To thine own self be true

“Simply put, her life-problems were a recurrent spinning of wheels and a thoroughly lazy, self-satisfied disunified being. And thus it was that she had settled for less, blindly way less, in fact.”

aka You Always Hurt the One You Love.

‘Love marks’ after son’s little dog jumped from my arms before I could set her on the floor.

Tuesday 1 pm MT apparently, midway between moon and Earth. The closest one yet in memory with another sudden 24 hour warning.

Odds-wise, you gotta think “One of these times…” We have previously survived by the skin of our teeth. Or, alternately, as I’ve phrased it of late: “In the midst of life, we are….”

Well, certainly on many levels in our various personal, social, home, working, and otherwise lives and worlds. But the asteroid passings inevitably remind us of a whole other macrocosmic expression of my sayng. There is this uncanny reflectivessness and connectedness to all levels, all worlds, n’est-ce pas? Life and death–sometimes by half-the distance to the moon–being yet one more example of how this all works and connects.

One of my favorite passing moments. The ritualistic cloud of evening flies in spring or summer backlit by the falling sun hovering meaningfully and purposely about five feet above the backyard grass.

Always reminds me of a time one spring ago when a cloud of waxwings descended on the bird-feeder tray hanging from the backyard maple and did their own amazing slow-mo ritualistic dance. Something ‘built into’ Nature and instinct for different beings.

I suppose you could even say that this kind of illuminated/illuminating slow-mo dance goes on at human social functions as well. Fascinating to watch in a lazy, perpetual motion, each fly, bird, or human suddenly achieving some sublime state of pleasurable interaction and slowed-down ecstasy suddenly available to an observer’s perception and consciousness.

Yet another dead ringer for my deceased mother is on Frame channel right now. I have seen others in Victoria and one even on a plane. Seems apropos that her ghost should show up in time for Mother’s Day.
As I’ve long said, the dead, especially those of family, are with us all the time through our lives. We are constantly living in the midst of death, or surrounded/contextualized by death. Anyone who thinks differently is in denial.

family brunch at the Radisson on Gateway Blvd.

(Butchart Gardens in April and May)

-visiting with my kids and family
-walking at U of A early Saturday or Sunday mornings
-dining at the McDonald Hotel with friends
-reading with the Stroll of Poets
-riding my bike (except in winter) in my neighborhood
-looking after our own yard and fleurs (except in winter)
-attending classic plays at Studio Theatre and Citadel
-attending Symphony under the Sky in August
-attending jazz shows at Yardbird Suite
-attending select concerts around town
-travelling to Victoria or Vancouver in the spring
and the mountains in the fall

What is it thou still desirest of permanence, acceptance, understanding, appreciation, inner peace, true calm, self-sufficiency, self-actualization, meaning, love, and purpose?

is small potatoes compared to what people of olde had to go through, so many artists (Milton, Monet) going blind. Additionally, macular hole surgery (which I had earlier this year) was not possible before the 1990s with the result that millions went blind.

Yesterday I was reading about the last part of Monet’s life and how much he suffered to try and retain his sight through the “Water Lillies” years. He endured several operations (cataract surgery was in its infancy in the first part of the 20th century) which were only slightly successful at best. He still had to wear glasses with a thick lens and lost the sight of two or more primary colors, which needless to say affected his art at the end of his life.

Fortunately, most of his great art had already been accomplished and was widely known. He had the reputation of the most popular and top Impressionist by this point. But still, for him, sight was life and beauty and he was operating at a significantly diminished capacity. Like Beethoven who was clinically deaf at the end of his career, he soldiered on and returned to his studio to continue working despite his incredibly limited circumstances.

Today, health and medical technology continue to be the best of available technology, performing daily miracles for ordinary folk. I am looking forward to increased/regained vision (and maybe no glasses since age 12) which will, doubtlessly, inspire more poetry given how much vision means, likewise, to me.

But just think of what Monet might have done, still otherwise healthy in his ’80s beyond “Water Lillies”, how far he might have carried his large splendid Turnerian experiments transcending the concrete and specific for further abstract glories to the maximum of Impressionism.