him and put my
arms around him and try to
hug him like I mean it. He's got an overcoat on
so thick I can't feel
him past it. I'm starting the hug
and thinking, "How big a hung is this supposed to be?
How long shall I hold this hug?' Already
we could be eternal, his arms falling over my
shoulders, my hands not
meeting behind his back, he is so big!

I put my head into his chest and snuggle
in. I lean into him. I lean my blood and my wishes
into him. He stands for it. This is his
and he's starting to give it back so well I know he's
getting it. This hug. So truly, so tenderly
we stop having arms and I don't know if
my lover has walked away or what, or
if the woman is still reading the poem, or the houses--
what about them?-- the houses.

Clearly a little permission is a dangerous thing.
But when you hug someone you want it
to be a masterpiece of connection, the way the button
on his coat will leave the imprint of
a planet in my cheek
when I walk away. When I try to find some place
to go back to

[Poem copied from here.]

[Pic found here.] Click pic for video.

Questions, A Poem by Mary Oliver

Is the soul solid, like iron?
Or is it tender and breakable, like
the wings of a moth in the beak of an owl?
Who has it, and who doesn't?
I keep looking around me.
The face of the moose is as sad
as the face of Jesus.
The swan opens her white wings slowly.
In the fall, the black bear carries leaves into the darkness.
One question leads to another.
Does it have a shape? Like an iceberg?
Like the eye of a hummingbird?
Does it have one lung, like the snake and the scallop?
Why should I have it, and not the anteater
who loves her children?
Why should I have it, and not the camel?
Come to think of it, what about maple trees?
What about the blue iris?
What about all the little stones, sitting alone in the moonlight?
What about roses, and lemons, and their shining leaves?
What about the grass?

[Poem copied from here.]
[Image found here.]