Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Sunday, August 23, 2009

from eric.

“I am a frayed and nibbled survivor in a fallen world, and I am getting along. I am aging and eaten and have done my share of eating too. I am not washed and beautiful, in control of a shining world in which everything fits, ...but instead am wondering awed about on a splintered wreck I've come to care for, whose gnawed trees breathe a delicate air, whose bloodied and scarred creatures are my dearest companions, and whose beauty bats and shines not in its imperfections but overwhelmingly in spite of them...” annie dillard

life through verse and language comes into a focus that experience alone can let slip away. the savoring and the reflecting moment gives each breath its due.

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Joe Pug.

Joe Pug - "Hymn 101" from This is What We Imagine on Vimeo.

A Forest Hymn by William Cullen Bryant

The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned

My heart is awed within me when I think
Of the great miracle that still goes on,
In silence, round me---the perpetual work
Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed
Forever. Written on thy works I read
The lesson of thy own eternity.
Lo! all grow old and die---but see again,
How on the faltering footsteps of decay
Youth presses----ever gay and beautiful youth
In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees
Wave not less proudly that their ancestors
Moulder beneath them. Oh, there is not lost
One of earth's charms: upon her bosom yet,
After the flight of untold centuries,
The freshness of her far beginning lies
And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate
Of his arch enemy Death---yea, seats himself
Upon the tyrant's throne---the sepulchre,
And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe
Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth
From thine own bosom, and shall have no end.

There have been holy men who hid themselves
Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave
Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived
The generation born with them, nor seemed
Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks
Around them;---and there have been holy men
Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus.
But let me often to these solitudes
Retire, and in thy presence reassure
My feeble virtue. Here its enemies,
The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink
And tremble and are still. Oh, God! when thou
Dost scare the world with falling thunderbolts, or fill,
With all the waters of the firmament,
The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods
And drowns the village; when, at thy call,
Uprises the great deep and throws himself
Upon the continent, and overwhelms
Its cities---who forgets not, at the sight
Of these tremendous tokens of thy power,
His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by?
Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face
Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath
Of the mad unchained elements to teach
Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate,
In these calm shades, thy milder majesty,
And to the beautiful order of the works
Learn to conform the order of our lives.

Friday, August 14, 2009


even the breeze,
light as a hello kiss,
comes to a halt. and the air is still.
no sound.
and suddenly we hear our own heartbeat in our ears
and notice our breathing.

I have grown weary of myself.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

i love my sister.

from an email today, after I sent her a link to the Library of Congress' flickr account, with hundreds of color photos from the 30's and 40's:

"thanks for the lead. interesting photo collection thanks to the library of congress - after looking at these photos i find that regardless of place, style, shoe or shirt, body movement or pose, human expression is profoundly found around the eyes. the wrinkles and the youth always tell us the same thing - we despair, joy, and stare - our eye is ultimately in search and longing for that which is real. everyone's looking for god.

which is why we must be careful where we stare.

Sunday, August 9, 2009

Circumnavigate Intentionality.

Today, we met a man who lives in a van.
Owns his own business, surfing lessons, for 20 years.
a white van, clean and large, deliberate so as not to attract attention.
He counts money three times a year.
He looks 33 but said he is 43.
And reminded us that, while 33 is the universal age of enlightenment,
he is hoping 44 is the new 33.
Though he seemed pretty enlightened to me.
"Exchange profit for Intentionality as highest purpose," he said.
"And you will be living, not waiting to live."
How many people in this world are toiling. dirt on their hands that they hate.
not for love of hard work or purpose, but for love of a dream that is not a dream.
love of the Jones' life that is not real. love of a degree that does not nourish.
man's love of formula, pattern, and machine. we do it to ourselves.
Though I do not think that love is wrong,
I am certain that the machine is there to be overcome. We must have her,
so that in her shadow, we can find our own movement. moving away.
Not rejection, but enlightenment. Not a cop out, run out, fleeing, but inspiration, education, and character.
I learned a lot from my conversation with this man.
He invited my family to his 40 foot sail boat in Costa Rica.
He starts sailing around the world in September, and wants us to join him
for a month, any month.
With his 22 year old skipper. Learn to sail. Work. Jib. Mast.
Rebekah will go.
I just might.

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Franklin Road Academy

There was no coming to it
or a moment in 7th grade
when something shifted
and the eyes began to turn

the expectation.
the everyone waiting, leaning in to hear what I said next
did next, chose next
that you are brighter. noticed. watched.
that is never welcomed with words
or clear thought, (no.. repelled),
but only that blood feeling of worth

of course I did not notice right away.
i just felt part of something. a community of good friends.
until the disparity was pointed out,
by those who knew nothing of attention or artificial light.

in teenage years where we discover
the length of our arms and the pitch
the strange village of school decides and you decide
who you are to be.
a man. behind the microphone.
mine, the house that fills
the phone that rings,
the after prom

those young hearts fire even then, that fight without words to be seen,
and then there are words,
and confuse friendship with an answer to their lonely pink hearts,
and offense is egg shell path,
and manipulate, just to have your attention,
and hurt you, just to have your attention,
and hurt themselves,

and all is carried in the fingers-crossed promise of youth
that this young kingship will not be the end...
but you, the one,
you did not ask,
but they will decide you did,
must live the stage and shape the vision they dream for them.
or else be a comforting conversation
in the years to come
to mediocrity,
'see, even he settled down, after all.'

If I am.

If I were more attractive,
the smiles I attract and
the exchanges she engaged would be
colored by, 'why?'
and my boldness in openness
and open arms long held hugs
would confuse the loneliness in her, or him
instead of a moments repose and a deep healing breath
in arms that just want to hold for love's sake
or a sharing of the true heart, not
flooded by the hunger of animals.

If I were smarter,
I would be lonely.

If I were stronger,
I'd like to be stronger,
but I fear the too-welcome shadow that waits to tell
'who cares about your best?'
'tell me... no one.'
'be better than him, or him, be better than'
'and take care he sees'
there is a gift in the unfantastic.
one less fight.

If I were funnier,
I'd trade the moments where
soil was prime to turn and till
for applause and rich laughter
that grows nothing except
more invitations to dinner.

If I had a girl friend,
I do not know.
Both miracles and chaos.
I say impossible. how weak.

If I was married,
my history could not
have been what it was
and I would not be what I am
and what I am may prove to be important
or not
but I am not married.
though whoever that person is, listen:
I do not know.

If my family was perfect,
I have not met one.
And the pain I have experienced is not unlike others,
the fracture of form is clear,
but the love and honesty is rich and budding,
and my pain is the same as your pain.

If I were more determined,
If I saw the truth clearer,
If I saw without these frames,
I would love more,
draw more,
write more,
seek more,
talk less,
talk more,
hold more,
carry less,
think less,
reflect more,
and gasp, and die, and
dust is dust
and rest.