I'm walking the path of this life in progress and a road sign appears in the near distance, growing larger and more distinct day by day. If I squint just a bit I can see it from here. It says:
36
I will reach that sign next Tuesday, March 4th, and I will pass it by with nary a backward glance as I continue down the road.
Before I reach that milestone, however, I will celebrate its imminence this very weekend at Deetjen's Big Sur Inn thanks to my beautiful Sarah. She surprised me with a weekend getaway to one of our sacred places in honor of my approaching birthday. We leave today at noon to commune with redwoods and sea and the silence of eternity which enfolds this holy place on the California coast.
Ah, yes, we�re going to the country. . .
Cities are graveyards for the living,
a pessimistic thought, I admit.
But it seems the truth out here where the trees are tall
and the air so clear
at night the Milky Way spills across the sky
and I can actually see it.
Where has my soul hidden while my body languished,
shackled to a desk?
Where did it go while the rest of me juggled files
and typed figures on computer keys?
Not far,
only a world away.
It's been alternately dozing
and composing sonnets
In the mossy sunlight
beneath redwood trees wise with years.
"Here I am," it says.
"What took you so long?"
Friday, February 21, 2003
Virtual March on Washington
Sponsored by The Win Without War Coalition
"On February 26th, every Senate office will receive a call every minute from a constituent, as they receive a simultaneous flood of faxes and e-mail. Hundreds of thousands of people from across the country will send the collective message: Don't Attack Iraq. Every Senate switchboard will be lit up throughout the day with our message -- a powerful reminder of the breadth and depth of opposition to a war in Iraq."
Thanks to Elaine for the tip on this upcoming demonstration of grass roots Democracy. A great, and easy, opportunity to make your voice heard via telephone, e-mail and/or fax. What are you waiting for? Click here or above to register! *
*Then go wish Tom Shugart a happy anniversary. INSITEVIEW is one year old today!
Sponsored by The Win Without War Coalition
"On February 26th, every Senate office will receive a call every minute from a constituent, as they receive a simultaneous flood of faxes and e-mail. Hundreds of thousands of people from across the country will send the collective message: Don't Attack Iraq. Every Senate switchboard will be lit up throughout the day with our message -- a powerful reminder of the breadth and depth of opposition to a war in Iraq."
Thanks to Elaine for the tip on this upcoming demonstration of grass roots Democracy. A great, and easy, opportunity to make your voice heard via telephone, e-mail and/or fax. What are you waiting for? Click here or above to register! *
*Then go wish Tom Shugart a happy anniversary. INSITEVIEW is one year old today!
Tuesday, February 18, 2003
Bush Says War Protesters Won't Deter Him
Despite heavy opposition at the United Nations and protests around the world, the Bush administration appeared ready to push ahead this week for a new Security Council resolution that could open the way for war.
Bush said that the size of the protests against a possible U.S.-led war against Iraq was irrelevant.
"Just like the votes of all those saps who voted for Gore in 2000", chuckled the president to an aid. Except, of course, that he did not use the word irrelevant because he would have stumbled and hurt himself over those four big syllables.
Our fearless leader then went on to say:
"You know, I � war is my last choice."
Your last choice, Mr. President? Is that why you have just sent an additional 28,000 troops to the Gulf region to join the tens of thousands who have been there for some months already?
George W. again:
"I owe it to the American people to secure this country. I will do so."
Unless he's talking about resigning the office of President, we are all a very long way from security. I believe old George Jr. misspoke. What he meant to say, no doubt, was:
"I owe it to myself and the wealthy interests that have bankrolled me to secure that country's (Iraq) oil. I will do so"
Despite heavy opposition at the United Nations and protests around the world, the Bush administration appeared ready to push ahead this week for a new Security Council resolution that could open the way for war.
Bush said that the size of the protests against a possible U.S.-led war against Iraq was irrelevant.
"Just like the votes of all those saps who voted for Gore in 2000", chuckled the president to an aid. Except, of course, that he did not use the word irrelevant because he would have stumbled and hurt himself over those four big syllables.
Our fearless leader then went on to say:
"You know, I � war is my last choice."
Your last choice, Mr. President? Is that why you have just sent an additional 28,000 troops to the Gulf region to join the tens of thousands who have been there for some months already?
George W. again:
"I owe it to the American people to secure this country. I will do so."
Unless he's talking about resigning the office of President, we are all a very long way from security. I believe old George Jr. misspoke. What he meant to say, no doubt, was:
"I owe it to myself and the wealthy interests that have bankrolled me to secure that country's (Iraq) oil. I will do so"
Monday, February 17, 2003
Much speculation going on right now in certain blogging quarters regarding the purchase of Pyra Labs (the folks who brought us Blogger) by Google. This is big news and I must thank Jeneane over at Allied for breaking it to me.
As for what this will mean to me personally and for blogging in general. . .Well, the future is a misted landscape as they say. I will leave the speculation to those with the time for peering through that swirling fog which obscures the days of blogging future.
I'm off to the airport now. Blessed be, Sarah is coming home!
As for what this will mean to me personally and for blogging in general. . .Well, the future is a misted landscape as they say. I will leave the speculation to those with the time for peering through that swirling fog which obscures the days of blogging future.
I'm off to the airport now. Blessed be, Sarah is coming home!
Sunday, February 16, 2003
I am not a tidy person and, prior to meeting Sarah, housework had not been made a part of my nature by breeding or chore. My inclination is to leave things as they are, to surrender to the gradual bliss of entropy, to allow the accumulation of what Philip K. Dick called Kipple.
Sarah is my opposite in this regard. She is a natural born Feng Shui master, a bringer of order, a placer of objects in their proper places.
Over the years I have absorbed a portion of Sarah's tidy ways, it's true. In fact I have come to agree with Sarah when she tells me that cleanliness is next to godliness. Still, when she is away I tend to slip into old ways. . . unopened mail mounts daily higher, dirty dishes linger in the sink, and, on bad days, the bed remains unmade. With Sarah absent from our home I don't make the effort to keep things in order as much as I might.
I ought to, though. I have just spent the past two and a half hours or so scrubbing, sweeping, pushing a vaccuum and, with my other hand, juggling three loads of laundry. As I sit here typing there is a definite energy in the room that was not here yesterday. There is a sense of alingment that seems to have come into focus with the cleaning of the space.
Today's clean up was motivated by Sarah's return tomorrow but I'm glad I did it right now because I feel better having done it. For some time now I have tried to approach house work with a positive attitude, even when I would rather do something else. It is useful for me to view the task as a form of meditation, so that I might reap from the moments spent so engaged whatever value there is rather than squander the time in shoddy work and inattentiveness. No doubt my Buddhist leanings have influenced this turn of thought.
I wrote the following poems on this subject about ten years ago (I won't have a definite age until carbon dating results of the notebook originals have been returned from the lab):
Liberation Through Housework
The floor is a canvas
the broom a brush
and I, the consumate artist,
am sweeping up a masterpiece.
***
Cleaning the toilet
as it should be cleaned -
equal amounts of pride and care
added to the soap -
is a task of holy
and heroic proportions.
Scrub brush in hand
I stand
kissing the lips of God.
Sarah is my opposite in this regard. She is a natural born Feng Shui master, a bringer of order, a placer of objects in their proper places.
Over the years I have absorbed a portion of Sarah's tidy ways, it's true. In fact I have come to agree with Sarah when she tells me that cleanliness is next to godliness. Still, when she is away I tend to slip into old ways. . . unopened mail mounts daily higher, dirty dishes linger in the sink, and, on bad days, the bed remains unmade. With Sarah absent from our home I don't make the effort to keep things in order as much as I might.
I ought to, though. I have just spent the past two and a half hours or so scrubbing, sweeping, pushing a vaccuum and, with my other hand, juggling three loads of laundry. As I sit here typing there is a definite energy in the room that was not here yesterday. There is a sense of alingment that seems to have come into focus with the cleaning of the space.
Today's clean up was motivated by Sarah's return tomorrow but I'm glad I did it right now because I feel better having done it. For some time now I have tried to approach house work with a positive attitude, even when I would rather do something else. It is useful for me to view the task as a form of meditation, so that I might reap from the moments spent so engaged whatever value there is rather than squander the time in shoddy work and inattentiveness. No doubt my Buddhist leanings have influenced this turn of thought.
I wrote the following poems on this subject about ten years ago (I won't have a definite age until carbon dating results of the notebook originals have been returned from the lab):
Liberation Through Housework
The floor is a canvas
the broom a brush
and I, the consumate artist,
am sweeping up a masterpiece.
***
Cleaning the toilet
as it should be cleaned -
equal amounts of pride and care
added to the soap -
is a task of holy
and heroic proportions.
Scrub brush in hand
I stand
kissing the lips of God.
Saturday, February 15, 2003
Friday, February 14, 2003
So it's Valentine's Day and I'll be sleeping alone tonight, just as I've done for the last week with Sarah across the pond in England. It's not bad enough that she's absent on this day of love's feast alone but, coincidentally enough, it is also the anniversary of the date we moved in to our first apartment. Together.
With Sarah away, I have decided to sit out the peace march/rally ocurring in San Francisco on Sunday. I want to participate and get my own crowd count, and will be there in spirit, but my energy at this point will best be spent tidying the house for my Sarah's return.
She is due back Monday afternoon if she can get past the military blockade around Heathrow airport and the supposed terrorists, which means that I will occupy my weekend worrying and praying for her safe return and, for the first time, looking forward to a Monday.
With Sarah away, I have decided to sit out the peace march/rally ocurring in San Francisco on Sunday. I want to participate and get my own crowd count, and will be there in spirit, but my energy at this point will best be spent tidying the house for my Sarah's return.
She is due back Monday afternoon if she can get past the military blockade around Heathrow airport and the supposed terrorists, which means that I will occupy my weekend worrying and praying for her safe return and, for the first time, looking forward to a Monday.
Tuesday, February 11, 2003
Dear Mister Fantasy play us a tune
Something to make us all happy
Do anything take us out of this gloom
Sing a song, play guitar
Make it snappy
You are the one who can make us all laugh
But doing that you break out in tears
Please don't be sad if it was a straight mind you had
We wouldn't have known you all these years
-Dear Mr. Fantasy, Traffic, 1968-
Take us out of this gloom, yes. There is a definite pall hanging over the psychic landscape these days. It lowers in the air of dreams, hovers and drifts alternately as a vast black web or fields of cloud pale as death across the skies of all our minds. There are shadows lurking at the heart, where the blood is truest.
But where is Mr. Fantasy? He is here yet, never fear, his mind somewhat askew. He is the singer, the artist conjuring life in paint, the teller of tales, the musician making sounds which define that great untouchable silence we all must know sooner or later. He is the seer of things as they are, the poet wringing from the dark at the back of all our good intentions golden moments. Luminous. Numinous. Gifts to the great unknown.
Our own
time, much greater and far less fortunate,
Has acids for honey, and for fine dreams
The immense vulgarities of misapplied science and de-
caying Christianity: therefore one christens each
poem in dutiful
Hope of burning off at least the top layer of the time's
uncleaness, from the acid-bottles.
-from A Prescription for Painful Ends, Robinson Jeffers, 1939 �
Ah, poetry!
I have loved it's clean black lines giving shape to a page,
the quality of it's rhyme.
I have loved the flow of words
back and forth across currents of time,
the mind incarnate in language.
I have been moved to poetry. I have been moved to tears. I have sniffed at the acid bottles, recoiled, pined for that vapored dew of honeyberry recalled once in a childhood dream and lingering still at the back of my mind. . .
Something to make us all happy
Do anything take us out of this gloom
Sing a song, play guitar
Make it snappy
You are the one who can make us all laugh
But doing that you break out in tears
Please don't be sad if it was a straight mind you had
We wouldn't have known you all these years
-Dear Mr. Fantasy, Traffic, 1968-
Take us out of this gloom, yes. There is a definite pall hanging over the psychic landscape these days. It lowers in the air of dreams, hovers and drifts alternately as a vast black web or fields of cloud pale as death across the skies of all our minds. There are shadows lurking at the heart, where the blood is truest.
But where is Mr. Fantasy? He is here yet, never fear, his mind somewhat askew. He is the singer, the artist conjuring life in paint, the teller of tales, the musician making sounds which define that great untouchable silence we all must know sooner or later. He is the seer of things as they are, the poet wringing from the dark at the back of all our good intentions golden moments. Luminous. Numinous. Gifts to the great unknown.
Our own
time, much greater and far less fortunate,
Has acids for honey, and for fine dreams
The immense vulgarities of misapplied science and de-
caying Christianity: therefore one christens each
poem in dutiful
Hope of burning off at least the top layer of the time's
uncleaness, from the acid-bottles.
-from A Prescription for Painful Ends, Robinson Jeffers, 1939 �
Ah, poetry!
I have loved it's clean black lines giving shape to a page,
the quality of it's rhyme.
I have loved the flow of words
back and forth across currents of time,
the mind incarnate in language.
I have been moved to poetry. I have been moved to tears. I have sniffed at the acid bottles, recoiled, pined for that vapored dew of honeyberry recalled once in a childhood dream and lingering still at the back of my mind. . .
Friday, February 07, 2003
U.S. raises terror threat assessment
The Justice Department increased its terrorist threat assessment level to �orange� � or high risk � on Friday, reflecting concerns among Bush administration officials that terrorists are planning an attack against U.S. interests at home or overseas as early as next week.
Sarah is traveling to jolly old England tomorrow for a big to-do business meeting and I can only hope that this so called "increased terror threat" will cause her no more discomfort than a few extra minutes clearing security at the airport. I resent these business trips under the best of circumstances because of the time they steal from us. In these dark times, however, her travels for work stir up black clouds of fearful apprehension.
Fear, indeed.
Is it possibly something more than coincidence that this "orange alert" is being issued just days after Colin Powell's presentation to the U.N security Council?
Powell looked like a rational man making a rational case. But by any
legal or scientific standards, the evidence was shaky and marginal.
Rather than relying on solid facts, Powell chose an emotional route:
he played to fear. Powell and Bush know that they can't win over the
American people on the merits of this war, because it just doesn't
make sense. But if folks are scared enough of Saddam, they'll back
it.
- excerpted from an e-mail alert from Eli Pariser, MoveOn.org-
Travel safe, Sarah, and come home soon. I'm not afraid of anything with you by my side.
The Justice Department increased its terrorist threat assessment level to �orange� � or high risk � on Friday, reflecting concerns among Bush administration officials that terrorists are planning an attack against U.S. interests at home or overseas as early as next week.
Sarah is traveling to jolly old England tomorrow for a big to-do business meeting and I can only hope that this so called "increased terror threat" will cause her no more discomfort than a few extra minutes clearing security at the airport. I resent these business trips under the best of circumstances because of the time they steal from us. In these dark times, however, her travels for work stir up black clouds of fearful apprehension.
Fear, indeed.
Is it possibly something more than coincidence that this "orange alert" is being issued just days after Colin Powell's presentation to the U.N security Council?
Powell looked like a rational man making a rational case. But by any
legal or scientific standards, the evidence was shaky and marginal.
Rather than relying on solid facts, Powell chose an emotional route:
he played to fear. Powell and Bush know that they can't win over the
American people on the merits of this war, because it just doesn't
make sense. But if folks are scared enough of Saddam, they'll back
it.
- excerpted from an e-mail alert from Eli Pariser, MoveOn.org-
Travel safe, Sarah, and come home soon. I'm not afraid of anything with you by my side.
Tuesday, February 04, 2003
February 4, 2003 � The world teeters on the brink of yet another war, Chinese New Year (my very own Year of the Ram) is but days old, Valentine�s Day is just around the corner and here, on this specific date, a small milestone is reached as this blog turns one year old.
If I had the time I might use this anniversary as an excuse to engage in some rumination about the meaning and nature of blogging, an opportunity to ramble over the well trodden path of speculation about just what it is we are creating here.
As I plan to spend all free time this week with Sarah before she travels again, however, I am squeezing this post out during stolen minutes at work and have only time enough to note the date and to thank you for reading.
If I had the time I might use this anniversary as an excuse to engage in some rumination about the meaning and nature of blogging, an opportunity to ramble over the well trodden path of speculation about just what it is we are creating here.
As I plan to spend all free time this week with Sarah before she travels again, however, I am squeezing this post out during stolen minutes at work and have only time enough to note the date and to thank you for reading.
Saturday, February 01, 2003
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