My small family and I return to the courtroom Friday afternoon, 3:30 PM. If you have a little extra good energy, or wishes, please send some our way. Much appreciated.
In a recent post I gave a sidelong glance to the questionable virtue of weeds. I must report having since found virtue in the Genus Solidago, the goldenrods.
Noticed first in my yard, mimicking Pitcher sage – it bloomed like the sun. Then seen spread across this region, ditches, fields – by plant or by pasture – goldenrod gets around.
A harbinger of autumn, goldenrod is the best kind of traveler. Where my world is limited to garden edge, goldenrod tirelessly journeys without bound, seeing sights, setting down roots, experiencing the rush of the world and the quiet of dawn.
Adaptable, sociable, with sturdy stem not likely battered by breeze, flexible enough to bend. My hat is off to this charmer – pure gold.
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Beside the stream, the rushes grew, bending, whispering what they knew.
What they saw, in clear blue skies, when Icarus fell from far on high.
The sun was brilliant, and far too hot, he reached, he climbed, he laughed
But youth betrayed and never forgave as heat slipped his feathers away.
And down he went, with glorious bent, a shooting star fell to the earth
Into the sea, the stretching sea, the primordial water of birth.
To the stream on the land, two thousand years hence
By dusty road under the sun
Trucks roll by the winding stream, the rushes remain whispering still
The rushes remain whispering still.
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Weeds being what they are, most gardeners do not prefer them. Weeds choke out growth, take precious water and nutrients, and shade out the good stuff. Some people are like that too.
Emerson said a weed is a a plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered. With Weedy people, this may also be the case.
My garden has many weeds again this year. I did not plan for them – but there they are. I am gardening today, and note the ease by which large weeds are pulled, roots and all.
Garden secret. If weeds overtake, don’t sweat the small stuff. When larger, weeds are easily seen, plenty of leverage to pull, roots and all. Their exit leaves space, nutrients, and plenty of room to grow.
Weeds. People or plants. Maybe they have virtues. Being what they are, I don’t prefer them.
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Hard to fall when on the ground. Safe. You can let go now. Good ground supports everything.
I am…here.
Posted in Psycho-Bubbles, Reflections on the everyday | 1 Comment »
A smooth, chalky white stone. Chipped hard on one side. Not so much sides as surfaces. Surfaces worn smooth. Egg sized and scratched with what could be iron. Pale sedimentary lines, it has seen some pressure.
Fields of stone baking behind the concession stand and car park. Landscape writ in stone, never know what you will find. Fossils, gneiss, limestone, granite.
Under the bleachers the stones are cool. Someone else has been here. Stones neatly aligned on a metal lip provide introspection for five or 50 year old.
Something in these million year old minerals. Laying there quiet, barely earning a glance. I pick another, mica winks at me beneath a scuff of algae.
Words in a sentence, these stones lay here – with depth, age, quickened by millennia into essence – brilliance without edge. Beauty understood only by those who know the language.
Unmoving, each has traveled farther than any of us. Each stone, each story, quickened hard. Unmoving, a million years down, a million years to go.
In the past I would have taken those stones home, added memory to my own landscape. Today I left them – not my story to change.
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It is not peaceful.
It is not easy.
Children warped and twisted grow to similarly bent adults.
It is where they come from you know.
Childhood. Anyone’s guess.
Not mine.
The only possible statement, it is what it is.
But that does not excuse what it isn’t.
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Fast pitch, fast swing. Seeking a strike, seeking a hit. Two sides, same coin. It goes your way or it doesn’t.
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A recent New York Times article profiled wealthy Facebook co-founder Eduardo Saverin. Mr. Saverin, age 30, relinquished US citizenship last September to relocate to Singapore.
The article notes Mr. Saverin’s desire to encourage young entrepreneurs to embrace the Facebook world, “where people are at the center of everything.”
Categoric statements about the center of anything are dicey. The premise of Facebook is not people, it is relationship – its creation, maintenance, destruction, and exploitation. Once visible, relationship becomes a shifty, changeable, Heraclitus river.
History memorializes the clinging waste of human ego-centrism, the mortality of persona. The Ptolemaic system had its time, now gone.
Travel far enough and the center found is the differentiating edge of something else. Embrace the Facebook world? Maybe not.
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While the word is yet unspoken, you are master of it; when once it is spoken, it is master of you – an Arab proverb
Makes a good case for silence.
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