Something

I'm not sure if I can catch it all from six a.m. here; 'Pacific time', as I understand it is called... Sunday morning; not properly light now 'til seven--seven thirty...( never expect me to be precise--I can't).

There'd been no connection...I and her, over yesterday. I had waited for her to innitate... how indellibly that was now etched into my reality... the warp and weft of me--personal piece of the puzzle. I emailed twice, innitiated a chat twice. No response on the emails no e-mail back.... (she did say when she had something to say she would write... some time before that...) I mean: okay... Our chats were great... I mean, well for me. Her response seem so right on... I mean, take the age difference out of it... we had a lot to exchange on... and she did say she preferred ..... such and such regarding her males...But neither had a touch with the other in reality.

Words can be true, honest, sincere... but, ultimately, the reality; flesh, bones, attitudes, appearances--- this and that, that will ultimatley impress the full shape; one psyche on another...that there might be that intermesh of talent, feeling, urge, receptivity... understanding.... that special-- above all else, of 'other language,' and a sweet longing for the other's presence. That hamony of mesh; even of difference. That reality comprehension of the malability of things in form's illusions... That cooperation of weaknesses and strengths... That wholeness of their individual view.

How best can I explain.... Okay! Take my daughter... she's in her thirties --just thirty, and in a new relationship .... She comes in and around me oft times... and, without words... without anything other than the confidence she excudes, the actual progression I see happening in her life in a real way... in her job... that she is generally okay. The harmony sensed --the soft gentle giving, we, who'm she loves, bask in... Something happens to oneself when another is communicating like that. You enter the comunication with them.

It doesn't engender a whole batch of questions... a torrent of judgments on this and that, (all ascribed words of course, and use like bludeons upon another's free spirit; sometimes out of fear, of stepping out of tradition... of an anomily-- a difference. A think for oneself... a feel for oneself into outer darkness... )

I come to my "Blogs." In one's aloneness where loneliness steals a moment through some chink; some crack not yet fully prepared for the winter.... Nothing to fit, here; only to form. We form around each other in our fit... We form our words around those special events.

Words; images, done by the cunning artists that have led us astray into strange ideas and uses for our lands... Led us from ourselves... from each other... led us into abstract beliefs about places to be with out substance outside of material, where we can hope to attain all our fleshy desires. Oh! how primitive, when once we were capable of living in so much more silence around our cabbages... our way with the earth. Capable this human potential of knowing how well we were... how warm we were, how tired.... how hopefull of an abundant crop... How well it was with each other... How well it was with our product...Our future...

Ah... but as the path narrows and rises one realizes in ones own communications, communicaiton with age...that the word future, now, must be challenge. I mean, what do I mean when I use it? What does it mean when it is used by youth?



You can put words, music and ryme whatever you want around that communication; it is worthy of it, but there it is withoout... between us and that is ours as a species...even as individuals, it don't need explaining; it doesn't set up a billion questions....or tie a knot in one's gut... It heals... it smooths away the wrinkles of concern... relaxes the tense... serves in its motions... fills with its own contentment... that language which of course, as I said, is so much more than language in the interchange...

That's the loneliness that on occasions sneak's in on one... on these ascending trails. Trails, that lead back to those verdent valleys of our youth... The crowd thins, too... not so many on the road as there was, some having left the journey here, that still I cary: jewels, like spun glass droplets holding our dream together, as a necklace around my heart--Eve... spun with you.

I could not help feeling though in these abstract exchanges it was all preliminary-- excerpts of a wide range of give and take.... But heavens! I keep reminding my self ....

Something is desperately trying to understand. Something, that is, without form; without substance in this material sense my body has its form...is known as such, within this 'something'. (though that term: 'something,' I have uttered, for I know not what else to use to give direction, is primitive and drips with ignorance of that which is beyond us, we idolaters.. worshipers of form's substances--terms... Ah! how can I now hope to coin the shape of this. These abstract events out here in Cyber space... fragments of place in computers elsewhere. One reaches now from Aloneness to another mind... another register of feelings within that special suffering of loneliness for her: sweet Eve... That loving focus back upon the self... that flow-out of nectre in a yeild, back, one's substance exchanged. How real it all was: ever present all around one; responded too, was touched by though remotely now... and memories stored...

A moment spent in that cyber space where mind can dance again... or over at the local store and she says.... I haven't seen you around for a while... and you know you were missed... and you feel the communcation again and smile into each others eyes... and she turns to the next customer to check out his wares... and you home with your groceries...

The weakness is mine... I am vulnerable... and its correct the path narrows and rises. I sometimes think I am ready to enter a monastry... my own personal cell... for my latter studies... High say on a cliff over looking the plane and valleys below... but high up near the peak of the mountain Maybe the Himalaans.... To withdraw completel from friend lover and family these latter days... Now is the time for such things...

I had pulled up the venition blind on my one-wall, window pane; large expance to view tree limbs richly festoon with voluptuous leaves, plump from summers growth... from a ballance of sun and rain... these old Chestnuts and old pine.

Fragments; it all tumbles back into fragments as I withdraw from active participation... Back within my mind, say... in retrospect on all my own doings in the way of life and procreation...My own growth- passage through the stages, on the round of seasons.

Fragments of the road below... the boulivards and pavement, fragments of vehicles; cars, busses and trucks and bicycles, as they come and go.. or park awhile... fragments of people... fragments of their scene... as they pass. Fragments of their sound... the trafic's sound... skate boards, roller blades. Tinny clanging of the wheeled shopping carts being gathered by a stock boy---carts left behind by the shoppers...

I didn't get it all, not by a long shot... not my walk to take the videos back... the leaves I gathered the runners I saw on their annual run... all the other countless stuff tiny stuff that goes on in a persons day... Like I say: Something.