The Proud, Purgatorio

Canto X .139

"piangendo parea dicer: 'Più non posso'."

"weeping he seemed to say: 'I can no more.'"

When the samskaras rise and the troubles of the world build, like the Proud of Dantes' Purgatory, the weight becomes unbearable.

Suffocation, buried... clawing to get free. I now fully understand why many creative spirits cannot live "normal" lives...for the drive & passion over this thing that dwells within - this motivation of expression - this sense of purpose beyond mere existence - is all consuming.

We are the ones who do not flow evenly in the river of daily life. In fact most people are oblivious to the fact that they are even in the river. Born in the calm pools, we flow from the stream to the brook, which seemlessly becomes the lazy river. But water is not always calm in the river and there are many tributaries to take. Along the way, some are pulled under & drown, or crash upon the rocks. Many survive but are scarred or ruined. Too few, paddle to the side to watch along the way...to attempt to gain a vantage point to see where the river leads...gain a perspective. Which tributary to navigate? Which way to the sea? ...to the end of ones' life, where we melt away into the unknown.

One must ask, what does he hope to see along this one way journey in the River of Life? Which tributaries has he chosen? Which way will he choose today? Did he find his way to the bank to watch for a while or did he simply float blindfolded and dumb?

Sometimes I Still Think He's Coming Home

The leaves are changing once more
and billowed clouds drift by endlessly.

I watch the seasons pass
I too am swept in their progress
For I am late in the autumn of my life.

For 54 years I have shared the seasons with another.

We shared sunsets of crimson and golden hues
where the clouds were so pink against the turquoise sky
it would remind one of a painting by Van Gogh.

We spent stormy nights close together
Stronger, the two of us, against nature's wrath.
And with winter's chill, we shared the warmth of our bodies,
he and I.

And every spring, as the buds unfold their fragile petals,
We too would open ourselves fresh and new to the world.
Our hearts so young despite the wrinkles in our skin.

But now I am alone.
And the greatest difficulty is overcoming habit,
for upon occassion, in a fleeting moment I am caught unaware...
And Sometimes I still think he's coming home.

In memory of my grandmother, Marguerite and grandfather, Bill.

Humanity

To hell with diversity. Bring back Humanity!

Anymore, I can't listen to the "News." I believe that our world is shaped by how we choose to see it. And the regular barrage of negative information, points of views, and constant blathering of dribble is boring. Will it ever go away? No, but I can change my point of view. Why should I continue to stare at the gutter when there is a rainbow overhead. All I need to do it to turn my head. Refocus. Refill. Refresh.

Am I denying the gutter? No. Am I abandoning my responsibility as a citizen? No. But I feel that I can best help by maintaining a positive point of view, rather than struggling in the choking pit. By bringing light into the darkness, creativity and positive effects are most often the results.

Preparing for Italy

A beautiful day was spent at the lake. Ah, decompression. My exhibition is just weeks away and I can't believe it's almost here!

Reading Dante; Purgatorio

Canto XX .146

"Nulla ignoranza mai con tanta guerrami fé desideroso di sapere."

-Never before had my ignorance caused within me such a desperate desire to know the truth.

A million Miles Away from Evil

At this moment the cicada sing and the honey bees gather pollen in my lush patio garden. The nuthatch seeks a sunflower seed and the humming birds race around the feeder. I have exactly four butterflies deeply interested in the Joe Pye Weed. The cappucino is warm and frothy in my cup...and yet today more evil has been exposed as murderous intentions are being uncovered. Thousands of good people are displaced from their homes, delayed from their journeys, wait in lines, attempting to lead their peaceful lives as a few men attempt to claim theirs. I feel like a million miles away from it all, but I know I am not.

It's like Lord of the Flies times ten...only they have built themselves an island in the middle of humanity and are shipwrecked within the confines of their self-imposed shores. How can they be so lost? They are like lonely children in the middle of a nightmare, but how can we wake them up? Why have they become so blinded by the corruption of those they follow?

And I naively wish I could invite just one to my garden for some cappucino, to show them a different reality..., to share the beauty of what is life and assure them that this is how it, not only should be, but CAN BE. And then I understand that this beauty is present within every and any moment for those who choose to seek it. But that is something that they must do for themselves.

Namaste, J