Meditations :: In Love and War... I am a Traveler
Right now, I'm listening to "Canyon Trilogy" by Native American flute player R. Carlos Nakai, with some low lighting and a vanilla candle lit {...I'm a "smell" person, fer sure, ahmahgosh, lol}. The terrace sliding door is open enough to let cool air drift in and quietly clack the long hanging-blinds...
There are shadow-flickers within the warm glow cast across Brian's wolf drum portrait that is hanging here in our living room. Huh... that's the first Time I've used the word "our" here, and noticed it with any meaning. Huh.
... The portrait looks soo real.
I have to re-read & edit everything I type or write, I have a tendency to drop, repeat, or misspell words. So again, I am wondering what all my mis-typed and accidental words, written in my Life, would spell out: Would it be strings of gibberish, or lines of something beyond more? The sand that starts all the pearls we pull from all the mollusks of the oceans...
{*I'm finally writing-up the following, from one of my hand-written journals, from the very early AM of Tuesday 19th June 2007*}
towards the end, ** indicates the end of original material and the beginning of additions made tonight.
I wrote this at about 5:30 or 6am, when I woke up for a bit after Brian left for work. I dunno how I got thinking of it ... my head was still sort of sleepy~funky while I wrote it. I dunno.
It made sense at the Time, at least.
Conflict
What if....
... The war had already been won?
... The last, lonely, scattered battalions and outposts finally got word that they had a reason to stop fighting - that "their side" had won?
What if all that was left now was the long wait between the discovery of victory, and the full-bodied relief of being back home again.
Does the soldier celebrate, expend all his relief and joy with local company, the friend-of-the-moment...
... or wait a little longer for the company they know they would prefer to devote all their regained positive energies to?
Few could fault the lonely fighter for seeking immediate joy with those closest to him after such a seemingly endless battle...
But there would also be those in support of staving-off immediate gratification in order to explore more meaningful venues.
The conflict is with that finicky master we have created for ourselves: Time.
While our Future sense might see the benefit of all the connections and paths and obstacles that are presently set before us, our Present selves can only guess at outcomes.
We are left to internal battles -
Wait out that long sea voyage between foreign lands, and the familiar shores of home?
... Or forsake the shores we once - and certainly still - Love... for the joys and trappings of the new lands?
Where does "eagerness" to Live change to "impatience"? To "desperation"? **
So positive a thing shaped transcendentally into somehow negative forms?
...And by our own powers, or by that of things Beyond us?
For all that we might dive into our environments and immediate situations ... we remember the joys of both the new and the old - and the old is only as old as we make it. Sometimes, though, we can only best recall those old joys with new visits.
Army of Won
sudden, spontaneous poetry from word-play
What if the War was already won?
What if the War is already one?
What if won already was War the?
What if one already is War the?
The War was already won if what War is already one...
What War is already won, if already there was one War...
In to patterns we fall,
in word forms as in inert forms on the fields.
All lines, at different angles and directions,
having been given different angels and directions,
having been given different lines on the field
Where a different pattern lies on the field
different lies on the field
Where -what if- what we won on the field was one of those different lies?
Down to the last one,
We all fall into patterns
We all fall in
We all fall
We all
we
one.
~
There are shadow-flickers within the warm glow cast across Brian's wolf drum portrait that is hanging here in our living room. Huh... that's the first Time I've used the word "our" here, and noticed it with any meaning. Huh.
... The portrait looks soo real.
I have to re-read & edit everything I type or write, I have a tendency to drop, repeat, or misspell words. So again, I am wondering what all my mis-typed and accidental words, written in my Life, would spell out: Would it be strings of gibberish, or lines of something beyond more? The sand that starts all the pearls we pull from all the mollusks of the oceans...
{*I'm finally writing-up the following, from one of my hand-written journals, from the very early AM of Tuesday 19th June 2007*}
towards the end, ** indicates the end of original material and the beginning of additions made tonight.
I wrote this at about 5:30 or 6am, when I woke up for a bit after Brian left for work. I dunno how I got thinking of it ... my head was still sort of sleepy~funky while I wrote it. I dunno.
It made sense at the Time, at least.
Conflict
What if....
... The war had already been won?
... The last, lonely, scattered battalions and outposts finally got word that they had a reason to stop fighting - that "their side" had won?
What if all that was left now was the long wait between the discovery of victory, and the full-bodied relief of being back home again.
Does the soldier celebrate, expend all his relief and joy with local company, the friend-of-the-moment...
... or wait a little longer for the company they know they would prefer to devote all their regained positive energies to?
Few could fault the lonely fighter for seeking immediate joy with those closest to him after such a seemingly endless battle...
But there would also be those in support of staving-off immediate gratification in order to explore more meaningful venues.
The conflict is with that finicky master we have created for ourselves: Time.
While our Future sense might see the benefit of all the connections and paths and obstacles that are presently set before us, our Present selves can only guess at outcomes.
We are left to internal battles -
Wait out that long sea voyage between foreign lands, and the familiar shores of home?
... Or forsake the shores we once - and certainly still - Love... for the joys and trappings of the new lands?
Where does "eagerness" to Live change to "impatience"? To "desperation"? **
So positive a thing shaped transcendentally into somehow negative forms?
...And by our own powers, or by that of things Beyond us?
For all that we might dive into our environments and immediate situations ... we remember the joys of both the new and the old - and the old is only as old as we make it. Sometimes, though, we can only best recall those old joys with new visits.
Army of Won
sudden, spontaneous poetry from word-play
What if the War was already won?
What if the War is already one?
What if won already was War the?
What if one already is War the?
The War was already won if what War is already one...
What War is already won, if already there was one War...
In to patterns we fall,
in word forms as in inert forms on the fields.
All lines, at different angles and directions,
having been given different angels and directions,
having been given different lines on the field
Where a different pattern lies on the field
different lies on the field
Where -what if- what we won on the field was one of those different lies?
Down to the last one,
We all fall into patterns
We all fall in
We all fall
We all
we
one.
~