pretty moonbeams

Be Good

2012-01-18T14:12:00.005-06:00

These were the issued behavior guidelines about1400 BC when Moses brought them down from Mt. Sinai to the Israelites, according to legend. Apparently he hadn't read them carefully before he broke the tablets and had the sons of Levi slay 3000 of the flock for: constructing a calf of gold for idol worship , dancing and partying whilst Moses (1525 BC- 1445 BC, 80 years) was up in the hills speaking with God . . . its OK he had another set made later.

I am surprised that murder or killing was not mentioned in the Seven Deadly Sins issued much later in time (and shown on a previous post). Could it be that 1000 years later civilization had learned to respect life and needed no designated sin for killing or "murder"? I doubt it!
In fact even today in our times of enlightened minds (?) and history to guide us we still live primitive lives with borders, tribal hatreds, the need for retribution, religious' separation and "my god is better than your god" nonsense ; we still have not learned and I suspect will not. Although now most of the killing seems to be sponsored by places of military and political power. But be careful -- if you are caught up in that power and singled out by that to engage in their killing and refuse, you may be shackled to a chair in the Company dayroom for 8 hours, made fun of and ridiculed, and ordered to assemble and sign pages of testimony and evidence , including backup paper from church ,neighbors, and friends, indicating your truthfulness and honesty. So for I it was kind of an "opt out" deal rather than "opt in" as exists with the government today.
I really hate to be an outlier --much easier and safer to fit within the smooth confines of the bell curve. But I cannot abide being pushed around and I will not be told how to believe --"godless communists" notwithstanding.

What official requirement or personal situation would convince you to kill another human being?

Drifting

2011-12-12T14:27:00.000-06:00

Tommy was a hitchhiker -- this may be him except the sleeping bag doesn't look right. He had his stolen in Arizona and we gave him an army bag that was excess to us (and apparently the Army since they gave us an extra to keep!) He was in Forest Park in St. Louis and spotted his bag alone near a tree, so he traded back. The army bag was warmer so it was a matter of familiarity rather than function, apparently.
He would hitch mainly route 66 (now 44/40) St. Louis to LA mostly ,staying alive by giving blood in the bigger cities along the way. You could get $15 a pint but could only give once a month or so. But the tracking was poor then and he could give in several cities, hitting the blood centers about a month later on the trip back east. He would stop in Albuquerque at our place for a nights sleep and some food; he knew people all along the route even extending north to San Fran. where he would hit the Haight. His stories were always a non time-dependent series of events. May have been last week. May have been last year. A smear of stories runtogether in a stream of consciousness. We once prepared a large duck dinner for us and him but he could only eat half of a normal meal since his stomach was shrunken due to the sparse, but consistent, input of food over the weeks previous. Large enough to live
on but not enough room there to accommodate splurging.

Last time we saw him he came through with a girl from Baltimore in tow. We loaned him our address so he could collect some food stamps and fill 2 gunny sacks with the food; the overage he gave to us. Seems to me it was about $150 worth of stamps/food that we all got. Took them up to the hot springs north of town where they intended to camp for a few months. G'bye free spirits . . . we moved on and that was that.

It may have come as quite the surprise to each when he showed up later at our last place to be greeted by the new-renters. Where'd they go? Don't know. (we were in Fort Polk Louisiana) Maybe later.
That was that.

Historical Sin

2011-11-18T15:45:00.021-06:00

The Seven Deadly Sins and the Four Last Things is a painting attributed to Hieronymus Bosch, completed around 1500 or later. The painting is oil on wood panels. The painting is presented in a series of circular images.
Four small circles, detailing "Death of the sinner", "Judgement", "Hell", and "Glory", surround a larger circle in which the seven deadly sins are depicted: wrath at the bottom, then (proceeding clockwise) envy, greed, gluttony, sloth, extravagance (later, lust), and pride in scenes from everyday life rather than allegorical representations of the sins.^[1]
At the centre of the large circle, which is said to represent the eye of God, is a "pupil" in which Christ can be seen emerging from his tomb. Below this image is the Latin inscription Cave Cave Deus Videt ("Beware, Beware, God Sees").
Above and Below the central image are inscription in Latin of Deuteronomy 32:28-29, containing the lines "For they are a nation void of counsel, neither is there any understanding in them," above, and "O that they were wise, that they understood this, that they would consider their latter end!" below.
(from wikipedia.com)

"Hieronymus, or Jerome, Bosch, b. c.1450, d. August 1516, spent his entire artistic career in the small Dutch town of Hertogenbosch, from which he derived his name.
At the time of his death, Bosch was internationally celebrated as an eccentric painter of religious visions who dealt in particular with the torments of hell. During his lifetime Bosch's works were in the inventories of noble families of the Netherlands, Austria, and Spain, and they were imitated in a number of paintings and prints throughout the 16th century, especially in the works of Pieter Bruegel the Elder.
Bosch was a member of the religious Brotherhood of Our Lady, for whom he painted several altarpieces for the Cathedral of Saint John's, Hertogenbosch, all of which are now lost. The artist probably never went far from home, although records exist of a commission in 1504 from Philip the Handsome (later king of Castile), for a lost Last Judgment altarpiece. None of Bosch's pictures are dated, although the artist signed many of them. " (from whitestonejournal.com)

Deadly Sin * **	Opposing Virtue	Brief description
Pride (1) (18%)	Humility	Seeing ourselves as we are and not comparing ourselves to others is humility. Pride and vanity are competitive. If someone else's pride really bothers you, you have a lot of pride.
Avarice/Greed (5) (5%)	Generosity	This is about more than money. Generosity means letting others get the credit or praise. It is giving without having expectations of the other person. Greed wants to get its "fair share" or a bit more.
Envy (2) (5%)	Love	"Love is patient, love is kind…" Love actively seeks the good of others for their sake. Envy resents the good others receive or even might receive. Envy is almost indistinguishable from pride at times.
Wrath/Anger (3) (20%)	Kindness	Kindness means taking the tender approach, with patience and compassion. Anger is often our first reaction to the problems of others. Impatience with the faults of others is related to this.
Lust (7) (31%)	Self control	Self control and self mastery prevent pleasure from killing the soul by suffocation. Legitimate pleasures are controlled in the same way an athlete's muscles are: for maximum efficiency without damage. Lust is the self-destructive drive for pleasure out of proportion to its worth. Sex, power, or image can be used well, but they tend to go out of control.
Gluttony (6) (8%)	Faith and Temperance	Temperance accepts the natural limits of pleasures and preserves this natural balance. This does not pertain only to food, but to entertainment and other legitimate goods, and even the company of others.
Sloth (4) (13%)	Zeal	Zeal is the energetic response of the heart to God's commands. The other sins work together to deaden the spiritual senses so we first become slow to respond to God and then drift completely into the sleep of complacency.

* Numbers in parenthesis indicate position in Dante. ** Percentages indicate results of our poll as of October 25, 2009.

Sadness was once a sin, but it was combined with Sloth years ago.

There are consequences if you wander from the path (when they occur is not specified but I would think that they are not immediate or your friends might start disappearing):

   Sin    Punishment

Pride                                            Broken on Wheel
Greed/Avarice                              Boiling Oil
Envy                                            Freezing Water
Lust                                             Smothered in Fire
Sloth                                           Snake Pits
Wrath/Anger                                Dismemberment Alive
Gluttony                                     Forced to Eat Snake, Toad, Rat

These punishments seem harsh but I guess if you want to keep the "nation void of counsel" in line you have to scare them into compliance.

Associates

2011-10-07T14:06:00.004-05:00

Careful now . . . this cat will chew your face off if provoked!
Not really, but for one named Zippy she is mostly found asleep off in some other world (she was once a flash of yellow seen as a vertical streak falling off of the roof there to the right -- a great image.)

If you had to lie on your stomach, your legs would stick out too! Guy and Daisy finally looking at me.
He showed up one icy winter with heartworms, bare ribs, and in need of some warmth and human kindness - or any other kind of kindness he could find. She is there as his buddy and running mate -- you can never have just one dog . . . it's an outfit.

A real cutie until she starts chasing the ducks back into the lake. I can tell now that I will be rescuing her this winter as she falls through the thin ice on the lake. I just hope that it is fairly near to shore as my rope is not getting any longer and I am getting weary of rescues.

No comment

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A passing thought: Winter

It is all around me
not like skin or air or quilt . . . more like music and thought and feeling
there in the air and in the wind
Can't put your finger on it because it is your finger
and the leaves and the small plants and the snakes and the grass and the life in the soil
reacting to a change, slowing down for a respite back into the ground.
Me ---- I shall build a fire

Endless

2011-08-16T13:50:00.004-05:00

Navigating by the Light of a Minor Planet

The trouble with belief in endlessness is
it requires a belief in beginninglessness.
Consider friction, entropy, perpetual motion.

And the trouble with holding to both is that
belief in endlessness requires a certain hope
while belief in beginninglessness ends in the absence of hope.

Or maybe it's vice versa. Luckily,
belief in a thing is not the thing itself.
We can have the concept of origin, but no origin.

Here we are then: in a world where logic doesn't function,
or else emotions can't be trusted. Maybe both.
All known tools of navigation require an origin.

Otherwise, there is only endless relativity and then
what's the point of navigation, in a space where
it's hard to be lost, and even harder not to be?

Saying "I don't want to be here" is not the same
as saying "I want to not be here." It rains
and it rains and it rains the things I haven't said.

Poem by Jessica Goodfellow

Seems like these two complement each other. I like words just beyond my grasp (that last stanza will take some airing)-- maybe in the right mood I can comprehend and understand the writer of the poem and the taker of the photo (Hanspeter Klasser of Karlsbad, Germany with a Canon 350D). When queried, Mr. Klasser said that the photo above, Blue Tunnel, is an "alienation" of Red Rose -- another of his photos.
And the intent is probably just half a bubble off of level, which is fine.

I am afraid that I had to rely on the kindness of strangers for this presentation.

Catharsis

2011-06-21T11:09:00.001-05:00

Distant help for a wandering soul
The peace which passeth all understanding
I am told

Fast clouds passing on a rainy day
Sweet scent nosed of cut clover and hay
soft air

Breath pulled in deep to pinpoint wandering thought
To let it rest deep in the chakra where it belongs
To allow release and capture at the same time

I wonder why that is so hard

Fractal design by Buddhi on Fractal forum using a Mandelbulber program (not mine -- I wish!)
Our first fractal attempt took 23 hours to run on a monocolor monitor with an 8086 chip in the CPU.
The pixel was either off or on, black or yellow. The math is fairly easy, with guidance from a fractal book. It is understanding why it works which is the rub. Why evaluating how fast a mathematical function goes to infinity then assigning a color to that pixel depending on the speed, produces beauty such as that above.
One of my fractals is the blue spinner where my photo belongs on this blog -- very basic.

It would be nice if nature developed from numbers --- and it may be so.

So Once Again . . .

2011-05-11T11:42:00.003-05:00

"Masters Of War"

Come you masters of war
You that build all the guns
You that build the death planes
You that build all the bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks.

You that never done nothin'
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it's your little toy
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly.

Like Judas of old
You lie and deceive
A world war can be won
You want me to believe
But I see through your eyes
And I see through your brain
Like I see through the water
That runs down my drain.

You fasten all the triggers
For the others to fire
Then you set back and watch
When the death count gets higher
You hide in your mansion'
As young people's blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the sand.

You've thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
For threatening my baby
Unborn and unnamed
You ain't worth the blood
That runs in your veins.

How much do I know
To talk out of turn
You might say that I'm young
You might say I'm unlearned
But there's one thing I know
Though I'm younger than you
That even Jesus would never
Forgive what you do.

Let me ask you one question
Is your money that good
Will it buy you forgiveness
Do you think that it could
I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the money you made
Will never buy back your soul.

And I hope that you die
And your death'll come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And I'll watch while you're lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I'll stand over your grave
'Til I'm sure that you're dead.

Bob Zimmerman (Dylan)

Such glee at a death not our own -- Obama VS Osama. More death to prove a point!
And I suspect that I am on the unpopular side of this moral issue, yet
again.
But it seems a trial would have been called for: Demonstrate, for all to see, that if you run contrary to the beliefs and lives of others who may not agree with you and kill to prove your point , you will be held accountable. That on this planet we rely on the rule of law and moral codes to exist with one another.
Death is too easy; especially when most believe that a happy time will then exist and killers are just accommodating the martyr.

We hope for the best world but "yet reality blows another truth" !
(thanks for that one, Nasra)

http://www.youtube.com/user/samueltube1#p/search/0/JaMz8pgua_0

Leavings

2011-03-28T14:21:00.004-05:00

Our neighborhood appears to be going downhill.
Houses built at the turn of the last century (when it was possible to raise a family on 40 acres and a mule) abandoned, since it is more efficient to put up a double-wide trailer to live in nowadays than to rework the old structures to be warm, painted, and bug free. Once the roof loses integrity it is just a matter of time and a few seasons until structure falls and returns to earth. Many of us in the area try to document these places through photos before they are just dark rectangles on the old geodesic maps. And this is just a holding action since photos have a habit of accumulating and becoming detritus to be discarded by a future family member who wonders why anyone would take a picture of an old falling-down house.

This left behind, probably too heavy to move -- and who would tune it? It is nice to think of the tunes that emanated from this instrument; probably religious music but who knows, maybe "Coming Round the Mountain" bounced off of the walls on occasion.

Makes me wonder what we will leave behind and what will become of it. Perhaps a future photographer will walk around our dusty house and wonder "why would they save that old piece of junk?"

Enigma

2011-02-21T13:58:00.000-06:00

Moon landings could be assembled at staged setups in the Mohave?
Luddites will rejoice at this shot of a shuttle launch obviously created in someone's living room with digital trickery. And we all fell for it who watched!

See strong invention engines strange devise,
And ope the mysteries of earth, seas, and skies;
Aid curious art to finish works refin'd,
And teach abstrusest science to mankind.
Up the dread vault, where stars immensely roll,
To heaven, Herschelian tubes conduct the soul;
Where proud Orion heads th' immortal train,
And opes his lucid window through the main;
Where, far beyond this limitary sky,
Superior worlds of liquid splendour lie;
Far other suns diffuse th' unsetting ray,
And other planets roll, in living day,
Truth, bliss, and virtue, age by age, refine,
And unknown nations bask in life divine.

From Timothy Dwight, Greenfield Hill (1794)

Unlike most of the other 18th-century writers represented here, who were British, Dwight was American; this poem dealt chiefly with his conception of an ideal society and was dedicated to John Adams.

No, it is true . . . this photo of a NASA camera shot of the separation of the shuttle from its fuel tank was taken of our television screen, the lamp a reflection.
(It has been a slow winter)

Memphis '68

2011-01-15T11:51:00.003-06:00

The black motel where Martin Luther King stayed when in Memphis. He was there on April 3, 1968 to speak to the 1300 black sanitation workers who were striking for equal treatment with the white workers. The next day King was shot and killed while leaving his room. As leader of the nonviolent-protest movement for black equality, and a defender of the natural rights of fellow humans, he is a hero of mine.
I hold high standards for heroes: one must live a life of selfless dedication to others and their welfare over individual comfort; a hard life to live. I guess mother Teresa would qualify as would Ghandi, Doctors Without Borders, hospice volunteers, and a thousand others unknown to me but could qualify nonetheless -- you will know them when you feel their grace.

"The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy. The true neighbor will risk his position, his prestige and even his life for the welfare of others."
-- Strength in Love (1963) Martin Luther King Jr.-- A Baptist Minister

It might seem that he knew of his impending death since the speech the night before ended with these words:

"And then I got to Memphis. And some began to say the threats, or talk about the threats that were out. What would happen to me from some of our sick white brothers?
Well, I don't know what will happen now, we've got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter with me now, because I've been to the mountaintop and I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will, and He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight that we as a people will get to the promised land. And I'm happy tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord." (see text of the complete speech)

On a lighter note, if you ever get to Memphis visit the Peabody Hotel downtown. They have a group of ducks which are brought down daily on the elevator from their pen on the roof, to waddle over to the fountain in the lobby to spend the day.
Ducks in Memphis, what a treat!

I couldn't resist pictures of the ducks and fountain. The black stone of the fountain is of one piece of travertine marble from Italy, installed in 1925.

It's Always Something!

2010-12-15T15:34:00.003-06:00

Stuck duck in center of lake quickly frozen over after the winter storm and temperature drop. He couldn't get any purchase on the smooth ice- flapping and clawing to no avail. How his 7 associates made it across to stay under the dock is a mystery to me. (I suspect that they better anticipated the lake freezing but who knows nature?)
So a rescue was in order and three days later , and after a warmup to 18°F, I managed to devise a plan involving a raft, rope, and hunting knives since the ice was too thin and creaky for me to walk on yet.

Seven associates under the dock. We built them a functional duckhouse and enclosure including a chicken-wire top sewn together with aluminum wire ,usually used for electric fencing, to keep out the racoons and owls from above. (you can barely see it to the right of the chicken house -- sans chickens.)
But keeping them in the duckhouse is another problem even though that is where the food is (mostly dried corn). They will eat then shoot right back out into the lake even though the fencing for the area extends out into the lake to capture about 6 feet of water. They are domesticated but not at all very controllable.

This the deflated raft. It started losing air as I was sitting in it on the ice while using two hunting knives' points to propel it forward while roped to a tree in case the ice broke and I had to pull myself back to shore.
Duck freaks when I get to it but didn't have the strength or the means to get away. Grabbed it and brought it back to shore by pulling on the rope where waiting black dog further freaks out duck--fortunately it had not eaten in several days! (The duck not the dog)

But all is well; at least in this little corner of the story.

Teal and Rust

2010-11-05T11:42:00.002-05:00

I posted last September and October an inquiry as to what is art. Turned out to be no definitive description, as personal taste and subjectivity entered into it. But the following general statement may come close to enclosing a workable theme:

"Art is a revelatory expression of a supportive nature that balances the human tendency for logical criticism."

So, expression is it? Could be music, painting, dance, writing, poetry, performance art in the street -- seems many forms of expression would qualify. For the expression to be "revelatory" imposes a personal aspect as it must affect the subject in a way that causes a reaction of some sort. So art can be good or bad!

I envision an expression inside of a living structure which would reflect the outside conditions. Temperature, wind ,solar incidence and intensity, moisture, could be indicated by changing colors on a painting or even changing geometry on a three-dimensional display of moving pointers on scales. The connections would be tricky and would probably have to be done as the house is being built (or electronic signals, senders and receivers would be easier). But glance around and see you are living, or at least aware of, conditions external to the building . If a variable can be detected, it can be expressed, and how much more revelatory can you get?

I have driven by this old trailer for years and the door section, painted and rusty, has always caught my eye.
So I present it as art , for me at least, although I doubt I would want it in the house.

One of All

2010-10-11T12:01:00.002-05:00

I have always liked this shot: water snake free in his element and duck seeming to take on a "trust but verify" posture. Must be ever vigilant.

Our flock of eight ducks now, only two of four were left after last winter; we had to get six more to expand the flock. The white ones are Pekins and the darker ones are Mallard domesticates named Ruens. Others are cross-breeds, maybe the solution to getting along.
You will not see any of this flock more than ten feet or so from any other member of the bunch. Safety in numbers as long as a member can squack and warn in case of danger (and it is a specific squack.) Drift out too far from the group and danger lurks-- may be coyote or coon food. It has happened.

Interesting how they of different breeds get along; even if it is only for self protection., Perhaps we as humans need a common enemy to get along with each other. The "my God is better than your god" attitude of the clergys is getting tedious and is surely not helpful to a good end. But what enemy? If the antibiotics eventually fail to protect us from disease how do we help there -- I have few test tubes and would need to depend upon the existing medical setup.
We need an enemy which we can all fight against; the lowliest and least mobile and those needing help being recognized but can think in ways helpful if listened to are all part of the communal effort .
It was clear in the past: donate your steel pots, gas rationing, donate material, rubber, anything which could build war machines and defeat a clearly deviant enemy. Pitch in! " Howdy neighbor, let me help you with that load! " We are all in this together. God (god) must have sat in the background and flinched at the scene, but common-enemy joined us together in life and victory, although the millions in the ground may disagree -- could they speak.
The enemy is hatred, fear, and ignorance.
So we must stick together, be kind and understanding to each other, help if possible the others in need and build bridges to be used when a belief is far away.
.
It is the only future that I would like to live into.

Respite

2010-08-26T11:21:00.004-05:00


"Night, Seaport by Moonlight" Joseph Venet "This Hermit good lives in that wood Which slopes down to the sea. How loudly his sweet voice he rears! He loves to talk with marineres That come from a far countree. He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve-- He hath a cushion plump: It is the moss that wholly hides The rotted old oak-stump. " From "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge Painted about 1771, this oil resides in the Louvre in Paris and looks a bit worn here in this depiction. I wonder if the artist was using lantern-light while painting and how that affected his selection and laydown of color. After sometimes months at sea, sailors must have really appreciated stomping around on solid ground, building a fire and talking with the pretty ladies of the port. I saw somewhere while researching this painting that it is the port of Palermo shown here. Makes me wonder if the white building shown on the hill still exists and if one could get away with building a fire near the shoreline in these times.

bringing IT home

2010-08-13T16:28:00.003-05:00

It cannot be ignored, has to be said that this is done in my name. Some enemy are cowards, dressing as women and old men, drawing fire to the homes and gathering places. How to fight that?
How does this fellow go on?

So I present bent trees, mosques and buildings, poems of mountain retreat and watery solace, rivers flowing, ducks and pigeons in their lives and other' lives long gone, flowers and beauty. Attempts at cleverly relating visual image with written image (a lost friend used to tell me that all of my photographic images did not present many people--so true as I look back) are presented as attempts at relating to the world.

But some of the world creeps in late at night, around the edges, hanging onto thought and precluding sleep. How to handle this?

I wondered how Rumi (16th century Persian Sufi Poet) would see it:

At the twilight, a moon appeared in the sky;
Then it landed on earth to look at me.
Like a hawk stealing a bird at the time of prey;
That moon stole me and rushed back into the sky.
I looked at myself, I did not see me anymore;
For in that moon, my body turned as fine as soul.
The nine spheres disappeared in that moon;
The ship of my existence drowned in that sea.

Divan, 649:1-3,5

I am not sure what more I can say. . . WHY?

Solace

2010-07-12T10:17:00.000-05:00

A place in time

a space formed man-made claypit lake
we walk to she and me

as the heat grows and small breezes help anticipate cool relief

a nice shade to sit and lay out some orange and cheese chunks.

Strip down for a swim . . . careful of the kinda muddy edge . . . best just to dive in.
water is deep and clear, and cool , and floating watching up to see blue and puffy floaters.
why arent clouds heavier than the air and come down nearer for closer inspection?

smooth silk flowing fluid by as we thread together and then apart. really nothing to push against
but one with all as time is on hold and eternity passes with a heartbeat and a breath

Faith

2010-05-08T14:16:00.003-05:00

Church of Transfiguration at Kizhi, Karelia region (near St Petersburg, Russia) 1714

There'll be noone in the house
Save for twilight. All alone,
Winter's day seen in the space that's
Made by curtains left undrawn.

Only flash-past of the wet white
Snowflake clusters, glimpsed and gone.
Only roofs and snows, and save for
Roofs and snow -- no one at home.

Once more, frost will trace its patterns,
I'll be haunted once again
By my last-year's melancholy,
By that other wintertime.

Once more I'll be troubled by an
Old, unexpiated shame,
And the icy firewood femine
Will press on the window-pane.

But the quiver of intrusion
Through those curtain folds will run
Measuring silence with your footsteps,
Like the future, in you'll come.

You'll appear there in the doorway
Wearing something white and plain,
Something in the very stuff from
Which the snowflakes too are sewn.

Poem by Leonid Pasternak 1890-1957

This church is at Izma, Arkhangel Region of Northeastern Russia built in 1679. It is on 65° Northern Latitude; about the same as Fairbanks Alaska or Great Bear Lake in Northern Canada.

Interior of Kondopanga, Karella Region, Church of the Assumption 1774 -- This church may still be in use.

These Photos and others were taken by Richard Davies as he roamed the north country of Russia recently.

The churches were built during the reign of Peter the Great who ruled from age 10 in 1682 43 years until 1725. Seems he was responsible for many improvements in Russia in attempts to modernize; and it is said that he studied incognito in Europe for a few years around the turn of the century attempting to gain knowledge of other cultures' methods and progress.

I wonder as as to those attending these churches. They probably led a harsh life as compared to what we enjoy, and badly needed the solace of a warm place to gather and be with others during the long winters ; belief may have been secondary, but necessary. But just as those raised in poverty and not really realizing it until later life when they could look back and compare, I suspect that the members of the church considered themselves lucky with a decent growing season, their good health, and their ability to overcome adversity and produce those who would go on to the next section of years of faith and survival.

Lends a new aspect to me of the term "Godless Communists" ; those I was told we were fighting in Vietnam and Korea to keep our fair and worthy country free.

But then, any generalization for war seems to be a good generalization for war in a pinch.

Johnie In The Slot

2010-04-01T15:40:00.001-05:00

A scan of a slide of a photo taken in Korea around 57 years ago. My dad on the right with his crew chief. Shirley Mae is my mom. My girl said that he looked "cocky" in this picture. I have seen this slide hundreds of times over the years and had never assigned that descriptor; but I guess if you have a 12 cylinder Rolls-Royce engine five feet in front you cranking out up to 2000 horsepower as you are zizzing through the clouds vibrating to the low drone of the P-51 in flight, you could be cocky too!
Dad died in March and one of the fellows he flew with in the Air National Guard out of Lambert field in St. Louis (prior to Korea) saw the obituary and sent me a note describing how they would fly acrobatics to stay sharp -- even competing with other Guard units around the area. He described Phil Houghton as left wing, Bob little at right wing, Walter Stueck as lead, and "Johnie in the slot" while flying the 4-plane diamond formation (John was my dad).

It would seem that would be the hardest position to fly, with the wash from the other planes and all, causing turbulence.
But I never asked . . . I should have.

"Death is only a change of condition: time and space are in you; you are not in time and space"
by Swami Vivekananda (another perspective)

Maybe so, but I cannot help but think that we are left mostly as memories . . . and some things we made.

Fly safely my father

Almost Gone

2010-03-09T14:54:00.004-06:00

You are only there to help. Cricket and Gary are up from Texas and Gary is a woodworker -- makes furniture and such from mesquite and cedar wood. You get the chainsaw to cut a tree in the north woods which has a burl about six feet from the ground , found by ginny previously, growing off of a black oak. Tree is near the size of that shown here but the burl is maybe three-quarters as big. Woodworkers go nuts over these since the woodgrain inside is beautifully swirled and colored. And any type of tree can grow these burls since they are the product of some sort of injury or assault to the trees' exterior.
You make a cut to the tree high so as to lessen the cutting necessary to release the burl. Tree is going to fall to the East I predict, Gary says to the West. You make the first cut on the West side, then go over to the other side where, after a cut into the tree, the saw is pinched in the cut.. You are too distracted trying to free the saw or turn it off to consider the next move; not realizing that the saw is pinched because the tree is falling the way you predicted!
You feel a strong push from the left (gary), reel to the right but remain standing. A soundless mass of dark tree lightly brushes by your left shoulder on its way down as if a shadowy hand has brushed a fly from your arm.
You are one arms-length away from being gone.
You later try not to think of the bad outcome; or let it flow through once then forget it -- best not to dwell on a messy situation. As it occurs during meditation, let it pass -- let it flow then let it go.
Just another thought to watch without reaction or tensity.

All you can say later is: I had better get a bowl out of this deal . . .

The burl can be cut into a thin veneer and made into a wood-surface upon any type of furniture.
This is called a "bachelors chest" and has the thin burl layer attached to the desktop and drawer fronts.

The First Google

2010-02-12T15:40:00.003-06:00

Prior to the advent of internet searches, information and tools could be hard to find. Local library, local stores, telephone book, word of mouth , were all means of obtaining information and tools but could be limited in scope. This catalog, started by Stuart Brand in 1968 attempted to include sources for books and pamphlets which may have been at the edges of what was obtainable locally. Here you may find information on communes, building your own sauna, ordering a parachute, carving a pipe, building a tipi or log home, desert farming, and a book which I may look to see if it is still available called "The practical cogitator". There is a running drama on the pages of the catalog called "Divine Right's Trip" which is interesting to read as you peruse the pages, and tends to draw you into the rest of the page which contains summaries and comments on the books presented for sale. Readers could submit writeups of books or catalogs and would be paid $10 if their presentation was printed in the next supplement. Between fall of '68 and spring of '71 there were 14 updates/supplements sold to stay current with what was available and add new sources.

I used to collect catalogs and still have a pile of useless ones since they are mostly way out of date (I still get a few sent to me which is odd because the companies now have an on-line presence and need not print them.)

On the cover of the first Whole Earth Catalog was a photo of the whole earth taken from an ATS satellite in November 1967. It is said to be the first full-earth picture published. (Eat your words flat-earthers.)

But we can now search on any topic or item and get many sources and possibilities for products and reading. What need for libraries or stores when anything can come in the mail?

I marvel at the possibilities; but do wonder what exists out there and may not be available by punching keys.

The first

Crystal

2010-01-05T13:39:00.006-06:00

Deep in the heart of cold
I exist Unique among many
As you
A hopeful bright spark of existence
Here but for an instant in the flow of time
We shine brightly

I have sometimes wanted to try to photograph a snowflake with some sort of microscope/camera rig which could be set up winter-outside to keep the little guy from melting first. Seems that it has already been done by this fellow.
From CalTech in California he travels the cold snowy parts of the world to capture the images of snowflakes and even grows some flakes in the lab to further investigate crystalline-structure formation.
There is wonder everywhere if we only seek to find it. Small almost unseen places exist and we need only to look for them ,and see.

Finito

2009-12-10T13:52:00.003-06:00

The finished Burj Dubai, on the Persian Gulf ; the tallest earthly building now, at almost 1/2 mile high (I think they cheated and used the towers on top in the calculation). Its probably good that earthquakes are not common in that part of the world since I doubt it was built to seismic standards. It has a third lobe, on the backside of the photo, to create a triangular cross-sectional setup for stability.
This may be the last of construction firsts for Dubai since the Emirate is in serious debt to all of the bond holders around the world who invested in nonstop construction since the early part of this decade --- not much oil there as it turns out!
But a wondrous place to roam around inside of as depicted by this website on the matter.
I am not a fan of "bigger is better" but something/one has to claim the prize I guess . . . and will.

Bigger is better they always say
but why not best in a beautiful way?
Sport and games teach conformity and structure I fear
with nary a thought to art or a song for the ear

from a push by Rhiannon

Art As Life

2009-10-24T17:35:00.004-05:00

It is easy to see that Art is a personal definition and that good Art is truly in the eye and ear of the beholder. I tend to bend toward the most inclusive definition -- perhaps the equivalent of the "universal field theory" of forces and gravity which Mr.Einstein tried to define. That which is true for all and true everywhere in the universe, were we there to witness it.

It could be a watercolor of the Orion Nebula but it is the real photo by Hubble telescope of the majestic astronomical assemblage. Few could argue that it is not art -- meets my criteria: "A presentation which is experienced through one or more of the senses and creates an emotional reaction as the result of it's intrigue or beauty". (I patiently await Art through the sense of smell!)
This is my working definition and includes presentations made by human or nature.

The trim at the top of these flying buttresses exists only as weight in the functional sense. The buttress holds the walls vertical on this church since the angular roof tends to push out on the walls causing an imbalance. These beautiful carvings in stone, to me, are an artful addition to the building even though they serve the function of weight. Thus art need not be "non-essential".
To quote a definition in the OED (Oxford English Dictionary): Art can be "The skillful production of the beautiful in visible forms" -- even if the universe produces it.

I will concede, though, that as music drifts through my mind and raises spirits it has no other purpose than to exist and flow through.

A definition which intrigued me though is as follows: "Art is a revelatory expression of a supportive nature that balances human tendency for logical criticism". Pretty much catches it if we could just watch and witness.

ART

2009-09-25T14:26:00.006-05:00

Pictographs on Newspaper Rock in Canyonlands, Utah.
Historians credit some of the etchings, through black "desert varnish" on sandstone, to those living and passing through the area as far back as 2000 years up to when the park service put up a fence to keep us from continuing the tradition of leaving messages on this rock.
It is a pretty area with trees and a stream in a small valley in the middle of Utah rocky desert (my photo); many probably wandered through in the past seeking water.
I like the guy in the middle that looks like Bart Simpson!
There is an image of a person on a horse shooting an elk or deer in the butt with a long arrow in upper right part of the rock. Horses were introduced here by the Spanish about 1650, so this etching is fairly current. It is believed that the Utes (from which comes "Utah") were the first to have the horse and by early 1700s all tribes had access to the horse for transportation or food.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But the main question on my mind though is "what is ART?". A recent query of 27 people in Kansas City in preparation for an art fair yielded a range of responses as printed in the KC Star. My favorite was from Julie and Gary White who answered "The guy that makes those potato chips". I don't know this guy but perhaps he is Art.

Is a beautiful natural view of the moon rising over Half Dome in Yosemite ART or does Ansel Adams have to photograph it in black and white, reproduce it on paper, and hang it on the wall, for it to become art? (Is a beautiful view in the mountains art if no one sees it? -- An arty koan)

The last time I was in an Art Museum I heard no music, read no poems, saw no books , and witnessed no chimes or moving objects except for those displayed by digital expression on a screen. What to make of this?
I consider all of these expressions to have the potential to move me emotionally or visually -- part of my definition but maybe not all of it. I guess remaining would be that art would have to come from someone as an expression of their view or feel of life. This would eliminate those paintings by animal tails dipped in paint or the spinning disk with paint dropped on, at the County Fairs.
It would also eliminate nature not painted or photographed ---- which bothers me. I can find an emotional or visual response in myself with a view in the woods, not reproduced.
So, still a question . . .

"Root Ubris" by Andrey Lev
via moon river
(Oil and markers and poliontan on masonite)

I like this art because of the detail and possibility for engagement.

I shall include it in my definition

Thanks Princess

Tiny Dancers

2009-09-09T15:42:00.004-05:00

(click photo for detail)

“Zazen on Ching-t’ing Mountain”:

The birds have vanished down the sky.
Now the last cloud drains away.
We sit together, the mountain and me,
until only the mountain remains.

This is a short poem attributed to Li Bai, an 8th century Chinese poet, and expresses the Buddhist idea of impermanence perfectly. Just a reminder, zazen is a form of meditation where one just sits silently.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Attempting to say a few words about change in poetical form, I discovered that many have expressed such, in fewer better words and long in the past.

Fall is upon us and the winter chill will soon be here to cause the end of another season of growth and beauty in the natural world. I attempt to freeze the summer's flowers where no atmospheric changes can destroy them.

But the rebirth will happen; we will see them again in the next incarnation.

And it goes . . .

Lost Soul

2009-08-14T14:17:00.005-05:00

Cafe Griensteidl in Vienna

(not my photo)

COFFEE AND WATER

A hundred times a day, he says,
“I’ll have to return. Here, there is no mercy.
There, there is kindness and warmth and …”
Then he falls silent.

I ask him, “There?
Where is that?”
He points somewhere.
His face is expressionless,
and he does not say anything anymore.

I take his hand.
We go to a café
and sit down at a quiet corner table.
I order coffee for him
and water for me.

I speak to him in Arabic
and mix water into the coffee.
He is annoyed, “Are you crazy?”

He tries to remove the water
from the coffee.

He tries to.

He tries to get the water back
into the water.

Vienna, Café Griensteidl, June 27th, 1997
by Tarek Eltayeb

(translated from the German by Wolfgang Astelbauer;
from “Ein mit Tauben und Gurren gefüllter Koffer,” edition selene, Vienna 1999)

Tarek Eltayeb was born in Cairo in 1959, the son of Sudanese parents. He studied Business Administration at Ain Shams University in Cairo and at Vienna University of Economics and Business Administration. He has been living in Vienna since 1984, and is currently teaches at the International Management Center / University of Applied Sciences in Krems, Austria and at the University of Graz.

Found this poem on the poets against war website of all places, and it drew me immediately. I don't know why I pictured that the dreamer was an old fellow, but I did and still do. Perhaps he is thinking of the old world of his past in another country where he grew up and was happy but it is no more --- all are gone; but just because he speaks Arabic doesn't mean that he couldn't be thinking of another life, another time where there was mercy, kindness and warmth and . . .
It is sad that he cannot return, cannot get the water out of the coffee and back to its proper place. But sadder still is that he cannot be in that coffee shop looking around and realizing that this is where he is, and how great it is to be alive.
But I probably change the intent of the words?

Maybe it's that you just shouldn't fool with an old guy's coffee!

Some kinds of poetry have always baffled me: seems as if the old uncertainty principle may apply, as the closer you get to the subject the more it is influenced by your being there. Differing meanings appear as you change perspective based on your experiences rather than those of the writer. Then I think that maybe that is the whole idea!

(not mine either!)

Peace

2009-07-30T14:43:00.004-05:00

dull words move ratchety
clunky like squared wheels

stuck in my head--useless repeated detritus:
like
you know
clearly
hopefully
awesome
basically
actually
embolden (thanks dick)
to be honest
so . . . on and on

Oh to string a set so perfect
you could wear them like proud pearls

words giddy with anticipation
of expression flowing rhyming
with exact timing
smoothing the edges perfect hedges
found meaning in words revealing

Down a path of morning light not too bright
to a dunesandy edge of the open sea
edge of the world where succinct and understanding
live in secret places waiting to be found

I wish I had a map

Iatric Odyssey

2009-07-07T14:05:00.007-05:00

It was just a twist to the right while bending over four weeks ago which caused an ambulance ride to the ER for relief from the stabbing pain in my right hip/kidney area. Two days before, a similar but lesser pain took me to my Primary Care Physician who thought "kidney stones" and ordered a CT scan which showed no such. Then came the following over time:

five X-rays
two CT scans
one MRI
one colonoscopy
six doctors and specialists
two hundred and sixty pain meds (mostly not used because of side effects)
fifteen muscle relaxing meds
one hundred eighty nerve meds
thirty anti-inflammatory meds (not taken)
six mg morphine in the ambulance to ER
♫♪ and a partridge in a pear tree ♫ ♫

I sat in 5 waiting rooms with inner-sanctum exam rooms to match, waited for 3 hours max in one such room and learned to take something to read--preferably a novel since magazines may not be long enough for the wait. Household tip on those medical "gowns" you are asked to strip down and wear: tie all of the bows first and then put the gown on over your head with the bows in the back. This saves you having to tie a bow in the middle of your back, or have the nurse do it-- which is worse.

This, the last place to visit, should have been the first since my problem was orthopedic in nature. A lower spinal-column interference between the bones causing them to pinch nerve when the positioning is just right.
A procedure with four needles to inject some cortisone, with another CT to guide the needles was done. It's been a minimal solution at best.
This facility sees 500 patients on some days and is apparently central Missouri's place to go if you have any bone/joint problems --it is chock full of the walking wounded, like myself.
One of my problems with health-care in this experience (besides the fact that the offices cannot schedule patients very well) is that the record keeping is not ready for prime time. I had to three times pick up CD copies of CT scan and X rays from the local hospital and carry them to specialists I was to see--- fill out a form and sign for my records and physically carry them to the appointment. Instead of a regional or even national data base of patient records which can be accessed as necessary by physicians, there are small collections of records at each doctor's office (usually paper) not available to any other doctor unless hoops are jumped through and luck is yours. My doctor will not give me some records but will fax them to another doctor at my request (I have recently found out (HIPAA requirements) that I can request all records from any doctor who has my records, and I plan to request such to build my own medical file so that it is available as needed). A lot of these procedures and tests are not likely to produce any helpful results but done as CYA by the doctor .
I am in hopes that the present Congress can update and modernize this system.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Hieronymus Bosch painting above is called "The Stone Operation" . In15th century northern European times montebanks (quacks) would propose cutting out stones from those suffering from stupidity or headaches or any number of cranial problems. They would make a little cut on the patient, present some bloody stones, and charge to rid him of the malady. Bosch, maybe the first surrealist, is making fun of this practice by showing tulip blossoms being taken from the patient as witnessed by odd people --I really like the inverted funnel on the "doctor" and the book on the woman's head. The text above and below the painting says: "Master cut the stone out. My name is Lubbert Das"

Years from now our medical system will seem just as antique to those, as the painting does to us now!!

Rainbow

2009-05-22T16:42:00.004-05:00

The ubiquitous spring flower named from the Greek goddess of the rainbow. I am not sure how to describe the color -- or even if the color I see is the color everyone else sees-- but what first occurred to me was the crayola color "flesh" which I see has been changed to "peach". We could all agree on a blue or red but I am not sure how a glowing peach would be a common choice . (I just found that there are now 120 crayola colors and the big box now contains 64 colors (how are the colors selected for the box?) and has a sharpener on it).

Iris, would take messages from the eye of Heaven to earth by the arc of the rainbow. She was also a companion to females on the way to the other world; her duty to accompany the souls to the Elysian fields after life.
Taken from the stylized shape of the flower, the Fleur-de-Lis has symbolized France since the 13th century. The black iris (iridaceae nigricans) is the national flower of Jordan and cannot be taken from the wild lest ye be penalized!!

Henry W. Longfellow's take on it:

Thou art the Iris, fair mong the fairest,
Who armed with golden rod
And winged with the celestial azure, bearest
The message of some God.

Thou art the Muse, who far from crowded cities
Hauntest the sylvan streams
Playing on the pipes of reed the artless ditties
That come to us as dreams

O flower-de-luce, bloom on, and let the river
Linger to kiss thy feet!
O flower of song, bloom on, and make for ever
The world more fair and sweet.

"fleur-de-luce" ~ flower of light

My take on it:

Glowing walls of light into which I flow
peace and scents within
for a brief nap ..............
inside looking out

Breath

2009-04-24T13:28:00.006-05:00

As I breathe in the air a billion years old
and capture the pith of life lived . . .
and living
feel a bond to all that was . . .
and is,
I am joined to the flow
and take my fleeting drink

Here, now, mine, ours, one --
souls in time held in airy solution

As I breathe out . . .
I am emptygone to the future time

a continuous journey

Symmetry

2009-04-14T14:11:00.005-05:00

Inside Dome of the Imam Mosque of Shah Abbas I (1588-1629) (Masjid-e Jam 'e Abbasi) in Isfahon, Persia. He commissioned its construction in 1612 and it was completed in 1638 nine years after he died. But he did live to see completion of the enamel-tile mosaic dome which probably took most of the construction time. I couldn't find out the size of the tiles (there is no real scale to the photos) but am still looking.
This was the first capital of Iran, before Tehran, and it's mosques are considered the most beautiful and elaborate in the world. Some were damaged during the senseless war with Iraq in the 80's but fortunately most still exist intact. I have read that 94% of those in Teheran are poets, or at least consider themselves such; I don't know about what the 1.3 million in Isfahon consider themselves but I suspect a similar feature. What a wonderful aspect to be known for.

Iran is opening up to tourism apparently, and from Persepolis to Isfahon would be a trip to experience. see here

A Tibetan Buddhist sand painting. Unlike the structure above, this construction took about 6 days and 16 monks to complete and is destroyed shortly afterward to indicate the impermanence and temporary nature of life. I am impressed by the symmetry and mandala-like nature of each effort; and the yin-yang nature of the permanence of the Mosque and the impermance of the sand-painting.
I am also impressed with the idea that I can sit here in my cushy chair and observe each extreme of the possibilities!

Sand

2009-03-25T14:12:00.000-05:00

This is a Navajo sand painting used in ceremony and healing. ( I didn't know that the Navajo did sand paintings until recently.) Rather than paraphrase, I will just show a description I found of the meanings:

The Whirling Logs Narrative

From the Nightway Chant

In the Whirling Logs narrative, or Tsil-ol-ne story, the hero of the story sets out on a long journey [down the San Juan River]. At first, the gods try to persuade him against going, but seeing his determination, help him hollow out a log in which he will travel down the river.

Along the way, he has many misadventures which ultimately result in his gaining important ceremonial knowledge. In one such instance, he and his craft are captured by the Water People, who carry him down beneath the waters to the home of Water Monster. Black God threatens to set fire to Water Monster's home and the hero is released, but not before being taught by Frog how to cure the illnesses caused by the Water People.

When he finally reaches the big river [the Colorado River] that is his destination, the gods take his log out of a whirlpool where the rivers meet, and help him to shore.

In the sandpainting, you will see the gods, clockwise from the top, they are Talking God (B'ganaskiddy), the teacher; and at the bottom, Calling God (Hastye-o-gahn), associated with farming and fertility. On each side, left and right, are two humpbacked guardians, dressed alike. The humps are usually regarded as back-packs. They are the seed gatherers and bearers. The two guardians usually carry tobacco pouches.

The Gods carry prayer sticks, Talking God, elder of the Gods, carries a medicine pouch in the shape of a weasel.

Where the rivers met, the hero came upon a whirling cross with two Yeis seated on each of the four ends. From them, he learned the knowledge of farming and is given seeds. He then returns to his home to share these gifts with his people. The yei pair are male and female. The male in black, with a round head mask. The female has a square head mask.

In the sandpaintings, these plants are shown, from the right of Talking God as corn, and clockwise as beans, squash, and tobacco. The plants, and/or other elements of the design are shown in the four sacred colors, white, blue, yellow and black, according to their cardinal positions.

On the right side, bottom, and left side of the sandpainting is portrayed the Rainbow Yei, a guardian god. There is sometimes a circle drawn, and painted blue, at the intersection of the cross, said to represent the whirlpool which was the destination of the episode's hero.

Figures in Navajo sandpaintings generally proceed either towards the sunrise or clockwise, depending upon the viewers orientation. For the Navajo, the cardinal directions start in the east (as opposed to our north), and the east is usually shown at the top of a sandpainting, and open (to let in the dawn's light). This is the same orientation of a hogan, whose door is always in the east.

This description is by Mary & Jay Tallant of Canyon Country Originals in Tucson, Arizona.

Their Home

<><><><><>

Me again ----- The San Juan river flows in southern Utah into the Colorado river (now Lake Powell) from the east. South is Navajo territory in northeast Arizona where the mesas can be seen for hundreds of miles. When last going through this area, we found many Navajos' hitching rides as they always get picked up. Hitching a ride is a lost art elsewhere since everyone may be suspect! Unfortunate . . . we met some of the best people , picking up the hitchers.

Once, sitting in a hot spring south of Santa Fe, we heard a Hopi from the Jemiz Pueblo above on the rocks chanting in preparation for their spring-solstice ceremony. Story was that if the women in the Pueblo miles to the south could hear him, he was ready for the festivities. After a winter of rest it took awhile for him to build up the volume but improvement was evident after a few hours.

Fred's Place

2009-03-04T13:47:00.000-06:00

This found at Fred Farabee's abandoned homestead -- photo of a Lockheed P-38 Lightning used mainly in the South Pacific and Africa during the "good" war--yeah, sure-- (seems that they were not used much in Europe because the pilot could not warm himself with the engine heat as he could with other designs where the engine was directly in front of him to provide a heat source. In the tropics it was so hot in the cockpit,and there was no way to open a window lest airflow be disturbed, that the pilots sometimes wore only shorts, parachutes, and sneakers to fly the missions). Lindberg flew one in the South Pacific as an operational test pilot.
more here

The magazines seemed to go from about early 40's to mid 50's in dates, and then would have numbered over 600 in an old shed and barn.
This time of year is best for perusing abandoned places to avoid the snakes and bugs of summer. It is also easier to spot those well or biffy holes in the ground, always somewhere.

A bean sheller that Fred built and is still operational as near as I could tell, just crank the handle throw in the dried bean pods and it would deliver the beans to a bin below with the shells gone.
This was a poor farm and is still called such by the neighbors who now own it. Freds dad cut railroad ties from white oak trees (Robert ==1865 to 1950) at the turn of the century and Fred would take them 15 miles to Portland, a town on the Missouri river, in horses and wagon, for sale to the railroad. (When I asked neighbors how come Robert was buried some 3 miles away in an unmarked grave I was told "they didn't get along very well"!)

This be the house where Fred and his folks lived their lives. The added-on part is the kitchen ,usually well separated by a wall for cooking in the summer with the hot wood stove. It has a good roof and should last well beyond the 30+ years that it has been alone.
I hope to go back when flowers appear to see what they planted. Usually iris, crocus, and raspberry still come up around the old yards.

There seems to be always something that tells of the spirit and feelings of those gone from these old places. Whether it be an old piano found abandoned or a home-made gravestone for his mother; fabricated by hand, as here. I am told that Fred made a drill bit out of a round file and rigged it to an old tractor-gearing box-- added a handle to raise and lower it and was able to drill holes in this Missouri limestone rock to mark his mother's grave. There was no electric here until my neighbor George Garrett hooked Fred's place up to REA (Rural Electric) in the late 60's so this would have been a hand-operated rig to drill these holes. Fred died in 1977 and was of my grandmother's generation.
I wish I had known him.

Too Much By a Half

2009-02-09T13:07:00.000-06:00

Okay, some serious cute is required to drive the dreary dismals from this day!

Perhaps a story to trim:

"I always thought you were a cat, said our cat, but I wasn't sure.
In heaven all things are revealed, said God. This is the form in which I choose to appear to you.
I'm glad you aren't a dog, said our cat. Do you think I could have my testicles back?
Of course, said God. They're over behind that bush.
Our cat had always known his testicles must be somewhere. One day he'd woken up from a fairly bad dream and found them gone. He'd looked everywhere for them -- under sofas, under beds, inside closets -- and all the time they were here, in heaven! He went over to the bush, and, sure enough, there they were. They reattached themselves immediately.
Our cat was very pleased. Thank you , he said to God.
God was washing its elegant long whiskers. De rien, said God."

This is from a story by Margaret Atwood about her cat being raptured up into heaven (Our Cat Enters Heaven, from "The Tent")

If that is not enough:

Didn't know ducks had tippie toes did you?

Couldn't find a cute duck story . . . I finally have a duck story, but it is pretty literal:
These two ducks walk into a bar, which is odd because you would have thought that the second one would have seen it coming!

Tracks and Flakes

2009-01-24T16:58:00.000-06:00

Tryin to make out
from the inside out
Fractal dendritic noise
patterned here

a rime in time
as I peer near

My First Car

2009-01-08T13:12:00.000-06:00

No, this is not my first car . . . it's not a car and it's not even mine; but rather belongs to our neighbor and is patiently awaiting my attention to get it running in order to pursue its mission of delivering round-haybales on the wagon behind to his hungry cattle. In an effort to get it running again after a rude stoppage, my neighbor installed new parts including the distributor cap which allocates spark to the necessary spark plug at the necessary time to keep the engine running. Of course he, as most of us would, ripped out all eight wires from the old cap and then tried but failed to re-assemble those 8 wires into the new cap in the proper order; a fools journey! Anyone who knows numbers will tell you, as I will, that there are over 40,000 ways to arrange 8 things ordered in a series of 8.

This does bring me to my first car: a Faded-blue 1956 Ford Fairlaine Coupe V8 (a coupe is defined by the fact that there was no post between the front and rear windows allowing for much airflow in the summer with all windows down, handy with no A/C) which I got for $100. Course, first thing I did was rip out all the wiring, including the 8 plug wires, to allow a thorough cleaning of the engine area. Which became sparkly clean and spiffy. But where do those plug wires go?? I was lax in my planning and haphazard in my approach; unfortunately this is still a basic flaw of mine -- among other things I always underestimate mileage to somewhere and fail to correct for it. I don't recall how my brothers and I did it --I must have had some clues because I doubt we ran through the 40,000 possibilities-- but since the battery was dead we had to push it around the block several times changing the plug wires every 50 feet or so after popping the clutch , in second, key on, see if it would start. The feeling I had when it finally roared into life is comparable only to catching your first fish or getting that first kiss. Off we went zooming about with no insurance which meant not taking the car out of the neighborhood. I never did drive it much after that. But I remember how to do plug wires as my neighbor can attest (I let him bring his truck to roaring life just to watch the smile.)
Car probably still resides at the bottom of a limestone bluff on the Missouri river north of St. Louis where my brother disposed of it after I left home. Since then I have owned 11 cars or trucks and 1 cycle and never regretted getting rid of any of them!

Trim

2008-11-25T15:51:00.000-06:00

Henna designs made with leaves from the Mignonette (Lawsonia inermis) tree. Grinding the leaves produces an olive-green paste which is mixed with lemon juice and other liquids to produce a workable medium. These designs are applied, in one instance, at the Mendhi ceremony in India prior to the wedding as an enhancement for the bride. Wonderful designs are applied with a conical-container device, or with wooden implements. After drying the paste is removed with, in one description , a cotton bud dipped in olive or avacado oil. The traditional color derived from this is orange on the skin but other colors are done with different additives.

As an addition to the lipstick, blush , eye shadow, powders, nail polish, manicure, pedicure, perfume, shave, haircut, perm, cornrows, braids, curls, tats and piercings now utilized to make us pretty, this may be the oldest form of body enhancement dating at least back to 2100 BC in NW Syria (see history).
And it comes off within one to three weeks depending on how many times it is washed.

I really like these designs many of which I am sure derive from family tradition and history.

Hot Water

2008-11-08T14:53:00.000-06:00

A fountain- statue of Hernando DeSoto being given hot spring water by a Caddo indian maiden. This is in the mens' bath hall at the Fordyce Bathhouse in Hot Springs, Arkansas.
I suspect that this engagement didn't actually happen since, when DeSoto and his band of 600 Spanish invaders sailed north into what is now Tampa Bay, Florida in 1541 and wandered the now southeast US seeking gold and riches, a previous Spanish explorer called Narvaez had already made a bad impression on the natives with his violent dealings with them. In fact there were many bad experiences with the natives, not unexpected since DeSoto set out apparently ready for trouble ; their stores included "chains for captives, and bloodhounds as auxiliaries against the natives". Look for trouble and you may find it, I always say. DeSoto died of malignant fever at age 46 on this trip; he was secretely buried in the Mississippi River because the natives regarded him as possessing supernatural powers and his death would have given them more power over their invaders. His wife died in Havana three days after hearing. His explorations did take him through what is now the hot springs area in central Arkansas however; probably wasn't greeted with hot water from a maiden though.
This stained-glass window is above the sculpture and depicts Neptune's Daughter and an unnamed fellow swimming about.
This bath house was built about 1915 by Sam Fordyce for about $213,000. The floors are all tiled as are many of the walls and bath areas. It is one of eight bathhouses still existing, only two of which are available for bathing.
This was quite the place to go back in the twenties with many doctors prescribing the hot baths and steam rooms for patient maladies. (Al Capone was a visitor and reserved the entire fourth floor of the Arlington Hotel when he came.)
Good luck getting your health insurance to cover that procedure now!!

Fall Treats

2008-10-10T13:39:00.000-05:00

Rhus glabra

Smooth sumac here nestled amongst the pine. These berries can be collected now to make a drink known as "indian lemonade" which is a bit sour and must be sweetened. I have found it best to wash the berry clusters then soak them in a bowl of water, mashing on occasion. This will create a pink liquid which can then be strained through cheesecloth, or a cotton dish towel.
Add sugar to taste and refrigerate. We use it in small quantities to give iced tea an added tang.

This plant is widespread from Florida to British Columbia. My reference claims that some in Appalachia rolled and smoked the leaves as a treatment for asthma; this seems odd. It has been in cultivation since 1620 and the leaves and roots contain tannin used for staining and dyeing.
And it tastes good; whats better than that?

Elaeagnus umbellata

(Greek elaia for "olive", agnus for sacred ; umbellatus refers to the flowers)

These berries on the Autumn olive bush are a bit tangy depending on time of season and where the bush occurs in the landscape. They get sweeter as time nears first frost and it is best to keep testing before picking, for maximum sweetness. They make a wonderful jelly and can be processed as you would grapes--to make jelly of them. They have a subtle flavor so if you are used to mouth explosions in your jelly, forget it!

The bush has been in cultivation since 1830 according to my reference and originally comes from areas below 9000 ft from Afghanistan to China, Korea and Japan. It was introduced to US in 1917 and (of course) quickly spread to invade the indigenous ecosystems and establish itself amongst the plants.
(a pet peeve of mine: introducing non-native plants and animals, for one reason or another, by alleged-intelligent people, into an established ecosystem with no regard for future developments and "escape from cultivation". In southern US, welcome kudzu and killer bees; I fight the multiflora rose introduced by University Extension braniacs as a hedge bush around pastures and fields. (and yes, it has thorns))
But I guess that some escapees are welcome if they can provide a tasty drink or jelly.

What is in your area to eat or drink?

Ref:Shrubs and Woody Vines of Missouri by Kurz, 1997

Frequencies

2008-09-09T13:11:00.000-05:00

The Song

The small, high wailing
that envelops us here,
distant, indistinct,

yet, too, immediate,
we take to be only
the utterances of loose fan

belts in the refrigerating
system, or the shocked hum
that issues from the darkness

of telephone receivers;
but it speaks to us
so deeply we think it

may well be the beseeching
of the stars, the shameless
weeping of coyotes

out on the Mohave
Please.
Please, stop listening

to this sound, which
is actually the terrible
keening of the ones

whose hearts have been broken
by lives spent in search
of its source,

by our lives of failure,
spent looking everywhere
for someone to say these words.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Poem by Denis Johnson
from The Incognito Lounge (1994)

The painting, Solar music, is by Remidios Varo Spanish surrealist (1908-1963) -- Oil on masonite --
Characters she painted have been described as: "These dream-like people, personified psychic fragments possessing purpose but not consciousness."

She died young, at 55, of "excessive tension" , a holistic diagnosis described as:
Tension on these (eyeball) muscles, called the Rectus muscles, creates a condition of farsightedness, and is experienced emotionally as tension in the consciousness, as coming out of one's Self, focusing on Image. It may be experienced as suppressed anger, or anger at one's self (guilt), or a feeling that in some way, the individual is not as important as other Beings.

I am not sure how this condition could do you in ?

Over There

2008-08-17T18:35:00.000-05:00

A road to the mountains over there . . .

Kept from the garden for being self -- once one, now each
off to seek a god

A place high above the ridges to see bright ice cut by sharp-black arete

Patterns shifting like stormy rain on quiet water

Fore to front, front to fore -- pulsing
Not words exactly but a message

Black to white, void to life, time and now

breathing

An easy koan

Thanks Polona for the wonderful
photograph

Building the New

2008-07-17T13:40:00.000-05:00

I wondered what was becoming of all the petrodollars we are so willingly contributing as we encase ourselves in two tons of steel and glass to pick up those consumer goods and move about. . . buildings in the desert!!
This is just one being built in Dubai (on the Persian Gulf) and has rotating floors each containing 12 modules (suites). There will be 80 floors, the top 10 of which will be villas with parking for your car on that floor; a retracting heliport exists in case you need to fly into your abode. The structure will be energy self sufficient with solar panels and wind turbines between floors to provide electric on a "third rail" system to each rotating floor. Efficient plumbing and electrical connections seem iffy to me but will no doubt be worked out during construction along with many other unforseen problems, I suspect.
Design is by David Fisher's Dynamic Architecture firm in Florence, Italy as he contributes to the city of Dubai known as the "playpen for architects" because of the extreme designs being offered by architects from around the world. Each room (suite) is constructed elsewhere as a finished module to be attached at the tower during assembly.
A better description: Is here

Wind turbines for power
(replacing a bearing will be fun!)

This looks like a module graphically being lifted into place.

I would like to believe that great advances in medicine, agriculture, contributions to art literature and learning are in the offing but it is sparse finding so far!

CounterPoint

2008-06-22T14:51:00.000-05:00

A nasturtium flower (tropaeolum majus) First discovered in the jungles of Peru and Mexico.
Described as having showy edible flowers and pungent seeds

The Bridge at Nasiriya

For a pulsing moment
he cannot remember
whether he came from Georgia
or some place further inward,
a recruiting office,
Captain Tilly congratulating him,
painting murals inside his head,
promises of a noble heart to be saved
for heaven, a good spot there.

They rushed across the bridge like savages,
dark-skinned small enemies, wide-eyed
with fear or hate --
like a suicide bomber.
Captain Tilly hadn't told him
the sound a child makes when she dies,
broken, on a bridge, irrevocably,
like a small turtle, stepped on.

The little girl is maybe five,
in a gold and orange dress,
colors for something special,
for running at a soldier, for lying in a ditch,
a bit of her chest missing,
like his sister's lost earring,
like the missing lid of a coke bottle.
His gun has melted into his fingertips.

A dead girl in a bright dress...
He came here then to kill a child.
A girl rushing across the bridge
running from the sound of helicopters,
running the way danger slams through a paper wall
and he had never shot a bear,
even a rabbit, he who was
promised a proud heart to save for heaven,
and a good spot there.

An hour is made of a thousand crazy instances --
An instance has a life of its own,
tells epics until you fall asleep from boredom.

He had never shot a sick dog
or a rabid skunk
but the child had run toward him,
a crazy instance,
like the frantic urge to tear out his own heart,
slash open the child and give her his,
still beating.

He will not remember this,
will not tell his cousin Billy,
who told him to go kick ass --
He will not remember this,
will not tell his mother who has put up
yellow ribbons --
He will not remember this,
his crazy instant of terror
as a child ran at him.
He will not remember this,
the sound of a soul brushing across one arm.
He will not remember this,
that he, in God's ledger, is the victim.

He who never shot a rabbit
will not remember
which of them soared upward from life,
or
which of them stayed behind.

Words by Lisa Walsh Thomas

Poets against War

I came across this in seeking others' experience of this war.
My experience is limited by the lack of news and reportage of our national corporate media who have more mundane things to report.
I would suppose a soldier walking through a city of Iraq scared shitless that someone will appear out of nowhere to do him harm would be edgy and react to any fast movement. I know that I would be. This is an urban war; over 600,000 civilians killed, by some accounts now.

I just read that the Polish army (such as it was, part of the "Coalition of the Willing") camped on the site where the city of Babylon once stood, south of Baghdad, east of the Euphrates. At least three thousands of years of history trod upon by yet another conquering army. When will it ever end?

Persian Perspective

2008-05-17T12:48:00.000-05:00

This be a depiction of the Shayad Monument comissioned by Farah, the wife of Mohammad Reza Pahlavi (Shah of Iran) about 1971, in Teheran. Renamed Azadi (freedom) Tower after the 1979 revolution which sent the Shah into exile. It is clad in white marble and inset under with tile mosaic. The arch appears to be a Lamella truss. A diamond pattern also used for the astrodome in Houston.

This fellow ruled as monarch from '41 to '79 and was in later years considered by his people to be a corrupt dictator and a tool of the US and the British. In 1953 after the duly elected Prime Minister named Dr. Mohammad Mossadegh nationalized the Iranian oil companies, which previously the British had controlled, the US and Britain engineered a coup d'etat to get rid of him and restore the Shah and his crony to power thus keeping oil out of the hands of the pesky Iranian companies.
At least his wife had good taste judging by her approval of this structure. There is a museum at the base and an elevator to the top where one can peer out over the city and the 15 hectare (about 38 acres) park with fountains surrounding.

This creation is from an art festival on the island of Hormoz in the Persian Gulf last January.

More to be seen at this link.
Iran lost 500,000 "martyrs" to the war with Iraq and Saddam Hussein's weapons of individual destruction provided mostly by US, in the 80's.

You wonder if it is more noble to kill for a country or to kill for a god. You wonder if it makes any difference to the long run.

I wondered what a 13th century prophet had to say:

The Silent Articulation of a Face

Love comes with a knife,
not some shy question,
and not with fears
for its reputation!

I say these things disinterestedly.
Accept them in kind.

Love is a madman, working his wild schemes, tearing off his clothes,
running through the mountains, drinking poison,
and now quietly choosing annihilation.

A tiny spider tries to wrap an enormous wasp.
Think of the spiderweb woven across the cave
where Muhammad slept!

There are love stories
and there is obliteration into love.

You've been walking the ocean's edge,
holding up your robes to keep them dry.
You must dive naked under and deeper under,
a thousand times deeper!

Love flows down!!
The ground submits to the sky and suffers
what comes.
Tell me, is the earth worse for giving in like that?
Don't put blankets over the drum!
Open completely.
Let your spirit-ear listen to the green dome's passionate murmur.

Let the cords of your robe be untied.
Shiver in this new love beyond all above and below.

The sun rises, but which way
does the night go?

I have no more words. Let soul speak with the silent
articulation of a face.

---Rumi

. . . oh, right

thanks naj

Sentinel

2008-04-18T15:22:00.001-05:00

Our ducks: sprig on the right with bully boy, roxy, and spotts adjacent; we got them through the winter intact, now they can rest.
Canadian goose watching over while his mate sits on eggs nearby. The geese flew in a month or so ago seeking quiet solace and apparently finding it. Roxy is on eggs also when she feels like it . . . not much hope for a hatching there . . . domestication seems to rouen them, as it does us all.

Sprig with a particularly attractive tiara today; Spotts in back. Something got into the goose's eggs and they are gone but Roxie is being diligent with her eggs which are in the duck house inside the pen with only lake access, so we may have little Rouens soon to add to the four.

Lost and Abandoned

2008-03-31T14:15:00.000-05:00

One of many empty old houses in the neighborhood. Not many would put up with the bugs, drafty winters or upkeep in this old structure anymore. I think that the Clarks' were the first occupants as evidenced by their graves nearby (many homesteads had family graveyards added to over the years by successive owners of the property.) The earliest stone was for William Clark put up in 1853. Then Sarah Knox, 1863; Mary Quick, daughter of Stephen and Isabel, 1878 (4 yrs Old); up to the Grahams: daughter 1876 (18 yrs old), and the father in 1892. Thats the last one. I guess the more recent belonged to churches or moved on before the question came up as to where to finally rest.
I am told that just down the road was a family who survived on 40 acres with 4 kids;
that would have been in more recent times, 30's say. Their house is also abandoned with the occupants having moved away or "passed on", as they say.

In a back hallway leading to a pantry the walls are covered with old newspapers. Arranged to be read-- care was taken.
The right pic is dated 1904 and tells of the Japanese in some sort of to-do with the Chinese. (left-click to gain detail--- sorry about the flash-glare) Also, not pictured was a description of a new airship. This was to be the "airship of the future".
Left pic is dated 1942 and shows an interesting shot of German soldiers hiding in reeds or cornstalks or something. I wouldn't believe all I saw with this photo. Looks like a setup to me, with propaganda and all.
The house was probably built at the turn of the century. The earlier denizens of the property probably living in log-cabin type structures (some of which exist too in this area.)

The last piece of furniture left: the ubiquitous school desk. No left-handers' though I am told.

Dialog

2008-03-10T15:15:00.001-05:00

hey a door . . . lets go through

looks scary over there

but theres flowers

just remember the last time

wasnt that bad, we only died once!

true, but I didnt like it

but here we are safe and sound once again

lets keep it that way

im goin in

bye

Wild Garden Gate
by Ginger Cook
A Houston artist who uses stucco
and other media for a nice depth-effect

Bent

2008-02-06T14:29:00.000-06:00

Bend I will if bend I can
said the sapling tree
to the asking man

But once arched
beyond a yield point
permanent distortion remembered
the reasons forgotten:

seeking the light
faded hopes
broken friends
pointless deaths
missed chances

weight of endless time

Entropy is taken
dissipated like skittering leaves in the spreading wind

a permanent tell

Solace

2008-01-18T11:53:00.000-06:00

Something warmer is called for: Mortlake Terrace oil by JMW Turner (1775-1851)
Mortlake is a London suburb on the Thames river and looked to be a peaceful place back in 1827.
Those are lime trees along the walkway with what I believe is ivy growing up the trunk for the wrapped effect. I always think of the colors being muted yellows in the olden days because you rarely see a bright blue sky in the old depictions. I just read that he pasted the dog cutout into the scene since it added interest and he was rushed to get the painting to a showing. Those could be people in the background? May have to visit the National Museum in DC to be sure.

Thanks rdg

Icy Fracture

2008-01-02T13:31:00.000-06:00

What you don't like to see the morning after the power goes

out during an ice storm. A corner pole in back of this one
also was broken off near the ground.
14,000 houses were affected in the county, we for four days. Fortunately we had heat with a Canadian fireplace insert which uses outside air for combustion and inside logs for heat; of course the fan didn't work and heat was mostly by convection. Cooked on a coleman stove with window cracked for a little ventilation (these stoves are still not ready for prime time, in my opinion!). Light by candle in every room (carry matches), reading with kerosene lamp (keep fresh kerosene) and a coleman lamp hanging outside the window from the deck roof. Enough for some scrabble with light shining through the dining room window.
Note to self: get one of those 1.6 gallon flush toilets---carrying water from the lake in 5 gallon buckets to flush the john gets real old.
The main survival problem was keeping the tropical-fish warm. A normal 75°F water temperature quickly fell to 60° and would have continued down had I not added warm water and heated the tank front with the campstove. Still, 62° is chilly if you are a fish and used to waters off the coast of malaysia. Thus: three fish (lost one through PTSD I suspect), four ducks, five pigeons, two dogs, one cat, and two souls, depending on how you define "souls", survived for another day.
So now its cleanup time with nary a tree unaffected. Broken branches everywhere including still up in the trees. Natural pruning; we'll see what results.
Nearby local town of 14,000 decides to burn its branches rather than the logical solution of chipping the stuff up for mulch and recycling. Well: we never claimed to be ahead of the curve environmentally here in midwest U.S. . . . In fact we don't claim to be ahead of the curve environmentally here in U.S. , for the most part. What canya do?

Homing Pigeon

2007-11-12T15:59:00.000-06:00

One of seven pigeons that we picked up from a fellow who had way too many for his small loft. This one would have been one of ten if I hadn't have let the first five out of captivity too soon and three flew off never to return.
It turns out that you must keep the birds for several weeks in a new location before you release them else they will return (or try to return) to their previous home. These birds have been domesticated for centuries to return to their source, sometimes for thousands of miles, to deliver an attached message. What the mechanism is for this is still a mystery; still being researched. Tiny pieces of magnetite in their heads is one possible reason , as they orient to the magnetic fields of earth.
I found a dead pigeon on the road and picked it up about the time this fellow was looking for takers of some of his bunch (your basic synchronisity) and it turned out that it was a racing pigeon, one of thousands in the world released miles from home and timed to its' return. They have leg bands which not only identify the owner but register a return to the original loft for purposes of competition and recordkeeping (big surprise-- competition). So I had to get some birds, as directed by coincidence, didn't I?
Anyways, I have another week before release of the latest 5 (3 of which are really young), so maybe these will return to my humbly-built abode and brighten my day with their presence.

Update: two weeks later: All six birds are flying now. Circling the sky in a counterclockwise circle above my head. A flexible wing of soaring beauty threading through the trees at the edge of the lake and disappearing over the woods to appear with a new leader (a confab in the trees?).
Back each night in their loft to be closed up against beasts of the night and other dark treachery.

Beyond

2007-10-08T11:40:00.000-05:00

Procedures For Underground
(Northwest Coast)

The country beneath
the earth has a green sun
and the rivers flow backwards;

the trees and rocks are the same
as they are here, but shifted.
Those who live there are always hungry;

from them you can learn
wisdom and great power,
if you can descend and return safely.

You must look for tunnels, animal
burrows or the cave in the sea
guarded by the stone man;

when you are down you will find
those who were once your friends
but they will be changed and dangerous.

Resist them, be careful
never to eat their food.
Afterwards, if you live, you will be able

to see them when they prowl as winds,
as thin sounds in our village, You will
tell us their names, what they want, who

has made them angry by forgetting them.
For this gift, as for all gifts, you must
suffer: those from the underland

will be always with you, whispering their
complaints, beckoning you
back down; while among us here

you will walk wrapped in an invisible
cloak. Few will seek your help
with love, none without fear.

by Canadian writer Margaret Atwood (from Procedures for Underground 1970)

Where the hammer hits the anvil she is there in the sparks!

The Goat

2007-09-14T13:14:00.000-05:00

The dark blue 1965 Pontiac with the engine displacing 389 cubic inches, 325 horsepower (when new), Carter AFB 4 barrel carb, dual exhausts, Muncie 4 speed transmission ; no AC, no power steering, no power windows, just power to the rear wheels, and not
a metric bolt to be had in its construction. Inside is bucket seats, 4 on the floor., AM radio, and wing- windows. Designed by John Delorian when fresh at General Motors. It would get 18 miles/gal on a good hiway- driving day and ran down the road straight as an arrow. We drove it over 300,000 miles through two engine overhauls, multiple carb rebuilds, brake shoes every 50,000 miles or so, and two bodies (the body above is from the parts' car which I had to switch out with the old body after it totally rusted in essential places.) I have probably had a wrench or screwdriver on every bolt and screw on this car at one time or another; and busted every knuckle on my right hand trying to get them loose (the bolts or screws, not the knuckles!) It was only stuck once: in florida sand near Port St. Joe at the road to the beach where the helpful fellow who is always there passed by and pulled us out.
The lower shot is headed east in the Oregon desert in the goat's first iteration with the original paint. We were camped near this lake to repair my brother's '53 Chevy pickup which was suffering a broken universal joint on the driveshaft probably from the drive over Mount Hood.
Fortunately there was a small store nearby (in the middle of nowhere) which had some bolts and power to run our drill to fix the part. Then a swim in the lake behind our campsite.

Switchback

2007-08-27T13:01:00.001-05:00

an apparent easy climb, pacing
with a vertical component
a path walked by many
but completed by only a few

but then, life
a distant bong
disembodied cheeps, where are they
(I think those birds are just passing through)
heavy-satin feel of summer pond floating flowing
a brief respite from the steps

There were cities
down below there will be cities again.
after the journey through death awakens
to a knowing that one suffering
means that we all suffer.

rising above ancient distant lands
one day to maybe know the void
trapped in that last second of awareness
forever like an insect caught in amber

years pass gaining altitude and perspective
knowing the self just a little more with each step
into the heights of wisdom
until we are fully aware of where
and who we are.

(thanks moi)

The whiteness of the cloud
Is unfolding from my mind
I stare around in wonder
Have I left my life behind?

I catch the scent of the mountains
And turn my head, surprised
My gaze is caught and held and I
Am helpless...mesmerized

Beautiful landscape, liquid grace
Oh let me touch your pretty face
Enchantment falls around me
And I know I cannot leave

Here's a meaning for a life
The landscape shelter me from the storm
Pacify my troubles as if
The landscape is a woman ... soft and warm

(courtesy of Azer)

Thanks to those who added, maybe inspired by the photo or the moment; you are special.

Building the Better

2007-08-13T16:37:00.000-05:00

Built, I suspect, to simulate the ancient dhow. Dubai sand on the Persian Gulf, looking north.
Now this may be worth breathing in the exhaust fumes of ten-thousand SUV's!
Perhaps it is just the shape of the building and not its intention that sways opinion.

Update 2/08: The wing-looking attachment on the seaward side of the hotel is a restaurant; sitting at a table, the effect is of floating over the gulf. There is a film on the construction of this which depicts lavish treatment on the inside of the building including gold leaf , marble, silk and satin everywhere. At $2000 a night minimum this is to be Dubai income for when the oil runs out!

the Burj Al Arab
thanks Nasra

Building the Bigger

2007-08-02T13:39:00.001-05:00

The ideal and the real. Burj Dubai tower is to be the highest building on the planet at about 3000 feet. (true height is yet to be determined as it is still under construction)
Designed by Skidmore, Merrill and Owings of Chicago and being built by Samsung of South Korea and a whole lot of sweat labor from the rest of the world.
I wondered where all of that oil money was going.
Click for Progress link

It is said that one will be able to see Babylon from the top!

Spider Flower

2007-07-12T12:20:00.000-05:00

A cleome spinosa expressing itself. Turns out that if you snip a flower for indoor viewing, two more develop in its place. Snip those and four more appear. 1 2 4 8 16 32 64 . . . A geometric progression. Looks like this may be an import from South America and an annual although the seeds readily come up each year making it a perennial to me since I don't have to keep planting it!

Seng-Ts'an died A.D. 606. He was a Chinese Zen Master, and the Third Founding Teacher of Zen. The following is about half of the original poem. It is found in Stephen Mitchell's The Enlightened Heart: An Anthology of Sacred Poetry. Harper Perennial, 1989.

THE MIND OF ABSOLUTE TRUST

The Great Way isn't difficult
for those who are unattached to their preferences.
Let go of longing and aversion,
and everything will be perfectly clear.
When you cling to a hairbreadth of distinction,
heaven and earth are set apart.

If you want to realize the truth,
don't be for or against.
The struggle between good and evil
is the primal disease of the mind.
Not grasping the deeper meaning,
you just trouble your mind's serenity.

As vast as infinite space,
it is perfect and lacks nothing.
But because you select and reject,
you can't perceive its true nature.
Don't get entangled in the world;
don't lose yourself in emptiness.
Be at peace in the oneness of things,
and all errors will disappear by themselves.

If you don't live the Tao,
you fall into assertion or denial.
Asserting that the world is real,
you are blind to its deeper reality;
denying that the world is real,
you are blind to the selflessness of all things.
The more you think about these matters,
the farther you are from the truth.

Step aside from all thinking,
and there is nowhere you can't go.
Returning to the root, you find the meaning;
chasing appearances, you lose their source.
At the moment of profound insight,
you transcend both appearance and emptiness.
Don't keep searching for the truth;
just let go of your opinions.

For the mind in harmony with the Tao,
all selfishness disappears.
With not even a trace of self-doubt,
you can trust the universe completely.
All at once you are free,
with nothing left to hold on to.
All is empty, brilliant,
perfect in its own being.

In the world of things as they are,
there is no self, no non-self.
If you want to describe its essence,
the best you can say is "Not-two."
In this "Not-two" nothing is separate,
and nothing in the world is excluded.

The enlightened of all times and places
have entered into this truth.
In it there is no gain or loss;
one instant is ten thousand years.
There is no here, no there;
infinity is right before your eyes.

The tiny is as large as the vast
when objective boundaries have vanished;
the vast is as small as the tiny
when you don't have external limits.
Being is an aspect of non-being;
non-being is no different from being.
Until you understand this truth,
you won't see anything clearly.

One is all; all are one.
When you realize this,
what reason for holiness or wisdom?
The mind of absolute trust
is beyond all thought, all striving,
is perfectly at peace, for in it
there is no yesterday, no today, no tomorrow.

I didn't get the entire poem on my original post; apparently still haven't gotten it.
The man was prolific

Into the Abyss

2007-06-19T14:40:00.000-05:00

Marked Words

if only my father were here.

if my own heart weren't ready
to burn up burn down,
we could discuss the creativity
of protest,

but i stall
correcting my own ignitions:
over-over-over.
then i can't get
over it
because i can't
count
in units of
death.

i don't even know
how many. i don't
know
how to start. back
at thirteen colonies?
at forty-one shots?
at three thousand folks
in offices? at
twenty-year-olds
without college degrees, without
good salaries, joining
the military?
at the thousands whom the kids kill
dropping some bombs?
at my mom's mom?

she had tumors
on her brain,
made her think she saw
buildings
moving.
she'd say, 'mark my words,
the building moved.'
maybe she was
prophetic. no, she was just
dying, but we are all
just dying.

mark my words (i try
to hear words from before
i was born). i imagine her
last-minute-prophecies were prayers
now striking my eardrum
(boom boom boom,
the buildings are moving)
close my eyes -- close yours
(boom boom boom - mark my words).

which is your building
(you are a building)?
where are you moving
(boom boom boom)?

whose words are we marking with
these tears
from before we are born,
with gravity and inertia on their side?
they start from hot springs of betrayal, fall
out of the eyes of prophetic grandmothers
who call out for gods or validation,
down their cheeks into the eyes of their children,
and theirs and theirs, down
and down until they leave
just dry tracks on the chins of us.
us. whose tears
are these tonight
that will not dry?

This by Kathryn Baxter writing for "Poets Against War".

New Buddies

2007-05-30T14:44:00.000-05:00

The newest bunch with sprig on the top-left squalking about something. She is testy these days maybe because the muskrat ate all of the eggs she was sitting on! Spotts to her left; seems that the white ring which is supposed to be around his neck spilled down onto his breast in vitreo. There are some, primarily in England and Australia, who raise these male ruen ducks to be shown and rated as to color of plumage and consistency to a prescribed standard. So por spots would be an outsider as would his brother adjacent with no white at all. The two males battled for primacy with bullyboy being finally put in his place by spotts. A wondrous spectacle. Another female is off to the right-- standoffish as usual. But she looks just like the female in front, just not as friendly.

Dervish

2007-05-14T17:19:00.000-05:00

Art as Flirtation and Surrender

In your light I learn how to love.

In your beauty, how to make poems.

You dance inside my chest,

where no one sees you,

but sometimes I do,

and that sight becomes this art.

"Rumi" by Mark di Suvero, 1991 -- found at Nelson-Atkins Museum in Kansas City.
Keep seeing references to this fellow; seems everyone knows of him but me. Then its kismet after coincidence! The poem is by him also, naturally.

Retreat

2007-04-25T16:38:00.000-05:00

Woods edge hide the soul
The essence is revealed now
we can enter safe

Thanks Jhanajian

Lost And Abandoned

2007-04-13T14:01:00.000-05:00

I discovered this rooster was left by neighbors moving on when I realized that I could still hear his crow after they had left. So over to feed and try to catch the guy and take him to safer ground when I saw those spurs on his legs. They appear to project about 45° from the back of his leg toward the insides of the legs, and are about 3" long! So although I had him within grabbing distance (because food is the universal attractor) I decided not to grab him. I have seen pictures of fighting cocks and believe that they jump into the air and slash with these weapons.
Perhaps that's why the coyotes, owls, coons, hawks, and other predators have left him be . . . as I will.
Many suggestions on how to trap him have rolled in but I think I will feed him, admire him, awaken by him , and let others catch him! Good luck brave souls.

Persian Portal

2007-03-26T11:27:00.000-05:00

The Dome of the Inner Sky

The Great King is within me.
He is my dearest friend.

Don't look at my sallow face,
Look at how I stand with legs of iron!
Always turning toward that one
who gave me life.

I am the glorious Sun,
the ocean laden with pearls.
Within my heart is the grandeur of heaven,
Outside, the lowly earth.

I travel in this world like a bee in a jar.
But don't listen to my woeful buzzing
My house is filled with honey!

O heart, if you want to join us,
raise yourself
to the dome of the inner sky
Enter the fortress that no one can break.

The vast and mighty waters
move the grinding stones of heaven.
I am that great wheel,
crying so sweetly,
turning with the flow of rushing water.

Men, demons, and spirits all follow my command.
Can't you see that I am Solomon,
With a shimmering seal on my ring?

Why should I be weary
when every cell of my body is bursting with life?
Why should I be a donkey's slave
when I ride upon a magical horse?
Why should I be less than the Moon
when there are no scorpions at my feet?
Why should I stay at the bottom of a well
when a strong rope is in my hand?

I've built a place for the falcons of my soul
Fly this way, O birds of spirit,
for I am surrounded by a hundred mighty towers!

I am the rays of the Sun
dancing through the windows of every house.
I am carnelion, gold, and rubies,
even though this body is made of water and clay.

Whatever pearl you seek,
look for the pearl within the pearl!

The surface of the earth says,
"The treasure is within."
The glowing jewel says,
"Don't be fooled by my beauty
the light of my face
comes from the candle of my spirit."

What else can I say?
You will only hear
what you are ready to hear.
Don't nod your head,
Don't try to fool me
the truth of what you see
is written all over your face!

Translated by Jonathan Star, from the book
Rumi, In the Arms of the Beloved

I have recently been directed to Persian poetry and found this fellow Mevlana Jalal-e-Din Mohammad Mevlavi Balkhi Rumi who has been related much lately, in english. Born 1207 AD or 6th Rai'u-'l-avval 604 A.H. (don't hold me to this persian date, I am only quoting, but would love to know what "A.H." represents) in NE Persia which is presently Afghanistan. Lived in Baghdad for awhile I see. I wonder what he would have see there then?

The photo is titled "Door" and is by a Gate Photo under name of "Persian Architect" in Dubai. This is a picture of a gate in Teheran, Iran.

Outsiders

2007-03-09T14:14:00.000-06:00

"They walk alone, and yet they are together--
Along the road to Nirvana, the Perfect Ones
With antique minds, pure- hearted, high-spirited,
With sunken cheekbones, despised by the common people."

A song by Hsuan-chueh living about year 713. He was apparently a monk of the School of
Shen-hui. A Buddhist school in the south of China.

An ancient ode to those just one bubble off of level; in the construction of society.

I don't know why history so engages me now. I used to believe it useless and "why are they teaching me this!". Perhaps we take example from those who are now dust.

I really should attribute this song: Taken from "The White Pony" (an anthology of chinese poetry) edited by Robert Payne. 1947
Another song I like:

"Purify the five eyes, Possess the five powers.
If once you have known truth, you know the unknown.
In a mirror the body's shape is easily discerned,
But in vain can you grasp the moon on the water."

Unicorn

2007-02-26T16:57:00.000-06:00

I guess you would have to say Pegasus Unicorn with the wings and all.
Turns out that Pliny depicted the body of a horse, head of a deer, feet of an elephant the tail of a lion, with a black tapered horn projecting a length of two cubits for the Unicorn in his "Natural History" written about year 30. Those in the middle ages took this work to be the truth about life in the natural world.
Looks as though he might have had many flights of fancy as well as bad luck since he was buried in Pompeii by Vesuvius.

The Graphic is from Angel at her blog

Duck Slushee

2007-02-16T13:21:00.000-06:00

Each morning for the past month or so I must break out a patch of the pond for the ducks after the overnight freeze. I usually remove the ice chunks with a leaf rake but this time they sped right into the ice bath hoping for the best . . .
A racoon got into the pen over the top a day after this was taken and ate little girl (top one) but sprig is still squalking. I immediately covered the pen with chicken wire and sprig is spending the nights under the duckhouse after being freaked by the coon whilst the two were in the duckhouse that night. I can think of no worst trauma than to have my buddy eaten within sound of my ears and hearing the crunching but I have to believe that ducks have short memories. There was a small pile of feathers and a webbed foot left after the incident.
Having gotten nine of ten ducks killed in the last two years, I wonder if I should continue with this endeavour. But sprig needs a few buddies and spring is almost here so I will get some more Rouen duck chicks for her. Death is , after all, just a heartbeat away for any of us and this serves to remind me of that.
I found a quote recently which makes me feel a bit better:

"If those who owe us nothing gave us nothing, how poor we would be." Antonio Porchia

Fractal Art

2007-02-01T13:43:00.000-06:00

I really like the blue depths of this one. Of course the beauty can only come out in full resolution of the fractal since it is generated by the result of mathematical calculations for each pixel on the screen (a color assigned).

This was found at stacey's blog

Naming these can be a lot of fun- for me, at least-since each one seems to have a distinct effect on me, taken as an optical experience.

Demise

2007-01-24T15:16:00.000-06:00

If you can keep the roof integral, these old barns can last forever-- barring other calamities.
This one is over 125 years old and will be gone, I estimate, within one year. The left shot shows how the side which remains covered by the roofing is still in good shape. But it is the east side which will pull the structure down as it deteriorates . This exists on the missouri river valley farmland (some of the richest in the country) available after the river was channelized and levies built to contain the once-meandering river. When these are gone, they are replaced by "engineered" buildings of not quite the same appeal.

A Small Life

2007-01-08T12:32:00.000-06:00

Big Al is gone!

Way gone after a rainy dark night on the pond; leaving not a
feather, drop of blood, or final squalk, that I heard, to mark his demise.
Having broken through, for too short a time, the veil of consciousness to
present us with his beauty.
I am grateful for the knowing.

8th Wonder?

2006-12-26T13:45:00.000-06:00

The Palm Jumeirah off Dubai, UAE. A persian-gulf created island with housing available.
Interesting that a culture which has always respected and conserved water would consider living around water that is undrinkable!
There is a tiny oil tanker near center-left which gives perspective on the size of this creation.

Markers'

2006-12-04T15:15:00.000-06:00

Marker trees maybe used by indians to find their way through the forest. They don't point in a particular compass direction, but rather may indicate the way to an encampment or shelter. These are in central Missouri US , but apparently are evident in Canada as gleaned from the following:

"Those who went ahead
of us in the forest
bent the early trees
so that they grew to signals;

the trail was not among the trees but
the trees

and there are some who have dreams
of birds flying in the shapes
of letters; the sky's
codes;
and dream also
the significance of numbers (count
petals of certain flowers)"

Excerped from "Paths and Thingscape" by Margaret Atwood (a Canadian author)

Big Al and Sprig

2006-11-15T15:06:00.000-06:00

Don't know if the feathers out of sprig's head are genetic adaptations to a smooth profile or not. Perhaps just an effort to add variety to the species!

Chilly Swimming

2006-10-31T16:53:00.000-06:00

Duck pond in fall.
Think I can find a warmer place to swim.

Time passes . . .

Big Al

2006-10-15T16:14:00.000-05:00

Geometric Wispy

2006-09-25T16:12:00.000-05:00

Neat fractal; some kind of diaphanous explosion.

Art from stacey's page

Peeking

2006-08-24T16:35:00.000-05:00

Sprig may be the sentinel
Who knows what danger?

Dreams of sonic wings

Time On

2006-08-14T14:52:00.000-05:00

For Mr. Patton

2006-07-26T16:47:00.000-05:00

This is not one of my fractals, but demonstrates the result.

I have only a quote to offer:

"When will our consciences grow so tender that we will act to prevent human misery rather than avenge it?"

by Eleanor Roosevelt

Onward and upward

2006-07-10T17:05:00.000-05:00

Same trio after 3 months. Big al in the middle (male) , small girl on the left , and princess at back with a sprig of feather out of her head (don't know what gender but seems more male than small girl)- we'll see when eggs begin appearing.
I hope to get better quality renderings for next.

TWIXT

2006-06-21T16:11:00.000-05:00

Looking for the space between words; the pause before the mockingbird selects his next offering. . .

Peace lies in the interval between breaths and the lack of thought between thoughts.

The lake seems placid today. A haiku koan might bring serenity

(art by inka essenhigh) thank e

So Once Again

2006-05-22T12:29:00.000-05:00

Week-old rouen ducks. When fully fledged they will have irradescent green heads and look somewhat like a mallard.
Unfortuantely there is absolutely no way to tell them apart, save small size differences, so they will have to remain nameless for the time being.

Vastness

2006-05-11T17:04:00.000-05:00

I've always liked this view of southern Utah, USA in the spring. I'm trying to match the color of the sky with my blog background but haven't quite done it yet as is evident. There is an area near here where tribolites can be found. They are some of the oldest lifeforms on earth. Early Permian, I believe.

ethereal

2006-05-02T00:29:00.000-05:00

pretty moonbeams

Be Good

Drifting

Historical Sin

Deadly Sin * **

Opposing Virtue

Brief description

Associates

Endless

Catharsis

So Once Again . . .

Leavings

Enigma

Memphis '68

It's Always Something!

Teal and Rust

One of All

Respite

bringing IT home

Solace

Faith

Johnie In The Slot

Almost Gone

The First Google

Crystal

Finito

Art As Life

ART

Tiny Dancers

Lost Soul

Peace

Iatric Odyssey

Rainbow

Breath

Symmetry

Sand

The Whirling Logs Narrative

Fred's Place

Too Much By a Half

Tracks and Flakes

My First Car

Trim

Hot Water

Fall Treats

Frequencies

Over There

Building the New

CounterPoint

Words by Lisa Walsh Thomas

Persian Perspective

Sentinel

Lost and Abandoned

Dialog

Bent

Solace

Icy Fracture

Homing Pigeon

Beyond

The Goat

Switchback

Building the Better

Building the Bigger

Spider Flower

Into the Abyss

New Buddies

Dervish

Retreat

Lost And Abandoned

Persian Portal

Outsiders

Unicorn

Duck Slushee

Fractal Art

Demise

A Small Life

8th Wonder?

Markers'

Big Al and Sprig

Chilly Swimming

Big Al