Almost Daily Refraction #2

 In yesterdays post I made a commitment to publish "poems" which I have been constructing over the past year.  These were written spontaneously as part of the daily morning meeting I have with my wife. I started writing these a year ago after attending a poetry workshop at my church (Thanks Kate Thorpe!)

In the workshop I was instructed to write quickly with very little thought or control.   I was fascinated by the process but I wasn't crazy about the results. which I thought were often pretentious, sophomoric, grammatically sloppy, etc., But I liked the way it felt and the idea of somehow trying to unleash my expressive capacity.  It was more like therapeutic and spiritual work than writing.

Allen Ginsberg would call this an exercise of poetic candor (For a fascinating deep dive into Ginsberg's perspective read this)

I found the more I could let go of trying to control what I wrote the better/truer it seemed.  I remain fascinated and intrigued by the interplay of elements that shape what I write. 

Here's what I wrote on April 4, 2023 

“Time was once just a clock to me, life a book a biography”

John Prine is dead. But he lives on in so many lives. I am indebted to him. Such a humble, straight shooter.

What became of the wisdom I once had. The sense I knew the way. In the back of my mind I still feel some guidance, but this is often hazy, and no longer a function of my philosophical constructs.  In fact its voice is stronger the less I  try to impose my reasoning on it.

I woke up today feeling as if I had been to a party, drank too much and was worried about what I might have done.

Why had I made this commitment?

The fact is many of these daily exercises. in poetic candor are pretty bad.   It's just that I somehow, somewhere I embraced the idea that its important to put myself out there even though that can get pretty damn uncomfortable. 

Hell I'm 76 and deaing with a boatload of health issues.  Playing it safe would be just plain dumb. 

One of my hopes is that this exercise will be a springboard to higher  quality work.

Here's a poem by Ranier Maria Rilke which captures some of what I'm feeling

Shining in the Distance

Already my gaze is upon the hill, the sunlit one.
The way to it, barely begun, lies ahead.
So we are grasped by what we have not grasped,
full of promise, shining in the distance.

It changes us, even if we do not reach it,
into something we barely sense, but are;
a movement beckons, answering our movement...
But we just feel the wind against us.
                                                - Uncollected Poems
 

Deep Dive

I have an idea that is dangerous but I can't let it go.  Okay, I'm choosing not to.

Before taking the deep plunge into this brainstorm I'd like to give some background..

It turns  out that today,  April 3, 2024, is exactly one year since I started writing an almost daily "poem" during my morning meeting with my wife Dorothy. Two  posts ago  I wrote about this process and how it has become an important part of my life and gave some examples of my spontaneous "poetry."  

I went on to wax poetically about the virtues of self-expression and bemoaned the fact that I think most of us are intimidated by "real" artists and never even try to raise our own creative flags.

I strongly believe we each have a voice waiting to surface and be heard - a song to be sung.  It doesn't matter if it's writing, singing, dancing,  painting, drawing, cooking etc.  I just hope each of us can find a way to  "let your soul and spirit fly" (thanks Van). 

Ergo...as an example of expressive risk taking, I have decided to post a year's worth of my almost daily writings.  I  plan to publish each of these exactly a year after they were written.  I'll probably do some elaboration as part of these posts. We'll see.  Be warned.  These writings were made 'hot off the griddle."  They may not be "art" but I promise you they are real, raw, and unfiltered.

(When I told Dorothy my plan and that it felt like I was about to drop my pants in public she said, "I thought you liked to drop your pants in public." Hmm.)

I hope you find them interesting and  are encouraged to find or deepen your own path. It'd be great if you joined me on this journey. It'd be spectacular if you shared via the comments section any thoughts or actions these  words might inspire. 

Here's what I wrote on April 3,  2023:

What I say is the same as every word ever said by thousands of streaming voices trying to find each other over the noise and silence of the empty washrooms of civility

My love is shackled by my mind.

I find no other way than the lonely path of solitude and desire.

Why the losing is so bad is that so much is still unfound. 

I weep for nothing by way of everything.

Thanks for reading!

Post script

I can't resist adding these lines by T.S Eliot in East Coker

And so each venture
Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate,
With shabby equipment always deteriorating
In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,
Undisciplined squads of emotion. And what there is to conquer
By strength and submission, has already been discovered
Once or twice, or several times, by men whom one cannot hope
To emulate - but there is no competition -
There is only the fight to recover what has been lost
And found and lost again and again: and now, under conditions
That seem unpropitious. But perhaps neither gain nor loss.
For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.

Can I hear an AMEN!

Great art is wonderful so is your heartfelt song

I wish I had given a nod to great art in my prior post.  Of course there are, and have been, people who produce art of incredible quality.  A quality that goes beyond fashion and technique and that sublimely connects us to something greater than ourselves.  Experiencing their work is. one of the wonderful blessings of life. Por ejemplo

Vermeer's painting "Girl with the Pearl Earring"

Making a comprehensive list of all the great art in the world is way beyond my pay grade and capacity.   Do you have a favorite piece or artist?  (The comments section below awaits your selection.)

My list would definitely include a lot of singer/songwriters including John Prine, Bob Dylan, Van Morrison, Joni Mitchell and Leonard Cohen.  

This is crazy.  There's so many people whose exceptional art has enriched our lives.  My point in the previous post was that I believe that we all have something important to share..  A creative voice that longs to sing and, perhaps, be heard.  It doesn't have to be some great piece of art to be important. 

 

Sing Your Song!

Each morning, for many years,  Dorothy and I have our Morning Meeting where we talk about our plans for the day and share a reading or two,  usually some poetry.  We both look forward to this time to connect.  During the past year I've added a new wrinkle to the festivities -  on most days I write a short "poem" just before the meeting starts and then share it with D.  This is basically a "stream of consciousness" process that has captured my imagination.  It seems the less I try to control what I write the more fun and interesting it is.

I'm trying to stay above judgement and let some creative juices find their way through my. coagulated synapses. This is the same way I feell about all "art."  I think we all have a creative side but often let it lay unattended and unexpressed because we're intimidated by judgement and "professionals".  

I remember the pure joy of my kindergarten finger painting. Wouldn't it be great if each one of us mature adults could feel free enough to let our soul find its wings through art?

Here's to your song! May you sing. it loud and strong.

These are a few of my recent morning words

11/11/2023

Encounter

The buck freezes staring towards the back of the yard

He’s facing away from me but I can feel the intensity of his eyes

The polished sharpness of his antlers magnifies his focused stillness

Suddenly a grey fox runs across the opening at the edge of the woods

I can feel the deer’s energy exploding in the air around him

but he remains perfectly still’'

Then

 just as suddenly

 its over

’

The fox is gone and the buck ambles quietly away

11/12/2023

Norway maple resisting leaf loss

last of the trees to surrrender to barreness

it too will have to accept

it must get naked to survive

11/13/2023

Leaves falling gently to the ground

curved golden acrobats in the warm morning light

finding solace nestled among their fallen comrades

May your soul and spirit fly

Keep in touch!

Holy Hunger and Parkinson's

Hello out there!

I started this Holy Hunger post several years ago and think its about time I get back on this unruly horse of introspection.  Here's what I wrote then...

What do I want at this tail end of living?  Who cares?  Why is it always about me?  Shouldn't I be asking bigger questions like - What can I/we do to tackle systemic racism?  Hunger?  Inequality? Trumpism? etc. etc....  Yeah, I probably should but its just not where my head and heart are nowadays.   

What I'm most interested in and want the most,  (besides the health and happiness of the people I love, which is a given), is, hold your hats, to be closer to God. 

The "hold your hats" comment is a defensive qualifier springing from a deep discomfort talking about God stuff publicly.  I'm now 73 years old.  Up until the age of 18 I was seriously twisted and abused by Catholic indoctrination and control.  I've spent much of the past fifty years trying to recover from the damage done.

Escaping Catholicism has been one of the most important processes of my life.  A difficult but exhilarating discovery of a world  of truth and wonder.  New exciting ideas were no longer threats to my "faith".  Different cultures,  sexual identities,  political perspectives were no longer seen through a narrow Catholic prism.  I could start to see thing more realistically and appreciatively beyond the shadows of judgement and fear.

So that was me three years ago.  Where am I now?  Am I closer to God? Have I found resolution and redemption? Uh, not quite. But....

I think I am more at peace.  If you're at all familiar with my prior blog entries you know how I've struggled trying to find a place of of calmness and acceptance.

What's different?   Did I have some sort of spiritual awakening?  Did my years of meditation finally unlock the door?  Did I finally accept Trump as the one, true Son of God?  Nope.  

What happpened was much more mundane.. I was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease

I originally resisted the diagnosis but I eventually had to accept the fact that I have a chronic, progressive, debilitating disease.   The pace of progression and severity of symptoms can vary widely.  So far my main symptom is tremors and there has been minimal impact on my daily life. There is no cure but there are medications that can help with symptoms.  

 A tough pill to swallow, for sure, but I think it has been good for my restless soul.

The only coping strategy that makes sense at this point (and hasn't this 13 year blog been all about finding a coping strategy?) is to (drum roll) ....live in the present, take one day at a time,  etc., etc.  God I hate cliches.   Oh well.  That's it.  I'm more peaceful and happier because I want to savor the joy of living while I'm still able to.  I've been forced to truly accept my mortality.  How simple!  How liberating!  How grateful I am!    

Don't get me wrong.  It's not easy but it's okay.  And that's a big deal.

So how does this living from moment to moment manifest iitself?

Stay tuned! 

 

Holding Hands in the Dark - Part 2

Its been a long time.  Don't know why I stopped writing last February.  My last post detailed my last few adventurous days in our February 2020 trip to my favorite city,  Oaxaca, Mexico.  

 I just reread that post and I was struck by how far away all of that seems now even though it's been less than a year - but what a year it has been!  Pandemic, isolation, racial unrest, presidential election, impeachment,  invasion of the Capitol.  Its all left me feeling frazzled, fearful and angry. 

I think one of the reasons I haven't been writing is that these events have been so momentous and overwhelming that trying to encapsulate them and their impact on my life would be like trying to wrestle an elephant to the ground. But I do miss writing, so here I am pecking away at the keys trying to say something real, something worthwhile.  Most of the worth is probably as a personal therapy tool but I still hold out some hope that there are readers out there who will find some value in these disparate/desperate scribblings.

Along those lines,  I was amazed when I looked at the stats for this blog.  Since I started Right Now ten years ago there have been 16940 "views".  Yesterday there were 17 views and last month there were 79.  Who the hell are these people?  I haven't posted anything since last February!  Hell, maybe I'm going viral and can start getting paid as an "influencer."  I could start inserting ads for stuff and maybe get free samples.  Golf clubs? Jameson's? Tequila? Guitars? Irish golf trips?

It makes me happy that others are interested in sharing this journey with me.  As I said in my first post in 2010 entitled "Holding Hands in the Dark"

I am starting this blog as a way to connect. Connect with guiding forces which will help me find my way through this tricky end game. The form, timing and content of these hoped for hand holders through the dark are far from being clear. I invite you to be part of this journey and perhaps we can hold each other's hand along the way.

I honestly get a chill when I read these words.  Not because its great prose but because the concept of  us holding each others hands as we try to make our way through the dark captures what I feel is our best hope during these dire times.  Maybe you feel the same way.  

The clearest personal lesson of this past year of COVID isolation  is a deeper understanding of how much I need and long for real, honest human connection. 

  As Bob Dylan said in  "All Along the Watchtower"

There are many here among us
Who feel that life is but a joke
But you and I, we've been through that
And this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now

The hour's getting late, 

Thanks for reading.  I will write again soon. I hope.

Microbes, Muscles, Doctor Z and Gratitude

It's been awhile, nine days to be exact.  A big thank you to a faithful reader for encouraging me to get back in the blogging groove.

Not sure when a groove becomes a rut.  Maybe its still a groove when you can fairly easily lift the needle and switch to a different track.

Reminds me of Leonard Cohen's description of  a "state of grace" which I quoted many posts ago.  He describes it as "that kind of balance with which you ride the chaos around you."

This past week has been a wild ride through a lot of chaos.  Very little balance as the needle screeched across the disc.  Today, thankfully, it seems to have found a resting place and the music is starting to play again.

Things began going awry last Tuesday.  D woke up with a nasty headache.  She said she felt like she was getting a sinus infection and that she wanted to stay in bed resting.  I offered to stay with her and try to find some medical help.  She told me she'd rather be alone and encouraged me to go on a "walking tour" of central Oaxaca which we had planned on going on together.  I resisted but she said it'd be easier being by herself...she wouldn't feel like she'd have to "entertain" me.  Hmmm.

My tour group

I acquiesced and headed downtown to  the Teatro de Macedonia Alcala where I met up with 14 tour walkers and our guide, Deanna. (I'm not positive that was her name)

 There was only one other person from the U.S.  Most of the rest were young people from Norway, Sweden and Spain who were staying at a downtown hostel.  I was the the oldest.  I liked being around these young adventurers who were so full of life and its potentials.

Poster says "We will not forget. We will not forgive."

The free walk lasted three hours and was well worth the time.  (The web link will give you a good idea of the types of places we walked to.) Although I had visited many of these before, Deanna, who works for tips,  provided lots of background info which filled in a many of the historical and cultural blanks.  Highlights, for me, included the Oaxacan Graphic Arts Institute (IAGO) and a Communist print shop.   At the print shop Deanna spoke passionately about the dangers of being politically outspoken in Mexico.  She pointed out that journalists were especially at risk. Last year Mexico surpassed Syria and became the most dangerous country in the world for journalists.



When I got back to the hotel D wasn't doing so good.  She had a headache, a hacking cough and felt warm, as if she had a fever.  She still didn't want me to look for medical help.  She said she wanted to wait until morning.  I went to the pharmacy to get anti-congestants, cough syrup, ibuprophen and a thermometer which showed she had a fever of 99.9 degrees.

In the morning D still had a fever, headache and cough.  She was ready for me to try to find some help.  An internet search led me to Dr. Alberto Zamacona Esparza.  He was highly recommended and spoke English. "Dr.Z" was mentioned often by gringos as the "go to" doc in Oaxaca.

The immediate problem was that it was Wednesday, the one weekday his office was closed and no one was answering the phone.  Panic mode was starting to creep in.  I had to get D some help.  I walked downstairs at the hotel, planning to take a taxi to see if anyone was at the doctor's office. Halfway down the stairs I remembered I forgot something and did a quick about face to start back up.  As I did this I felt a "pop" in my left calf.  I knew right away something had happened and it wasn't good.  I found I could not put any weight on the ball of my left foot without sharp pain.  I could barely walk. Uh oh.

I made my way down to the street and waved down a taxi. I first asked the driver to take me to a place to buy a cane (baston).  We eventually found a medical supply place and I bought a cane.  It didn't help much if at all.  The problem was a bending motion not weight on the leg.

I next asked him to drive to the Spanish school that I attended five years ago.  I had gotten sick then and they had recommended a doctor that I was happy with.  We drove to the school and I slowly and painfully limped into the office where I was told that the doctor had passed away, "se fallecio."

I went back to the taxi and tried to explain but when I said "se fallecio" he gave me a very weird, questioning look.  I'm afraid he thought I was telling him to do an obscene act.  I then said "se murio" (he died) and the driver seemed greatly relieved. 😊

Dr. Zamacona on the right

We finally went to Dr. Z's office and found it was indeed closed.  The driver took me back to the hotel and hobbled up the stairs.   I was getting nowhere and D seemed to be getting worse.

In desperation I called the doctor's cell phone.  His kind wife answered and said she would have the doctor call me back.  He called back and said he'd be at the hotel in about an hour.

 Dr. Z showed up, told D she had a sinus infection and prescribed an antibiotic and several other medications.  He arranged for the meds to be sent to the hotel and told her she would feel better tomorrow.  He looked at my calf and said it would be fine after a week or so.  Just a sprain.

His fee was $50.  There was no fee for a follow up appointment the next day.

Dorthy improved quickly.  I did too. We are filled with gratitude.