the right to share the exotic

I have never been a fan of the zoo. It has always seemed a sad place for me. Yesterday, I was at loose ends and went looking for a photo op. I went to our local zoo. It is as good as any, I understand. I wandered for several hours and saw animals that seemed bored or putting on a show to interact with the species looking in through the wire fences/bars/glass barriers.

I got some decent photos, but at what price? The price of captivity for most of the animals seems obvious. But, what is the price we pay for this moment of viewing the exotic, far from their natural environments. The pensive Snow Leopard brought to mind this deep felt poem of Rilke. Rodin had told him to go out into Paris and observe. This was one of those moments for the young Rilke. Still holds for those of us who are old.

The Panther

His gaze has from the passing of the bars

grown so tired that it holds nothing anymore.

It seems to him there are a thousand bars

and behind a thousand bars no world.

The supple pace of powerful soft strides,

turning in the very smallest circle,

is like a dance of strength around a center

in which a great will stands numbed.

Only sometimes the curtain of the pupils

soundlessly slides up ─ then an image enters,

slides through the limbs’ taut stillness

dives into the heart ─ and dies.

Rainer Maria Rilke

tr. by Edward Snow

scavenging

It has become a custom in my neighborhood to put out usable objects for passersby to recycle for their own use. This room size rug was prominently placed at the edge of the rec center/children’s park--a popular place for displaying “goods”. The rug is an amazing green color, but had one serious qualification from the previous owner. BTW, I like the lettering and graphics.

a time for quiet

It is a cold, foggy Sunday morning in the City. A time for quiet, as the fog dampens not only the air, but sound. It does not seem like a time for endings or a time for beginning. Just a near silent morning thinking about today, not so much about yesterday and very little about tomorrow. Reflecting on temporality: this magnificent butterfly remains magnificent.

blue light of awareness

Late in the evening as I was walking home, I saw the grizzled old man who frequently sleeps in doorways and on bus benches on Mission Street. I have commented on him in an earlier blog. I have observed him from the bus window. I sometimes walk past him when he seems to be passed out. I have watched him as he incoherently discourses with the passing traffic. All of these times, I have seen him. Last night, he looked up at me as I passed and I realized that he recognized me, too. I had never once thought about him observing me. This was a shattering awareness of my role as “unseen” observer. A psychic way of separation and self-protection that feels very, very uncomfortable.  

too large to comprehend

My world has seemed overly busy, congested, problematic and sometimes too large to comprehend recently. I stepped outside and the light changed it all ─ the branch of a common bottle brush tree pressing up against a wall, soft, beautiful and simple. For a moment in time, the other was forgotten.

watching the super moon

The largest, most super moon of 2013 happened this morning, Sunday, June 23^rd, according to the meteorologist. In San Francisco, if we are to believe such a thing ─ we simply must have a lot of faith and trust. Summer here often means we are shrouded in a lovely mist (well, actually chilly fog). It is difficult to observe celestial happenings unless you are on top of a mountain, and that means leaving town.

in a Mayan temple

This morning, I walked by the light-well window in my old Edwardian flat in San Francisco at 8:44 a.m. I was stunned by the exact alignment of the morning sun through the 5 or 6 inch space between my building and the house to the north. (San Francisco homes are often built with separate walls, but almost touching).

I guess I thought for a moment that I was an ancient Mayan astronomer noting something of great significance left to me by incredibly brilliant ancestors. Well, not really, but had fun thinking about how the San Francisco land use of 1910, when my building was built, might have some relationship to thousand year-old temples in the Yucatan.

For some reason, I was unable to make a Father’s Day blog entry today. The memories seem bound up too tight and the images just would not come. I will try on another day.

simply stunned

Today, I had the first gloriously ripe organic peach of the summer season. That moment of perfection that leaves you simply stunned. As you can see, I have two more stunning moments ahead.

But, the bowl of pits. Now, that is an example of an idea that has become obsession. In 2007, I was so happy to have the wonderful stone fruits and began to realize that each seed was slightly different. Thought it might make a photo shoot or some sort of an art project. Well, I put the 2007 pits into this bowl from Macao and that started it. The “heart” of every stone fruit that I have eaten since has gone into this bowl. What to do with them? When to stop? I can imagine someone sorting through my belongings when I have gone off to that orchard in the sky and saying….”what was he thinking?”

artist's commitment

This amazing artwork was on the hood of a 60’s Chevy. The artist painted directly onto the metal and then had a specially developed protective glaze over it all. He told me that it took nearly a year to complete the entire car. The reflection of the overhead wires was the City’s way of complementing the art. I am deeply impressed by the commitment of any artist to the development and maybe perfection of their form. Would we view this work differently if it were shown in museum, or even as a high-end advertisement?

The Mission district in San Francisco has a long history of car clubs and individuals who keep the tradition of customization of cars that was popular in the 50’s.

This is a design from the rear of the car---decided to add it after I had posted the first picture.

 

do not disturb

Is this reptile cautious, grumpy or just quietly observant. Seemed to be saying “back off” and certainly watched me every minute that I was in his/her territory. Or, maybe after a long work week, I just wanted to think “do not disturb”… probably anthropomorphizing.

it is worth a lot

A new butterfly/moth (?) visited my meadow sage today. I simply could not identify it in my butterfly book or online. But, it is such a pleasure to have wildlife of some sort on my cement-encrusted back garden…makes life in the City seem more natural. And, it was just nice to observe.

No picture of this, but walking back from the store/library this afternoon, three young boys (6 or 7 years old) came racing by…one on a skateboard and his two friends cavorting, pushing and all of three nearly done in with laughter. And, most of the people on the street were completely into the joy…lots of smiles and nods from the stodgy old folks (anything over 20). When the kids stopped, I noticed that one was pressing a Kleenex to his cheek. A bit bloody. His friend said “where is your tooth?” “In my pocket…not going to lose that! It is worth a lot.”

Lesson: taking in stride the loss of a baby tooth and just having fun with your friends is not an occasion for being upset.  And, besides, “it is worth a lot”.

sunsets

I have been slowly trying to find a way to have a Mother's Day memory that was not about the sentimental moments with my Mom. She has been gone for many years and the memories are dusted with sentiment and maybe even turned sepia with age. One thing she so loved was the sunset. In her years of living on Maui, I knew better than to call for our weekly visit until the sun had set over the Pacific. It is a sweet memory. One of her favorite hymns was Sunset and Evening Star, the poem by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. Just a nice memory to close out the day.


Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.

sunday in the park

I thought of Seurat when I saw the crowd on the hillside at Dolores Park celebrating Cinco de Mayo. And, the mural is on a deli at the end of my block and on the way to the park. It seems so wonderful to me that a painting from 1866 would influence how I saw the crowd today....and, of course, the muralist had a similar thought when he used the pointillism to create a tableau of local folks enjoying a day in the sun. Was I influenced by Seurat or by the mural I walk by every day?

(The mural is just down the block from the red brick church the artist placed on the edge of the park.)

west of the West

California already is heaven, is a form of heaven, and anyone who lives in California knows the mystical quality of Big Sur, the importance of it - it's west of the West, it's where the dream stops.

                                                       Jean-Marc Barr on his role as Kerouac in Big Sur. 

 

tasting the season

Early this morning, at my neighborhood market, the produce man was putting out a wonderful display of fresh strawberries from a nearby farm. In the next bin was the last citrus of our local season, still good, but clearly the winter citrus time is over.

Summer is “stone fruit” season. Each day gives us something superb: with dozens of varieties of peaches, pluots, plums and apricots. We seem to know the week by what will be at its perfect ripeness. It is almost too much! Maybe it is too much. But, we indulge.

However, the weather changes and the coming of brilliant Cara Cara oranges, a vast array of mandarin-type citrus, luscious pears and crisp autumn apples say “it is fall”...simple joys through the cold, gray days of winter.

Then, Spring and a couple of weeks of sunshine produces a new bounty….berries. We don’t really need a calendar to tell us of the changing seasons…we can taste it. 

who stand and wait

Patiently waiting dogs outside a nearby coffee shop…not quite what Milton had in mind with his near perfect sonnet, On His Blindness. I don’t mean to make light of this beautiful poem, but the focused waiting of these dear companions immediately made me think of the final line…a beautiful reminder for me about patience and what our purpose really must be.

When I consider how my light is spent

Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,

And that one talent which is death to hide

Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent

To serve therewith my Maker, and present

My true account, lest he returning chide,

"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"

I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent

That murmur, soon replies: "God doth not need

Either man's work or his own gifts: who best

Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state

Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed

And post o'er land and ocean without rest:

They also serve who only stand and wait."

 

just one seed

The miracles of Spring on the smallest scale have been very much in my thoughts the last few days. Perhaps because life on a larger scale has been difficult to hold: friends and family dealing with major health issues, the daily news overwhelmed by negative/violent stories, the utter dysfunction at the political level.

What an astonishing thing it is for one seed….just one seed…. to burst forth in its cycle of birth/rebirth.  That is what I am given to hold today. The other thoughts are really irrelevant when the miracle of being bursts in! Digging around in my little garden area this morning and visited by three butterflies…two monarchs and a wood nymph, I think. Without a camera that would catch them at a distance, so I am attaching a tiny, wild Lupine that I discovered in a nature preserve in the Sacramento delta….just because it seems right today.

to live, not exist

 

 Despite my best intentions to not let age and aging impact my zest for life, somehow a birthday (yes, it is one of those days) brings a dreary and more serious contemplation of who I am and where I have yet to go. I appreciate reflection, but do not want to get mired in what could have been, or even more destructive, what should have been. I am using this wonderful quote from Jack London to spur me into a truly positive space today.

“I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. The function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.”

Second photo is that brilliant blaze....in opposition 

to the contemplative, dreary grey man. I used this photo
once before here...on another contemplative day.

not to grow neutral

“….and I am left with these alternatives,

to find a new mask for what I wish to be,

or try to be a man without a mask,

resolved not to grow neutral, growing old.

Hand over hand eagerly I crawl

back to uncertainty.”

John Hewitt: The Modelled Head

This absolutely glorious bloom greeted all passersby at the San Francisco Botanical Garden and I thought it would be wonderful to share in wishing everyone a joyous Easter.

marsh plants

In a now-dry section of the marsh, this beautiful explosion of potential life is still tightly attached to its briars is waiting for the right moment to propagate. 

Just a few feet beyond, the dampness has allowed thousands of buds on the marsh plants to nearly open.

I sometimes feel like that thistle, dry at the end of winter and ready to float freely into Spring. Other days, I feel buds pushing to open, my feet firmly planted in the rich, loamy soil that it has taken years to develop. And, I laugh. Still can’t answer reasonably…”this is who I am”.

 Photos are from the southern edge of the estuary into Tomales Bay.

new beginnings

The first day of Spring. Just pausing a moment to think about how I (we?) make a point of renewal in certain events….New Year, Vernal Equinox, major birthdays, anniversaries of significant events in my life. Yet, every day, probably every hour, offers the opportunity to change my habits, thinking, or the direction of my life. This morning, I brewed my usual mug of good coffee. What if I had steeped a cup of a vibrant tea? Or, skipped the stimulus entirely? Would that tiny act be a new beginning?

Two photos from the street. Spring was anticipated by someone who planted the iris bulbs or planned the blooming street tree. And, their action created a sign of renewal for everyone passing by.

I posted a different tree in bloom a couple of weeks ago. It fascinates me to think that just a block away from the previous post, this tree has suddenly burst into bloom. The micro-climates in the City are amazing!

free expression

What constitutes the rights of an “artist” to make a statement? Is it protected speech? Or, does it simply become an object, a thing, once it is created?

This new “expression” near my home covers part of a mural at a playground that had already seen additional “expression” by graffiti artists.

The first amendment to the Constitution is central to how Americans see our rights. Restrictions on expressing our opinions, ideas, hopes & fears are sometimes seen as unlimited. Yet, there are dozens of restrictions from incitement to a crime to defamation or obscenity.

Artists, whom I respect, in our community argue that graffiti is free speech. Yet, defacing the "speech" of another is a line that I am unwilling to negotiate. If freedom to make an artistic statement impinges on the rights of others…for speech, for property rights, for a livable community…should it be protected? When it is egregious disregard for community values and simply blatant egotism, I can't justify it.

And, when the building is finally re-painted as protection against the weather, is that an infringement on the speech of the muralist, the graffiti artist and the most recent shadow painter?

pollen

Everywhere in my neighborhood there is an explosion of Spring. 

Allergies are a main topic of conversation. 

Thinking about pollen and its essential role in propagating life ─ 

why has human sensitivity evolved in a counter direction. 

What does our immune system reflect about our disconnect 

with natural processes? 

No answer. Just a question.

spontaneous smiling

Walking down Valencia Street yesterday, I realized 

that how I observe people, the place, the action has changed. 

The awareness came as I realized that in one city-block,  I had smiled 

at an overheard conversation of two young women discussing a potential boyfriend; 

smiled at the look of boredom on a child in a stroller; 

and smiled at the fierce look of a gentle bulldog on a bejeweled leash. 

The three smiles, spontaneous, without judging the observation 

is a leap forward for me. 

And, I think it can be attributed to the Small Stone project: 

being part of the observation, not making an intellectual assessment.

This photo has nothing to do with the musing above. I just like it. :-)

in the moment

Most of us live very little in the present.

If we could watch our thoughts,

we would be surprised to see how much time

we spend in the past or future –

or simply daydreaming, out of time altogether.

Very seldom can we say we are fully present

in the present moment.

Yet now is the only time there is. 

                Eknath Easwaran

The glorious reality of Spring seems to help me stay in the moment, 

at least for a moment. 

It made me think of this quote from an important teacher in my life. 

Easwaran's focus on living in the moment

is one of my most difficult challenges.

When a painted lady touched my arm

Today’s unseasonably warm weather reminded me of a beautiful moment.

FROM MY NOTES 3/15/05

As I walked west on 19^th St. in front of my house, on one of the warmest Spring days in SF history, I slowed to watch a beautiful butterfly--a painted lady--it flew up and slowly lit on my left hand--stunned--I just watched and held my hand perfectly still. After a time, it gently dropped to the warm sidewalk--maybe to catch some of the last warmth of the day. I watched for a long time and then turned up the slightly curving staircase to my front door. I could barely see to put the brass key into the lock--tears filled my eyes and sped down my cheeks. An angel? A departed spirit? I thought of the line from my love poem, Paradox,

Certainty emerging

from passion

                       

Constancy woven

of desire, fantasy, hope

Catching time as it flows

missing its immediacy

Intricate contingencies of love

cannot bear stasis

Unsure waft of a butterfly’s passing

as real as death 

 Sadly, I did not have a photo of the painted lady (vanessa cardui), but love this photo from another Spring.

what was ordinary

The meaning of life changes when we confront loss.

Our search for meaning and purpose

leaves us wandering and bewildered.

What was ordinary yesterday

becomes precious today,

and what was precious yesterday

seems dull and lusterless.

What we liked becomes uninteresting,

but what we love becomes everything.
                                                 ~ Stephen Levine

 

 

on a city street

 A chill fog touches

the gray sidewalk.

A tall woman and a tiny girl,

hand in hand, move slowly.

At the corner, a long pause,

perhaps a rest.

The girl looks up.

In slow grace

the woman bends forward,

kisses the child.

(c) Duff Axsom, 2013

petals on a bough

The small bird

let a chirp

from its beak:

    I heard

woodnotes, whin-

gold, sudden.

The Lagan 

    blackbird.

The Blackbird of Belfast Lough

(Early Irish poem) The title of this post is from Seamus Heaney,

who sees a similarity between ancient Irish poetry and haiku.

"this worldness. ... Both are alert to their physical surroundings yet possess a strong sense of another world to which poetry promises access. In each case, it’s as if the poet is caught between the delights of the contingent and the invitations of the transcendent."