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."

corners of the sky

'It is in the wild places, 

where the edge of the earth 

meets the corners of the sky, 

the human spirit is fed.'

                                          Art Wolfe, nature photographer

The photo is one that I took near Pelican Bay where the edge and corners meet.

the spirit runs, intermittently

Water’s my will and my way,

And the spirit runs, intermittently,

In and out of the small waves,

Runs with the intrepid shore birds─

How graceful the small before danger!

                                 Theodore Roethke

These marvelous birds were dancing for me at Ocean Beach in San Francisco.

the edges of time

I saw this astoundingly perfect line of poetry yesterday and it reminded me of one of my favorite photos from a couple of years ago. Not quite the small stone observation of the past month, but wanted to share it.

Let your life lightly dance on the edges of time like dew on the tip of a leaf

                                                                                Rabindranath Tagore, from The Gardener

Perhaps it is time to share some of my favorite photos over the next weeks and lines of poetry from some of the wonderful poets that have been in my life. Or, a few poems of my own.

Small Stone: January 31, 2013

No deep, pensive observations today.

As we come to the end of our January

mindful writing community, it seems

appropriate to walk hand in hand toward

the next challenge. Thanks to everyone

for all your great posts and for visiting

with me here. Until we meet again….

the Sunday group? I plan to keep "mindful"

at least once a week. Hope we can all

hang out together in 2013.

Small Stone: January 30, 2013

The January Small Stones project is coming to an end tomorrow.

Looking back over my daily “stones”, I am struck by how

often my observations become a reflection of my

own inner processes, questions and even turmoil.

I truly question if this is ego or an attempt to really

connect with my environment, the people I encounter

and the joys and sadness of the world I inhabit. 

More to be learned.

This photo was taken today at the Martin Luther King memorial in San Francisco. A place for thoughtful remembrance and reflection. Bright sun, afternoon shadows and reflection.

Small Stone: January 29, 2013

“A fertile bedlam prevails”

a quote from a review of an exhibit

of surrealist drawings in NYC.

Kind of nice to think about

what there is to gain in the uproar.

A goal for this week will be to find

a fertile moment in topsy-turvydom.

(that is a real word) 

The photo isn’t from today, sadly. But, from a fine outing to the San Francisco Zoo recently. Seemed to represent topsy-turvy.

 

Small Stone: January 28, 2013

Today: I saw a lovely child exploring her world out the bus window. It made me think of the excitement of discovery. I saw a gorgeous young couple. It made me aware of youthful vitality. I saw a fast-striding businessman and I connected with the thrill of success. I saw a white-haired woman carefully choosing oranges and thought of how age allows us to be selective.

Sweet child. Sexy youth. Successful exec. Serenity in aging.

Do any of those have anything to do with the individual at that particular moment? What was their actual experience? Even close to my immediate perception?

As I reflect on the day, I am aware that all of those observations were tinged with a judgment on my part, not wholly in the moment and formed somewhere in my past.

The photo is a first leaf daring to break out of winter against a south-facing wall around the corner.

Small Stone: January 27, 2013

Somewhere in life, I learned

how to make a civil smile.

Yesterday, I exchanged

friendly, reserved, very polite smiles

with a pleasant woman

as we passed on my street.

Then, down the block a child hit me

with an unlearned smile.

The photo is of my great-grand nephew, Luke, on 

another wonderful occasion. His bright, fresh smile─

spontaneous in most children.

Small Stone: January 26, 2013

Tonight is Wolf Moon.

A search on the web tells me

to emulate my ancestors and take refuge

in my home…stay close to the fire on this dark

winter night as the winds and the wolves

howl outside.

OK!

Small Stone: January 25, 2013

Mid-winter: a time of recollection

or even collection, perhaps.

Evaluate, keep or discard.

Not Spring cleaning…

more a letting go.

Once joyful affections,

memories, beliefs

dusty with lack of care,

just fall away.

Winter, by the calendar,

is one-third over. The days

are warm here, some say

a false-Spring. It seems real.

 The photo is just a mood shot...seemed about right for today.