Something like a life

A certain casualness,
a particular drift
through one’s life
perfected over time.
The story’s flow old,
imperfect and foibled.

Who can say
when you first learned
how one meanders
mistaken through daze
regardless of plan?
A becoming self
unwinding threadlike
or unspooled
like discovery.

You watched the past
disappear, mirror-like
in someone else’s life
(or so it seemed).
Disparate and separate
from imagined will.
Dreaming–a touch
wished for like sun.

Nay, fear not the heat
of late desire
and acceptance of
others’ need for you.
The freedom and
self-knowledge of
one in two or
two as one.

Whatever new beginning
shall pass as memory
of closeness eludes–
an ever-changing shadow.
Ghosts of live
in-person presence
once mutual and shared,
tasted on the tongue.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

‘Clover’ in Concert–March 1970, YMHA, Winnipeg

IMG

Find the blog author, 21. (Wayne mentioned in next poem in white.) Look Ma, no monitors! (How bands played live through the ’70s.)

To activate any photos not showing automatically, click red x on any picture. Then click “Continue to this website”–large, then smaller pic will emerge. When loaded, double-click upper left-pointing arrow twice to re-enter entire website with all photos now displayed. Pictures can then be enlarged or smallened as wished. Three sizes in total.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Goin’ Back

(for Wayne and the way it was)

Remembering who or what I was
slowly, in pieces returning,
the way I felt without
ever knowing where
I was really going.
In a dark grove somewhere,
the smell of evergreen
all around and the sound
of voices mixing together
harmonizing like a warm dream.

Never having to think,
only singing the next song
playing the next gig,
enjoying the passing fanship
and increasing respect
of peers and those searching
for something similar
in a world ever-revolving.

I hear that spirit today–
the simplicity of it all
a guitar, some drums
and bass moving through
the chord changes
and lovin’ sounds.
Sounds beyond school,
university and some
much-dreaded 9 to 5
waiting for us all
down the road.

It was all too easy and obvious
back then, those dreams.
Whatever was possible
arose in a basement
in a club, or on a swing
sitting around creating, sharing.
It was its own thing very much.
It was its own magic
and raison d’etre.
Our youth, our music–
together we were, once.

………………………………..

July 12/2013–written in minutes after listening online to the CBC radio interview with Ian and Sylvia (Tyson)–folk musical influences in the ’60s.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Sunday

“Watch the day fade away, babe
Watch the passing of Sunday (Sunday!)
Watch the day fade away, babe
Watch the passing of Sunday (Sunday!)….”

-Ian and Sylvia Tyson, “Sunday”, Lovin’ Sound

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Tim Hardin

“How can we hang on to a dream?
How can it really be the way it seems?”

–Hardin, “Hang on to a Dream”

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Big Question

Who or what would you be willing to die for?

The sort of question which helps to set or confirm priorities and values. The sort of question which, first of all, clarifies one’s own level of self-centeredness vs. other/s. It, of course, may not come to that, but is perhaps still relevant in such medical matters as donating blood or organs. The notion that, despite one’s situation or mortality, one may help or contribute to, even live on in someone else, so to speak.

As I have said several times previously in this blog, the best gifts are the gifts of self. This big question and the other discussed possibilities reveal how that may be true in extraordinary, unexpected, yet significant ways.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Taking Stock of One’s Day

Something about energy and enthusiasm, chi most likely, and its movement toward…?
Where is one going today? Is there a sense a movement or moving forward toward something (maybe even someone).

Likely something resembling felt meaning and purpose. “This is my goal or plan for the day. This really reflects who I most am, what represents my best, and some vague road to peace, pleasure, (outer) destiny, (inner) peace or personal fulfilment.”

Some daze the wheels spin or one feels ‘lost’ doing even the tiniest, most mundane things. To accomplish the smallest thing seems to require the greatest effort. Other times, one spiritually leaps over many tasks, distances, accomplishing literally everything. ‘On top of one’s game.’

It’s a matter sometimes of how the day registers. “Today I will likely do this much.” Or: “Today I will accept the flow of life and circumstance and not try to change the universe or others in any way at all.”

On the other hand, consciousness is consciousness, and one is aware always of how much or how little is going on as life ebbs and flows. Acceptance and letting go do have their roles, especially when one is finally removed from the daily drudgery of Work and ‘making a living’. In earlier years, there is always motion, routine, the ‘locked-in’ effect. Ambition, if one has any. Joni Mitchell’s “So many things I would have done…” is more likely the commoner tale of the lifetape–the projects only dreamed and left unfinished and unaccepted by others. And there is such a thing as “Going against the prevailing current” especially involving the many others, not just bosses or unimaginative people who control whatever purse strings.

I speak only from experience and add that, recurringly, I have found it necessary to ‘leave the formation’ and do and find what interests me or ‘is me’. I cannot hold others responsible for whatever their limits and limitations might be. That is for them to work out or through. Always I must make of my day what I shall do on my own–as me, for me, to begin with.

After all, if one pretty much knows who one is and what one is like, in both strengths and weaknesses–those limits and limitations I spoke of–then one is at least operating from a known base or within some common-sensible context regardless of what others or the greater world, including nature, are doing. It is much harder to get lost if you have answered the Alice Caterpillar’s question as much as you likely can or will.

An inner centeredness removes much that is seemingly in flux. That centeredness has the surety and confidence of inner freedom or autonomy that is not dependent on the whims of others and the buffets of the exterior world. Far better to have that state relative to family, friends, love, and even work.

Facts: there will always be change, obstacles, setbacks, crises, disappointments, disillusionments, stupidity, ignorance, and the numerous limits and limitations of others, let alone oneself. But one will always be most responsible for one’s own fate, one’s own life, one’s own satisfactions, pleasures, engagements, purpose, and meaning. No one else.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Three Horses

The snow had started falling again as I walked with my limping horse on the road. Given the cars sliding past us, I decided we’d do better on the sidewalk where others were walking, just to be on higher ground and patted my horse’s blanket-covered back gesturing where we were to go.

A tall man with a cane who had been hobbling ahead of us also made the same move. But when he reached the sidewalk, he took a tumble and fell hard in an undignified heap. “Well, aren’t you going to help him?” my horse looked at me, but I instinctively intuited the man’s independent air as he cursed, struggling slowly to his feet.

My horse indicated she wanted to meet the man who now stood shaking the snow from his cloak. When we got to him, she looked intently at the man, trying to communicate something of their lame similarity and how impressed she was that he had righted himself despite his bad leg. The craggy-faced old man was baffled and laughed heartily at my horse’s perspicacity. “Imagine, identifying with me!”

We then parted and my horse and I reached home only to find a note already waiting for us, inviting us to join a Mr. Steinbeck for an afternoon beverage at his place in the valley. Later when we arrived at his cabin, he was genial and hospitable, now more appreciating the earlier moment of identification between man and horse. As he and I sipped scotches, he fed my horse carrots by hand and remarked that “the third horse had been lame” like mine and him.

It was my turn to be confused. “You know the one” he continued. “The one who fell, but never got up again.” He rubbed my horse’s nape as he said this. “The one we both of us could have been. We were lucky,” he added, his blue eyes twinkling. “Yes, the one who never got up again.”

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

John Keats

“I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the Heart’s affections and the truth of the Imagination.”

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Musical Integrity

The two-note
chickadee song.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment