new year's eve

the end of a year.

not quite a wall.

a wall

in one way

with windows.

a little high for me

kind of hard to see through

what's coming?

what might be right on the other side of that wall?

i should tell you

i have just had one of the most challenging

and one of the most amazing years

in my life

and as i just got to share with a neighbour

i wake every day entirely thrilled to be alive

 and grateful for the opportunity

truth

so i am entirely

hopeful 

for myself

and each 

of you

that your lives

or some part of your lives

are blessed

with happy making fortune

grace

love

steven

post solstice deliveries

a load of coloured light makes its way

towards montreal on the four oh one

yummy tail lights!

on the way back from toronto

behind six snowploughs

side-by-side

gotta find beauty wherever i am!

this bench

i love going down to the lake . . .

see . . .

there's something of the essence of my dad there . . .

and i have ridden all the way around this lake - eleven hundred kilometres -

and i know that the good dudes in webster who took care of me and my cycling friends two years ago are getting our prayers

grace

water and air and stone

an early wintersong:

wear me down

wear me

home

christmas day!

early christmas morning 

the light and the colours are dancing 

in glorious remembering 

and glorious creation . . . . 

the day before

christmas eve day! 

this or that or . . .

in the kindergarten play area - a painted symbol i call - "this, that or the other thing"

go to the yellow line. stop. 

got to the open space and . . . . . . 

so like the rest of their lives

standing

we form such 

brief impressions

a moment's glance

an overheard phrase

a rumour

a sense

and from that 

tumbles the lasting sensation

that passes for relationship

each impression

echoing the first

and if the echo is muffled

or incongruent

then it is dovetailed

forcibly

to correspond

with that which has gone before

and this goes on

and on

until one day

the artifice

becomes too much to bear

and no matter 

how much is contained -

no matter how much is hidden

it all comes tumbling out

and down on the floor

in all its emptiness

in all its nothingness

and you find yourself

right there on the floor

with the sorry

fragments

of your own creation

and standing up

becomes the most important

and most singular expression

of yourself

and who you really are

and so

here i am

standing

the weather settles in

and then the weather settled in as unsettled weather seems to choose to do.

rain.

snow

freezing rain.

combinations of the the three.

the trees were disinterested

having seen this 

all before . . . 

never mind the weather

thirty above

or ten below

i'm pretty certain

they don't care

they just do their thing

becoming more

their tree fingers

reach

in the direction

of the sky

above the trees

on the far shore

i'm drawn to look

and see the blued

grey scale 

of a fog softened

evening

geese fly overhead

their wings

a muffled ullulation

radiance

“people should not worry as much about what they do but rather about what they are. if they and their ways are good, then their deeds are radiant. if you are righteous, then what you do will also be righteous. we should not think that holiness is based on what we do but rather on what we are, for it is not our works which sanctify us but we who sanctify our works.”

meister eckhart

santa gives me the thumbs up!

i got to spend some quality time

with santa

and i took the opportunity

 to check in as far as

the whole "naughty or nice" business goes 

because really

and truly . . . 

i do live my life -

and sometimes

i bet

(depending

on your inclination

or your sense of good or bad

right or wrong)

i might dance somewhat haphazardly

and unpredictably

on either side of that fence

so i was super jazzed

when the hirsute one

slipped me a bag of candies and assured me

that i was a good dude

and in for more of the same

in terms of good times

and treats and happiness!

christmas lights

i love christmas lights

i love their colours

their unlikely warmth

i especially love

the story they tell of the people

on the other side of the door

of the house

they are lighting up!

for the better

looking out at the world

upwards

while standing on

my front porch

i am filled

with a sense of yearning

to see this world change sufficiently

for the better

in ways that i have 

hoped for

for as long as i can remember

in my own small part

and for my own small part

i have never let up

and perhaps

that is all i can ask 

of myself

i don't believe

that it's appropriate

to ask the same of others

each of us finds our way

to rightness and goodness

(more often it finds us first)

in our own time

and in our own way

and yet

i cannot prevent my heart

from 

expressing its most fervent hope

that no matter

who 

or what you are

that you accept the privilege of life

by bringing

whatever goodness you can

into this world

and in so doing

this world will change

gently

inexorably

for the better

on the line

on the line

morning

from the back window

no movement

a slow wash

of orange

to tangerine

to pale pink

ahhh my boy

from late summer

clouds playing

this day

my eighteen year old dawson boy's birthday.

12 - 12 - 12

its own

sweet synchronicity

he tumbled into this world

very much himself

and now

he is entirely

and utterly

so much more

so

very much more the beautiful

loving

gentle

manboy

he is intended to be

the autumn river

the fish and dragons are still and silent, the autumn river cold,
a peaceful life in my homeland always in my thoughts. 

words by du fu excerpted from autumn meditation 4

this temple

i rose with a sense

my senses

told me stories

one after the other

she was

she wasn't

she had slept in my arms

she had slept outside

there was no telling

there were no words

the measured shuffle

of satin slippers on ricepaper

the sudden flutter

of birds

a whispered scent

of cherry blossom

a solemn 

morning sun

colouring the mist

i was entirely

empty

of myself

and in this moment
i was

entirely contained

in everything else

ito yuhan      kiyomizu temple in spring

tiny changes

the shuttle
of my thinking
the thread of my being
as entirely present
as the quietude
of a late autumn day

"while i'm alive, i'll make tiny changes to earth."

frightened rabbit

stillness

on my way to school yesterday morning

stillness

leaving

in the day they pass overhead and you can feel as much as hear the great beating of their wings and their talking to each other wrestles its way through the windows like some strange song being sung from very far away and yet, they are entirely there right above our heads and my class rushes to the window to say goodbye . . .

four years

four years ago today my dad flew away.

it was as expected as it was unexpected.

my dad was a man who was drawn to the simple pleasures of this world while also being drawn to enrich his spiritual self through his practice as a buddhist 

and a never ending hunger to learn and to know.

my dad over the course of his life shared much of himself with me, particularly his eccentricities, his love of food and drink, his appreciation of good things and then, eventually of good people, and most especially his love of knowledge.

after a tumultuous first half of our lives, i made my peace with my dad and we arrived at a point of mutual care and respect that was characterized by the best hugs i have ever shared with a man. 

i loved him dearly.

who we are

i love that each of us is in detail and essence utterly unique. 

the first battle of our lives and sometimes the longest and hardest fought, 

is the battle with the many forces bent on providing us with compelling rationales to deny who we are, 

or who we are intended to be. 

that the strange need for this world to achieve a sort of homogeneity

 precludes the possibility of many to not only retain their uniqueness,

but to achieve the possibilities that that uniqueness might bestow,

is surely the saddest casualty of this battle.

the creation

as i understand it

is a creative unfolding event

of which i am one very small part

my place in the creation

is to honour

the obligation

of my existence

i do so

by waking each and every day

with the intention

of discovering more of my place

and purpose

and celebrating through my work

and wishes and dreams

and most especially my hope

my uniqueness.

late afternoon

come up for a drink

i'm not the man

i loved this piece of music then and i still feel good sharing it here now . . .

can't beat english r and b bands . . . channeling sam cooke . . . . 

when the rains fall

a rainy day in december . . .

music today from robert fripp and theo travis . . .

beautiful music created live and very much in the moment . . .

sky cake

when buildings 

look like cake

expensive cake

i love to see them against the tablecloth 

of a blue sky

my "buddy"

this is my daily ride

since moving into my new home

on the north edge of downtown

(you know . . .  the slightly cool 

almost well to do place called the "teacher's college area")

i've left him outside

mmm hmmmm

i gave my bike a gender

"him"

strange

but true . . . 

. . . nope no name!

but i do refer to him as "buddy"

at times when he bails me out of tight spots

"thanks buddy you're so good to me . . ."

when he gets me to places quickly and safely

"thanks buddy for being so understanding . . ."

when he carries insane amounts of food or beer

in the panniers

or huge items for my house

through rain and shine and fog

and now snow

"come on in buddy" when the weather's so crap outside that i understand 

why the chain comes off 'cause the rear derailleur's so gummed up from the dried oil 

and street muck 

and yeah

he's a machine for sure

but somehow he conjures the need in me

to take risks

and to move quickly

he definitely prefers the downtown streets

to the west end streets he used to live on

see for starters

there are other riders on

downtown streets and they've got "colour"

ya know what i mean by "colour?"

some of them are on

slick wheels . . .

hardcore riders who don't repond to my "hello's", my "good morning's", my "hey dude's!"

my "sweet bike brother!"

 but then

who knows what shit their lives are filled with?!

and i say with all my heart and fifty two years of riding under my arse

that when you're on two wheels

anywhere

anytime

tell me

you aren't the luckiest person alive!!!

go ahead

tell me it ain't true!!!

downtown there's more riders who are on rusted squeaking wobbling whips

my faves are the

bikes somehow wrestled together

from the scrap bin on aylmer

and cobbled onto bits

from punked bikes left punched and trammelled

on the side of the road or chained to poles

with more and more bits missing every day

their wheels warped and exploded

like an umbrella in a high wind

those are the most righteous bikes

always

always ridden by guys who don't wear helmets, goretex gloves,

or jackets striped with reflective tape and pants shipped purolator from portland

"the hub of the bike universe"

nope those dudes are wearing third hand mark's work wearhouse pants

and maybe a carhart jacket that somehow slipped through

the value village filter  

and boots . . . 

always steel toed boots with no laces

and when i pass those dudes i nod a slight nod and they always

nod a slight nod right back.

no smile

no words

just the connection

that sweet so very real moment

when we say without saying anything

"we're hurtin' in our own ways -

it's tough being human isn't it?!"

but both of us

are free

for this brief time being

while we ride our bikes

through the streets

and our nods are like tickets

granting us safe passage to the next way-station

to the next set of lights

to the next coffee or drink

to the next car that somehow doesn't see us

or somehow fails to anticipate a choice 

we have no choice but to make

and when we arrive

at the doors to our homes

and switch on the light and leave

our bikes

i know 

that at that very moment

the very last glimmer of energy from those nods

drifts off into the night

and i can say

in all honesty and with affection

"thanks buddy"

to my bike sitting out on the porch

superstitious

time passes and music settles deeper and deeper . . .

in the night

late in the night

the popping and banging and creaking

of this old house

remind me of my own gently aging bodies'

struggles

each day 

and so i get up and touch its walls 

and run my hands along its 

framed doorways and railings

reassuring it

and drawing it closer

before returning

to my own bed

filled with the soft light

of 

the three a.m. streetlamps

everything revealed

like fenceposts

drowned in the water

pointing inwards

"everything revealed is magical,

splendid in its ordinary shining."

excerpted from "february ground" marge piercy

it happens all the time in heaven

it happens all the time in heaven,

and some day

it will begin to happen

again on earth -

that men and women who are married,

and men and men who are

lovers,

and women and women

who give each other

light,

often will get down on their knees

and while so tenderly

holding their lover's hand,

with tears in their eyes,

will sincerely speak, saying,

"my dear,

how can I be more loving to you;

how can I be more

kind?"

hafiz

don't surrender

don't surrender your loneliness so quickly

let it cut more deep.

let it ferment and season you

as few human or even divine ingredients can

something missing in my heart tonight

has made my eyes so soft

my voice so tender

my need of God

absolutely clear.

hafiz

the bridge

and forever and forever,

   as long as the river flows,

as long as the heart has passions,

   as long as life has woes;   

the moon and its broken reflection

   and its shadows shall appear,

as the symbol of love in heaven,

   and its wavering image here.

excerpted from "the bridge" by henry wadsworth longfellow

ripe depths

i've dreamt of rivers

sinuous

and

thick with time

silent

only shadows stir in their ripe depths

thanks

it's lovely to wake to a world of fog and tangerine lights and softened trees and the gentle dripping of captured droplets coalescing into single drops then returning to the earth eventually . . . .

i ran out of storage space on picasa today and so in order to continue illustrating this blog i'll need to purchase more space. that may / likely will happen later today . . . .

for now then . . .


“wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving.” - kahlil gibran

kahlil was a good dude . . .  thanks for the reminder brother!

exultation

exultation is the going
of an inland soul to sea,—
past the houses, past the headlands,
into deep eternity!

emily dickinson

ignorance

a man's ignorance sometimes is not only useful, but beautiful--while his knowledge, so called, is oftentimes worse than useless, besides being ugly. which is the best man to deal with--he who knows nothing about a subject, and, what is extremely rare, knows that he knows nothing, or he who really knows something about it, but thinks that he knows all?

henry david thoreau

my vicinity

"my vicinity affords many good walks; and though for so many years i have walked almost every day, and sometimes for several days together, i have not yet exhausted them. an absolutely new prospect is a great happiness, and i can still get this any afternoon. two or three hours' walking will carry me to as strange a country as i expect ever to see."

henry david thoreau

straight to the heart

a mid afternoon walk through an older part of town

opens my eyes

to treasures

that have seen 

and know much

people

houses

trees

even sidewalks

and then of course

the younger

plants

proudly showing off

berries

bright red

sweet to the eyes

straight to the heart!

without condition

i saw this leaf . . . still pale red

with hints of tangerine about its fringes

lying still

asleep

nestled in the fingers and arms

and throats and eyes and arms and hearts

of a hedge

that had somehow taken 

this leaf  . . . still pale red

with hints of tangerine about its fringes

into

their welcoming

fingers and arms

and throats and eyes and arms and hearts

without condition

oh the stories . . .

i wondered at the stories that could have run

the length of the ropes 

attached to the boats

carrying the people

who stopped at this lone mooring

if

they had been given the chance

shine!

Already in front of the islet, the rushes and reed flowers shine!

du fu

i have spread my dreams

he wishes for the cloths of heaven

had i the heavens' embroidered cloths,
enwrought with golden and silver light,
the blue and the dim and the dark cloths
of night and light and the half-light,
i would spread the cloths under your feet:
but i, being poor, have only my dreams;
i have spread my dreams under your feet;
tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

w.b. yeats

november 13

i'll be here to welcome you back!

reaching

on river road coming back from lakefield 

these reeds

reaching up reaching out

reaching in

november

this is the treacherous month when autumn days
with summer's voice come bearing summer's gifts.
beguiled, the pale down-trodden aster lifts
her head and blooms again. the soft, warm haze
makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways,
and, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts,
the violet returns.

excerpted from "november" by helen jackson

waiting to fall

my eyes

fell through

this leaf crested archway

i rested

tangled

in the branches

held like summer

dry and spent

waiting to fall

half moon run

lovely music! 

i ask for more and accept much less 

with genuine gratitude!

because less . . .

is more

than i could imagine -

effulgent

this little moment in a river reflecting an early november sky . . . trees newly bare of their summer clothing . . .

on one of my rides around the east side of the river . . a new route for me . . .

and one of the last images from my old camera which has gradually been giving up its spirit . . .

thankyou little camera . . .

the hunt

after hurricane sandy sent long howling whistling fingers of rain through the trees it has become even more difficult to find the last vestiges of colour still clinging to their sugared summery memories and so imagine my joy when i found one slender tree holding ever so tightly to her leaves!!!!!