half-sleep

through the night

the wind

howled and whistled

for attention.

i gave it my attention

but that wasn't enough.

happily

waking

and

seeing through

the cracked pane of glass

that frames the view from my bed . . .

a late autumn moon

still high in the sky

last night the wind and rain together blew,

the wall-curtains rustled in their autumn song.

the candle died, the water-clock was exhausted,

i rose and sat, but could not be at peace.

man's affairs are like the flow of floodwater,

a life is just like floating in a dream.

i should more often go drunken through the country,

for otherwise I could not bear to live.

li yu

tuning the air

if you are lucky enough to live in seattle

or somewhere near there,

here's an experience

that you might want to look into.

performance ensemble "tuning the air" has been playing in the seattle area for more than eight years.

tuning the air began as a development of courses taught by musician robert fripp.

named guitar craft, these courses offered musicians an opportunity

to integrate and refine their work both spiritually and musically.

the guitar craft courses grew out of a request to robert

to provide residential courses at claymont court underscoring

the course's intent and design

through claymont and robert's connection to philosopher j.g. bennett's own work.

these courses generated a number of guitar circles around the world including the seattle circle.

"tuning the air" itself grew out of the seattle circle,

an independent offshoot of guitar craft,

formed in response to a suggestion-challenge presented to members of guitar craft,

that they form a location-based performance ensemble.

the results and the direction they have taken are compelling.

have a look and a listen.

to learn more about the seattle guitar circle you can visit their dedicated website right here.

a very ecstacy

i was not more than eighteen

when an inner and esoteric meaning

began to come to me from all the visible universe,

and indefinable aspirations filled me.

i found them in the grass fields,

under the trees,

on the hill-tops,

at sunrise, and in the night.

there was a deeper meaning everywhere.

the sun burned with it,

the broad front of morning beamed with it;

a deep feeling entered me

while gazing at the sky in the azure noon,

and in the star-lit evening.

i was sensitive to all things,

to the earth under,

and the star-hollow round about;

to the least blade of grass,

to the largest oak.

they seemed like exterior nerves and veins

for the conveyance of feeling to me.

sometimes a very ecstasy of exquisite enjoyment

of the entire visible universe filled me.

i was aware that in reality

the feeling and the thought were in me,

and not in the earth or sun;

yet i was more conscious of it when in company with these.

words from richard jefferies' the story of my heart

i love buttertarts

it's funny but i made this post a while back and forgot about it.

this morning i woke up thinking about buttertarts and how very much i love them so

and how i needed to go to omemee

for some more.

so here's a forgotten post that mirrors the ride i'm actually taking again today

under much colder

blustery

snowy rainy

conditions.

i'll document this ride also and you'll see how very different

things are just a few weeeks later!

i notice that the trees and grass are still colourful.

- - - - - - -

oh i really, really love buttertarts.

really a lot!!

so

the promise of

the taste

of a fine homemade buttertart

(a really super homemade buttertart)

saw me put my bike on the trail

to the little town of omemee once again.

it was

a beautiful

windy blustery rainy

sort of day.

ideal for a long journey.

there was

not a soul on the trail

but myself.

the wind was in my face for the journey west,

but the slower pace allowed me to really enjoy the farmer's fields

and the wetlands

the signs all pointed west, so on i went

past silver birch long bare

and suddenly i was there!!!

land of the delectable tasties i crave . . .

a little main street omemee bakery named "rubies roost".

here's sherie and her mum - the proud owners.

they had just pulled a batch of buttertarts out of the oven.

so i tested one for them

("exceptional" was my judgement!)

and drained a mug of columbian joe to

add fuel to my return trip.

i bought six.

and rode them

very carefully back home

seventeen kilometres . . .

because i believe in sharing my fortune!

the elevation

it sometimes helps

to rise above as much of what we know as

"it all"

as is possible.

the rewards are often short

and just as often quickly forgotten.

but the feeling of release

from the tangled webs of daily life

is palpable and healing.

the elevation

above the valleys, over rills and meres,

above the mountains, woods, the oceans, clouds,

beyond the sun, past all ethereal bounds,

beyond the borders of the starry spheres,

my agile spirit, how you take your flight!

like a strong swimmer swooning on the sea

you gaily plough the vast immensity

with manly, inexpressible delight.

fly far above this morbid, vaporous place;

go cleanse yourself in higher, finer air,

and drink up, like a pure, divine liqueur,

bright fire, out of clear and limpid space.

beyond ennui, past troubles and ordeals

tthat load our dim existence with their weight,

happy the strong-winged man, who makes the great

leap upward to the bright and peaceful fields!

the man whose thoughts, like larks, take to their wings

each morning, freely speeding through the air,

- who soars above this life, interpreter

of flowers' speech, the voice of silent things!

charles baudelaire

translated by james mcgowan

canoe

the canoe is a canadian icon.

bound intimately to the landscape of this country,

it is a key element in our history

past and present.

the town i live in

was renowned for the canoes it made.

and so

in this town

you'll find

the national canoe museum.

canoes from the arctic,

the pacific,

the atlantic and

the eastern woodlands

are all on display.

the extraordinary craftsmanship

that each contains leaves you breathless.

each came from nature

and will eventually return to nature.

pearl fog

i was reading carl sandburg's poem "pearl fog"

and came across this lovely writing . . .

open the door now

go roll up the collar of your coat

to walk in the changing scarf of mist.

tell your sins here to the pearl fog

and know for once a deepening night . . . .

those are words that sing!

so, when i woke this morning

and saw the fog through the window,

i got right out of bed,

put on something to keep me dry

and headed for the woods.

just past this entanglement

is one of the ways in

keep going past the fairy dance-floor

take a moment and look at one tiny little universe unto itself

deeper still

and the sky is

filled with leafless tracery

and stop

with me

to watch

as the trees gather 'round

for a foggy morning conversation

wine and haiku

i looked out the classroom windows

off and on

throughout the day.

it rained and rained.

light then heavy

from a sky that was

blue-grey then

charcoal grey

and all the time the puddles

grew and grew!

needless to say -

the ride home was wet!

i was soaked within minutes of setting off.

but in my head

i knew,

i'd pass through some woods before

the end of this journey . . . .

and so it was!

i brought some haiku

by santoka taneda

and a bottle of red wine . . . .

come and walk with me

for a little while

through the woods

in the rain.

"just as it is —

it rains, I get wet, I walk"

"completely drenched —

this stone marks the way"

santoka taneda

"stretching out their branches

the winter trees"

santoka taneda

"even the sound of the raindrops

has grown older"

santoka taneda

it's getting late

time to turn towards home . . . .

along the way i see

"men, women

and their shadows

dancing"

oh you silly people!!

just enjoy yourselves!

their secret design

there's a stark emptiness about

late autumn trees.

their secret design -

as above

so below -

revealed for all to see.

the skies

throw

pastel-hued softness

about

their brittle bodies

and gather

the chaos of

their spindly

black india ink

splatter

of branches

twigs

and limbs

into

a request:

there is a spirit

in these trees . . .

love even!

and though

the cold glory

of autumn

has

removed

the outer beauty of their bodies,

there is a

tender metaphor

that speaks to me . . .

there it is -

my

self.

exposed

without

the outer trappings.

as above so below.

who has looked out?

not very far from my home -

perhaps twenty kilometres across rolling hills, farmland, dense woodlots -

is a magical place called lang pioneer village.

on a blustery autumn day,

under a cloud-filled sky,

i walked through the village.

no one was there.

it was absolutely still

but for the wind.

the wind ran

thin and silvery through the trees

passing soft and dusty

across the pathways

between the houses.

the leaves danced

red, green and yellow

hand-over-hand.

i was drawn to the windows.

who else has looked in . . .

who else has looked out . . .

these thin

ripple-glassed

windows?

symmetry

i like to listen

to the voices in my head.

the conversations / monologues are intriguing

and sometimes helpful!

there was one

recently

that was basically

focussed on the idea

that

"steven needs to change his route home."

- - -

so on my ride home,

i turned right at an intersection

and went north instead of west

as a result of which

i went by

the marina.

it's empty now.

there are no

cabin-cruisers

with party lights

illuminating

the quirky lifestyles of

fourty-somethings

just passing through

on their way to

nowhere.

no little sailboat

masts

gently

clinking

and clanking.

just the very soft sound

of water.

i love symmetry.

especially

when it's not entirely symmetrical

but has enough of

the warp and weft

of time

to skew the details

ever so slightly.

so i was captivated

when i clambered over

a wooden dock

and saw this

can i say that sometimes

it pays to listen

to the voices in your head!

back bone cloud

i saw this.

towards the end

of a day.

not unlike other days -

with their demands

and gifts

almost equally balanced.

it lasted all of fifteen minutes.

i straddled my bike

and stood

watching its

unfolding

like a spine in the clouds.

one-by-one,

vortices

emerged

that i later compared

to the whorls and silvered curves

of water

behind a rock

in a slow and purposeful

river.

a river of sky.

(click the image to enlarge it).

peacefully within

shiro kasamatsu moon at matsushima

it's cold this night in autumn's third month,

peacefully within, a lone old man.

he lies down late, the lamp already gone out,

and beautifully sleeps amid the sound of rain.

the ash inside the vessel still warm from the fire,

its fragrance increases the warmth of quilt and covers.

when dawn comes, clear and cold, he does not rise,

the red frosted leaves cover the steps.

bai juyi

shufu miyamoto autumn leaves at temple gate