the TRUTH of things as only Richard Brautigan can speak it

“As the bruises fade, the lightning aches.

Last week, making love, you bit me.
Now the blue and dark have gone 
and yellow bruises grow toward pale daffodils,

then paler to become until my body 
is all my own and what that ever got me.”

—	Richard Brautigan, “As the Bruises Fade, the Lightning Aches” 4 mc

Death....death....DeatH

An intention of mine for this month is to spend much time thinking about and working with my fear of Death.  It is interesting because once I brought this intention in to the world, I began to notice Death everywhere around me.  Waking early to gifts of rat parts from my cat.  The Death of my grandmother's husband.  The dying of the leaves.  Books and films having much more to do with Death than I realized when I began them.


I do plan to take in much art and writing as it pertains to Death.  I have begun reading a book titled How To Fall and have other books about Death and dying, waiting to be read.

I am not sure why Death has always scared me so.  As with my other fears, I am trying to work with my fear of Death, rather than overcoming it.  I see the acceptance of Death has the ultimate plunge into and acceptance of the mystery that is life.  In my way of thinking, mystery is the only tangible thing worth of our worship.  Death is the greatest threshold that we ever cross because before we cross over, we have no idea what is on the other side and once we get to the other side, there is the possibility that we will know everything or that the knowing within us will cease.

Therefore, I am making a secret pact with Death, that will bind me to her, as if I had a choice in the matter.  The choice is to accept this final marriage or to run from it.  Either way it will happen, so I will begin to embrace all the facets of life that lead me closer towards Death.  I will celebrate each heartbreak, gray hair and aching joint and when my time comes, as it no doubt will, I will reach my hand out toward Death rather than pulling away.

“For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?
Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.” 

----"On Death" The Prophet by Khalil Gibran

                                      Halloween 2013

When Your Life Looks Back by Jane Hirshfield
When your life looks back—
As it will, at itself, at you—what will it say?
Inch of colored ribbon cut from the spool.
Flame curl, blue-consuming the log it flares from.
Bay leaf. Oak leaf. Cricket. One among many.
Your life will carry you as it did always,
With ten fingers and both palms,
With horizontal ribs and upright spine,
With its filling and emptying heart,
That wanted only your own heart, emptying, filled, in return.
You gave it. What else could do?
Immersed in air or in water.
Immersed in hunger or anger.
Curious even when bored.
Longing even when running away.
"What will happen next?"—
the question hinged in your knees, your ankles,
in the in-breaths even of weeping.
Strongest of magnets, the future impartial drew you in.
Whatever direction you turned toward was face to face.
No back of the world existed,
No unseen corner, no test. No other earth to prepare for.
This, your life had said, its only pronoun.
Here, your life had said, its only house.
Let, your life had said, its only order.
And did you have a choice in this? You did—
Sleeping and waking,
the horses around you, the mountains around you,
The buildings with their tall, hydraulic shafts.
Those of your own kind around you—
A few times, you stood on your head.
A few times, you chose not to be frightened.
A few times, you held another beyond any measure.
A few times, you found yourself held beyond any measure.
Mortal, your life will say,
As if tasting something delicious, as if in envy.
Your immortal life will say this, as it is leaving.

Old Woman Nature by Gary Snyder

Old Woman Nature
naturally has a bag of bones
   tucked away somewhere.
   a whole room full of bones!
A scattering of hair and cartilage
   bits in the woods.
A fox scat with hair and a tooth in it.
   a shellmound
      a bone flake in a streambank.
A purring cat, crunching
   the mouse head first,
      eating on down toward the tail—
The sweet old woman
   calmly gathering firewood in the
      moon …

Don’t be shocked,
She’s heating you some soup.

It all makes sense if you really think about it.

A little bit late but....

HAPPY FALL EQUINOX!!!!!!

Writings from Walleye #4 9/15/2013

 

art by Morgaine Faye 

 

I writhe beneath your gaze, the fierceness of your black, animal eyes singeing the hair on my body.  The leaves crunch beneath me on the forest floor, my head rests on a bed of moss.  In the darkness I hear small footsteps as little lives scurry past my ears, I hear the insects as they work their way through the soil.  I open my chest to you, offering up my heart and other precious organs.  Suddenly, my mouth is flooded with the taste of iron, your muzzle stained red as I am devoured and fall further into the gentle arms of the Earth.

 

********************************************************************************

 

Once, I slept as a mountain, dreaming through many thousands of years.  Pieces of me carried South with the water, pieces of me carried North with the wind.  Every cloud and star had a name that left my head upon waking.  The Sun was my day skin and the Moon my night.  Hunters made their homes deep within me.  I was never still but instead the whole of me followed gently and passively the steady tumble of the rest, through the void.

 

********************************************************************************

 

The winds held us aloft until we had come to the desert. We drifted off to sleep to strange and unfamiliar bird cries, not quite a caw but something similar.  As we slept, the sands scoured our skin away, leaving only bones, the wind making instruments of us as it sang and whistled it's way through the cage of who we were.  The darkness grew and we were no longer there.  We were the blackness between, a blanket for the stars to rest in.

Dispatches from Bali.

Hello out there, I am going to start posting some photos and writing from my trip to Bali.  Some of you may have already seen these photos but for the rest of you, here you go.  They will not be posted in chronological order.

I spent yesterday, last night and the majority of today on a tiny island called Gili Air.  I had planned to stay three nights but it was quite a bit more expensive than Lombok or Bali and it was hard paying $60 for a room, when for the previous 3 nights, I had been paying $15 for a bigger room.

The island though, was quite beautiful.  I went snorkeling twice.  Well, the first time I went swimming with a mask and fins, because the snorkle I brought didn't work and I ended up with a mouth full of salt water.  I only went for about 30 minutes that time but saw a large sea turtle scavenging for food.

The second time that I went, I went for much longer and saw all kinds of amazing fish.  There were tiny blue ones that seemed to glow and others with the most beautiful and intricate patterns on their bodies.  Snorkeling always puts me in a meditative state.  Watching the fish gliding effortlessly and feeling the soothing roll of the tide, makes my fast moving brain remember to slow down.

Sadly, the coral bed there has been completely decimated and shows no signs at all of life.  It washes up on the beach in millions of tiny broken pieces.

Today, while I was killing time waiting for my boat, four small children pulled up on two small bikes.  I would guess that the smaller two were four and the bigger two were five.  They were riding two to a bike and it was funny to see the way they managed to cram their small bodies onto these tiny bikes.

Three of them stripped down and went swimming in the ocean while one of the smaller boys occupied himself making a balance beam and singing to himself.  There was something about him that was so pure and joyful and I could tell that he had an incredibly innocent spirit.

At one point a tourist was taking a photo near him.  He walked right up to the tourist, pointed at himself and said, "Photo?".  The tourist obliged and right away, he wanted to see the picture of himself.  Satisfied, he immediately went back to his play.

The other boys soon joined him.  One of the older boys got on his bike, while the others were not paying attention, and left.  The other three, noticing their friends abscence walked into the middle of the dirt road and looked up and down for him.

Realizing that he had lost his ride, the younger boy who had been swimming in the ocean, began to cry.  The older boy yelled at him but he continued to cry.  Some words were exchanged and being the industrious children that all Indonesian children seem to be, they all three clambered on the bike and away they went!

(The boy on the back of the bike, in the picture was the one who was playing alone.)