sections

the hair clip
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

She sits crouched in the corner
on the floor down below,
in the first aisle of the bookstore.

Coal black hair trying to stray from
a baby plastic clip the color of green antifreeze
catching stray sunlight.

Alice Munro doesn’t quite do it for her.
She stands, shifts right, twists left hip forward
and stares at a Palakniuk cover.

Still unsatisfied, turning from the neck,
shoulders following, she flees the aisle
and glides over to non-fiction.

She lingers in my vision
for three sedate breaths and
disappears into classics.

The moment turns inside out
when she leaves my sight.
She is likely trading verses with
Beatrice in one of Dante's cantos.

ink

sometimes we look in reflections
to see what has passed behind us,
to see what in our past still remains
imprinted into the film that
separates present and past,
the molecular region where
we end and the outside begins

sometimes we look in reflections
in search of a mirrored essence,
hoping that real, drawn expressions
comes at least close to emotional sketches

sometimes we pray that the brilliance
of the lush hue of blood's crimson ink
has not given up life to a dried peat brown

In Difference

this one is dedicated to George W. Bush

Between midnight and twilight,
Somewhere here
Strange sounds emanate.
Voices of cultures we don’t acknowledge.

Somewhere here
In the darkness of prejudices
There is music we’ve yet learn to hear.

Frayed ends start with whipped lines,
Conscience in the guise of compliance.
Past is not past, it just is,
When faces remain in the shadow hungry
We learn to let the voices remain silent.

Denying infants milk is a learned behavior,
Giving a stump as aid is a learned behavior.

After all we are a learned culture
We know how to twist our backs,
Eyes looking at the television,
Fingers changing channels.

Hummingbirds

Heartbreaks never come as a convenience.

They roll through like hummingbirds
that decide the night is too long.

Too much energy, not enough nourishment.

They strain to stay awake as long as they can,
holding for dawn and risking the fall
frail fluttering wings that would blemish angels.

Heartbreak’s mortal beauty stirring.

The beauty of broken organs,
mortality make angels nothing less than God’s
personal, unwilling janitors of His perfect world.

the full sun

hi no moto
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

don't walk into the full sun

wait until there is cloud cover
wait until the air is moist
with the tears of a watchful god

be patient and watch for compassion
gently rising in the mist

cursive

cursive
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

sometimes it takes a real feather quill, sharpened with a blade in your own hands for true sentiments, true emotions unphased by reflection, the first thoughts of an unclouded, ignorant mind to come out...

vapors

oh father,
the water is wide and the fog lays low.
for so long now it seems,
i’ve been trying to find a way home
across desert plains and windy steppes,
over sharp peaks and through tree thick valleys.
now i’ve come to this last crossing
but there is no ferryman to give safe passage
and i’ve no coins to pay for my way.

oh father,
the water is wide and the fog seeps into my flesh
like a slow poison but it is so calming.
is this the end of a journey or the beginning of a new one?
i can’t tell where i end and life starts.
the guiding angels left a long time ago.

i’ve only an occasional abandoned feather to mark the path.
the feathers become quills which are the points
with which i scribble this story
this story will have more life than i.
the feathers pen letters constituting words,
bringing to life tales that i won’t be able
to take with me in this crossing.

on the other side, words don’t exist and
they tell me there is no pain.
the fog is so cold but so calming.
something this tranquil can’t be damning;
something this beautiful can’t be an end;
for a while perhaps, i’ll lie in life’s vapors.

doubt

doubt
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

sometimes you can't the expression for what you feel in yourself. sometimes the expression of that fleeting emotion exists in a face that is not real, scratches of a steel quill with other worldly ink, cross hatching that is reminiscent of terrible contradictions that live inside but are ever present and real enough, real enough for you to want to express. on the page and in that other world, the wind blows. you can't see the needles of snow in horizontal cascade but the inside of your skin feels it. so in that way, it is real.

The Moon and the Yew Tree

Sometimes the words of another, the words of an artist best speak the countenance that sits quietly within one's own heart. This is by Sylvia Plath:

The Moon and the Yew Tree

"This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary.
The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.
The grasses unload their griefs at my feet as if I were God,
Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility.
Fumy spiritious mists inhabit this place
Separated from my house by a row of headstones.
I simply cannot see where there is to get to.

The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,
White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet
With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.
Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky -
Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection.
At the end, they soberly bong out their names.

The yew tree points up. It has a Gothic shape.
The eyes lift after it and find the moon.
The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.
Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.
How I would like to believe in tenderness -
The face of the effigy, gentled by candles,
Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes.

I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering
Blue and mystical over the face of the stars.
Inside the church, the saints will be all blue,
Floating on their delicate feet over cold pews,
Their hands and faces stiff with holiness.
The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.
And the message of the yew tree is blackness - blackness and silence."

– Sylvia Plath

muse, flora, fauna

muse, flora, fauna
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

all these things live in mind at the moment, in the light of tides of those around me, those in confusion, those in fear. in that chaos, archetypes appear in my mind to help ease the spikiness and sharpness in the realities of others that encroach into my space...

of course

of course i hurt. how can one not hurt after being slapped in the face by those who were thought to be pillars of support for you? how can one not hurt when one is misjudged because of fear and misinformation? but that is the reality. reality is now, in this moment. in this moment this body still has breath and this heart and mind still feels, pain is just a reminder that you are still alive. sometimes it is a good thing.

Moving forward

"I can't go back into the past and change it, but I have noticed that the future changes the past. What I call the past is my memory of it and my memory of it is conditioned by who I am now. Who I will be. The only way for me to handle what is happening is to move myself forward into someone who has handled it." – from Gut Symmetries by Jeanette Winterson

Georgia

Four A.M., no sleep
Candles die in predawn light
No dreams, daylight soon

--

Unknown birds call out
Dogwood blooms in violet dawn
Waxing into light

--

Early summer stroll
Doused in crepe myrtle petals
Snow flurry in June

Grandpa

My life lost its breath
He slipped from me
Even after all those years

The man who showed me
Camelia from azalea
Magenta from cyan

He holds his feet firm
At the base of mountains
With head onward to the blue

Taste of fuschia
And smell of cut grass
Life has its smells
Love has its scents

Gloom

“gloom,” she said
not gloom as in bloom
nor spacious as in a room

not the space we keep private
not the face we avoid to show

grey and maybe dark
lacking the face of the moon
that is the kind of gloom she meant

i think

but in darkness of such a place
there is no sense in a big room
no buds in haste for spring

“in dark spaces we keep things
close and safe, protected.”
that’s what she said

i’m sure


after Sarah Arvio

Canyonlands II

A journey to fix us
After the deaths,
The breakdown and alcohol
The suspicion of a fairy tale’s end

In desperation
We became pilgrims
Not knowing emptiness
Has no material destination

In search of feelings misplaced
Hoping to find them intact
In fear of damage and mutilation
White knuckles on emotions
Looking for porcelain hearts,
Shapes that held affection

Among the trails,
Among deep red sandstone canyons
Once reliable organs became strangers
Sky, sand and thousand year old
Chips in ancient stone walls cast more beauty
Than our identities and how we came
To see one another

Love once held still held but hands
Once held each other lost their clasps
As romantic idealists, we held
That no obstacle could divide the bond

I held confusion, I held fear
I held for the last time
Faith that vows were real
And the rings would always
Remain in each other’s company

One person’s understanding
Can’t ever be another’s faith
It is a self reflective possession
Affecting and benefiting the beholder
Its power and paradox,
Non-transferrable even when floating
On an endless ocean of love

smiles to make you smile

eric and sara
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

little cousins

energy, boundless, tireless energy...

Blind

Because I do not turn

Cold winter day.
Grey skies wishing for desert winds.
These come from the seas, warm,
and arrive on cold shores.

Outside is the
The universe manifesting.
In here are hungry,
Slack shells of souls looking,
wanting, praying for the promises
of a negligent god.

Desperate,
Empty of awareness,
They seek salvation.
Blind to the usefulness
Of empty space, inside,
they carry on in faith.

Like their Maker,
Blind to their own jewel.

Bangkok

Recling Buddha
Gilded in gold, lies watching
Truth immutable

--

Chao Praya dawn
Your smile effervescent
Lychee on your lips

--

Sea of coal black heads
My stupa in blond locks here
Far, I will follow

Bamboo

I refuse to be out of faith
I don't care what they old wise men say.
If I were their wives,
I would whip them out of their double skin.

I am a product of something without balance
And so now I am out of balance
But that is all going to change.

I am going to learn the lessons
Passed from the little women
In our history

I'm going lose that shell.
I am going to lose that fragile thick shell.
I am going to lose that manly man stance.
I am going to stand like the way the bamboo would.

I am going to stand the way my mother

Stands

The way she stands in a cyclone
And kisses the wind of heaven.

Birthday

28 October 2001...

Kirala was one of our favorite sushi places
The hostess remembered us even after the long absence
As we ducked into the lobby, out of the chill

On the drive there, I wondered what would make
The evening a nice experience—it was my birthday
It had been the longest span since that

February in New York that we had been apart
You looked wonderfully glowing but hesitant
Like a moth choosing between light and flame

The steaming miso warmed me inside
But we never got past agedashi tofu
In the rhythm of our conversation

The space between our sentences was
As fresh and cold as that night’s otoro;
Precious and tasteful but seeming misplaced

The aesthetic presence of the meal; a metaphor
Four our odd situation but as yet unaware
The attraction and nourishment for heart and soul

Was in the paradox of sushi’s delicate beauty—
The sensual contact on the palate of uncooked, raw fish

song

it is another song
that brings gone people back.
i can barely listen
to the melody and rhythm.

they are traces,
beats of something
i've tried to banish
without success.

memory is a thing
that brings something
which does not exist
right now into reality.

it changes your countenance
into things you have
never imagined possible.

even darkness and
closed eyes do not help.
even in the night
the sights are there
behind reluctant eyelids.

even in the darkness
the voices still stir
something inside of you.

silicon valley fashion accessory #37, part 2

So it has been about a year since I posted about the bluetooth wireless headset thing. Specifically, how silly it seemed for people to go around with this funny looking thing hanging on the side of their head even when they aren't on the phone. Moreover, how incredible silly it is when people use the product as a symbol of prestige or wealth or in some cases, astronomical and almost superlative attraction to geeky gadgets that potentially put them ahead of the social-techno elite...or something like that.

In any case, after much observation I have found that in almost 9 out of 10 ten cases it is always men who wear these headsets as a fashion accessory. It makes me want to do a field trip to say, Milan or Paris to see if this is in fact a male thing or if it is an American male thing (like the big chrome wheels with spinners. The person who invented that should be duct taped to a windmill in Northern Netherlands facing the North Sea).

However, in a moment of epiphany a great idea came to me that could be a rather interesting book and/or documentary...the subject could be:

"The Evolution of Product Design: the evolution of a product from basic utility to vanity support in case studies."

I've got a thesis idea for grad school!!!! Hah, the irony of it leaves a metallic taste in my mouth. Or is that blood?!

living in memory

Scene:
Sitting in a cafe sipping tea. Woman walking out the door, talking to person behind counter, "I'm so sick of this rain. It won't stop."

observation:
People so easily fall into the habit of complaining about the gloomy, rainy weather that they turn their behavior shallow and transparent. They fail to see the beauty of the swirling droplets of moisture in the light breeze, backlit by the early morning sun. They fail to see the gorgeous, soft hints of violet at the edges of the not too distant clouds and how they look against the luminous white and silver strata of suspended water. It is a subjective reality and they limit themselves to the perceptive lens of other people's misplaced and misfounded expectations of how they should see the world. They are living in the reactions of someone else's memory. C'est dommage...

grandpa

oh old departed man
everytime i look at certain plants
their blooms and foliage

bring you back to me
i see you in the garden
bent over feeding the glorious white roses

you have not left me at all,
not as i thought
like the old monk said,

"death is only a notion,
a human notion"
i've been listening to this

intuition inside of me,
wondering from where it comes
wondering of its vibrant, almost violent

intensity like the color
of a crimson rose bleeding into white
i am realizing it is still you

inside of me, you still teaching
i should have known you had
not finished the lessons yet

firefly

it was a stranger in the crowd
someone passing by, a glance, an impression,
an almost encounter that brought visions of firefly

briefly but vividly
triangulated between
the eyes, the brain and the heart

the pools of her dark eyes
loomed in my field like
the black sea under a new moon

how could such titan eyes
be supported by the waif like frame?
how does the smile below those eyes

move my being more than
three hundred gods
in six thousand years?

the vision of firefly departed
as quickly as it came,
my internal triangle unable to hold

her presence like the giant
tanks of chemicals buried by
scientists trying to capture neutrinos

daffodils

today the pear blossoms looked so odd against the cold dark sky
spring says it is her time but winter still holds with jealously,
not willing to let go of the hues of her shadows

the cedars and the spruces remain indifferent to the conflict
since they bear their green with pride in all seasons
to the edge of arrogance

meanwhile in this bitter cold
the daffodils smile as they do,
smile their best smiles when they populate

the resting places of worm eaten bodies and
bones usurped by young apple trees

petals

what have i done?
have i set something in motion
that was not yet to be?

have i thrown a stone into a silent
pool and changed the universe?
a universe like a child not yet ready to grow?

have i torn the rose petals of affection
and skewered them onto their own thorns?

cold

behold, i am become cold
i am become the cold that has been in my heart
the shards of ice that has pierced my flesh
is no more because i am become the floes of ice
that wanders the endless oceans

i am in love

what does that mean?

it means i see a vision that gods can't explain. it means my heart is suddenly in the shape of someone else. this other person, she has changed the way i see the world. she has changed the shape of my heart. i have found my form. she has found my destruction. in my way. in my heart, i am destroyed. i am doomed.

i am in love.

Morning

Morning comes with stillness.
Droplets of dew still remain on the vines,
Lazy moisture cling to the edges of burdened leaves
Heavy with the weight of heaven’s tears.

Redolent angels cry only in the human night.
Redolent angels fear to reveal heaven’s confict
To those who steadfastly believe in celestial rumors.
Eons pass without success,

Even angels give up telling the truth
And let rumors be accepted as reality.
Being God’s messengers doesn’t make enduring
A codependent parent any easier to bear.

beauty

there is a little something
of beauty in all of the little moments
that i have in my days

there is a little something
of beauty in smiling at a stranger
and having her return the look

it is in the shifting of the wind,
the whirl of a moving leaf

it is in the momentary hold
of someone else’s lips

it is in the look of wonderment
in the face of an innocent child

in a moment, i am reminded
of why i hang on in this miserable life

in a moment, i am reminded
of the jewels of the mundane

in a moment, i am reminded
of the beauty of your smile

blossoms

blossoms flutter in the spring wind

she refuses the breath of winter
she is angry of my affair
the way i caress ice
and the way ice melts in my touch

blossoms throws me petals
the way crèpe myrtle snows in spring
the way white flecks color my smile

but i am in love with winter
winter shapes her ice in my form
freezing me to the form

of a belonging that
she finds in me without my consent

flecks

i know the flecks in the sun of her eyes.

they are the dark spots from which
solar flares will erupt.

emotions that throw themselves,
coming from below the surface
of wistful intent painted vermillion.

i know the flecks in the sun of her soul.

they are the instructions for what
my will is subject to.

emotions that throw themselves
at a receiving hollow receptacle
filling human void with
something cosmically alien.

Middle Ground

what is the middle ground
when a heart draws

from the inside
what the eyes see?

an expression

not quite formed
in a stranger's eyes

that you suddenly
understand?

something once thought
beyond ability

glancing of words

last night, what started as a perfectly normal and balanced conversation became another "glancing of words." however, i must be learning because i processed through the event afterward and found that i was able to understand it and let it go because it was not really mine to own. little victories.

Beynac. 1997

It was a steep climb on the cobblestone street
To the precipitous seat of Chateau Beynac.
What were we thinking on such a warm day?
At the base, we laughed at a wooden sign
In front of a bakery that read “PAiN.”

Later, following the narrow winding streets
We turned a bend and were rewarded with
An unusual, amusing sight; against a low
Stone wall was an exuberant splash of color.
There hanging was a strange fruit;
A melon sized squash of blood orange hue.

I stooped beneath the dangling orb,
Looking at it against the powder blue sky.
It was a form of nature’s perfection
Against a clear robin’s egg heaven.

You smiled at me with a smile
An adult uses with a child when in wonderment.
I’m sure you thought the sparkle in my eyes
Was due to what my playful vision discovered.

Little did you know the perfection of the moment
Was actually your heartful’s reaction to my childishness.

Amboise, 1997

We stood on the old ramparts of ancient Amboise
Looking northeast upon the Loire.
Late morning's light hung like lazy haze
Shining on the endless tree lined shore.
It was a view from another life
Momentarily shared by our other lives.
You watched as I rummaged through the
Backpack for our lunch, smiling.
We ate a simple meal; bread, cheese and fruit.
A little communion coming to be,
A humble treasure of this universe.
But not as precious as the strands of gold
Absently disturbed by a rising breeze
And finding their resting place on your brow,
Crowning the wistful hazel and amber in your eyes.

vestiges

band with sapphire heart
now rests in old jewel box
old soul, new karma

--

in times, i wonder
the tale of her hazel eyes,
hollow of my heart

--

this face in my sleep
so thoughtful in her intent
holds to linger, still

nocturne

four twenty eight a.m.
silence and darkness.
outside, palm fronds fray
against grieving shutters.
through broken stained windows
venetian blinds hum and heave
melancholy meowing chords.
on the floor, bands
of pale gauzy light
elaborate bruised, empty fractures.
a passed over geography
of pitted terra cotta tiles.
wait. wait wantingly and the moment
will come when the waning
senses surrender to calm
and sweet slumber deftly
persuades the wrinkled mind to
uncoil the body into dreamless repose

buddhist nun ringing bell

buddhist nun ringing bell
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

she calls me after midnight to give me a pep talk. she tells me that i've never let her down, that i was a good husband and always a good provider. she tells me that it was never about me, it was about her and i had no control in it. the irony of it, almost five years after the fact. how am i supposed to respond? she tells me that her boyfriend has the utmost respect of me. how am i supposed to respond to that? is this some kind of weird closure? she tells me that it is up to me to get up and go, that i've not lost anything. if anything, it has just been dormant. what the hell?

it seems trite but it is appropriate:

"Up, down, turn around; please don't let me hit the ground
Tonight I think I'll walk alone; find my soul as I go home

Oh it's the last time, oh it's the last time

Each way I turn
I know I'll always try
To break the circle
That has been placed round me..."
--Moby

Inferno: Canto I

Midway upon the journey of our life
I found myself within a forest dark,
For the straightforward pathway had been lost.

Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say
What was this forest savage, rough, and stern,
Which in the very thought renews the fear.

--Dante

places

why is it that you have such a hard time getting angry with the people you love?

why can't you simply say things like "you lied to me," "you really didn't mean that," etc...
we cant't accuse those we love so easily huh? well fuck me!

even after years and the facts are clear, you can't even find the strength to make the accusation. doesn't that just drive you penguins? well i think it turns me into an anchovy to be a quick snack for some tuna. i'm going to turn into fish fodder in monterey bay. it will be my way of being close with nature.

i can't even run. there is nowhere to go lest i opt for the artic or the serengeti. i think the jackals would like me better or perhaps the walruses. i belong in extremes. these middle grounds have nothing for me nor do they want me here. i am a danger to all.

rain

today the skies agreed with my mood. steely blue grey with streaks of rain. now only if i were in scotland.

taste

moments exist between the lines that we speak
tonight it is the place where i find myself

pointing out the obvious is fruitless
and placing blame brings no resolution

so i sit in the wind and wait for rain
wait for something to wash away this grime

knowing that family is not something
one gets out of, not cleanly at least

it is the plague of genealogy
the fascination of one looking for roots

our roots may be common but they bear
very different fruits indifferent to taste

so is my taste to change?
how does one tell one's heart to change in taste?

tonight tonight

tonight i am alone, not just alone but lonely. i feel far away from all that mean anything to me. my only comfort is the sound of music in a language that i don't fully understand. it is the language of my birthplace but my relationship with it is touch and go. it may be a sign that i need to go home.

the songs stir something inside of me but i can't quite put my finger on it. they leave me with a general impression of being misplaced. probably accurate.

in this state, i draw images. i draw and draw, not knowing where these images, these faces are from but i keep on drawing. drawing helps keep me from the things i should not be dwelling on. it is the only thing that works. there are strange faces and strange animals in this realm but they are helping to keep my mind on track. well, on track for what i can't say but it is better than losing my mind!

so the graphite goes to paper and forms appear, i wish life could be so simple...

restless in suburbia

ten things i'd rather be doing:

1. hanging by two fingers on a rock at joshua tree

2. sitting at a cafe eating raw oysters in the 6th arrondissement in paris

3. taking a road trip on the alaskan highway

4. fishing for trout in the eastern sierras

5. getting lost in mid-town manhattan

6. sitting atop a staircase at angkor wat, cambodia watching the sunset

7. talking to strangers in some dive in copan, honduras

8. quiet time inside of the cathedral at st. bertrand de comminges

9. watching the stray cats at the old roman coliseum at arles

10. eating a crepe from the street vendor on rue cler

i think there is wanderlust building up in me...

on my mind today

today, this poem rings in my head like a litany. i don't know why, perhaps it is cyniscism but i don't really believe there is such a clean answer or reason.


The Shortest Distance
by Erin Lambert

Perhaps the dead long for light, long for the sky and stars.
Why we fold them in boxes, shelve them neatly in rows
six feet beneath a world they lived long enough to die in,

I do not know.

I thought as a child that the hell-bound had it easy,
already down there, not much distance to go.
Those in limbo could rest awhile, stretch their bones
back into the earth and fashion new lives from memory;
live ten thousand lives in dirt and darkness.

But who can help those deserving heaven?

Even the statues turn away; angels with eyes lifted
or heads bent in prayers for the living because soon enough,
our turns will come. They try not to hear the dead who are good
tossing in their graves with desperate talk: Which way is up?
Was that a crow this morning?

Because the good are perfect, they are not tortured by memories
so they forget themselves. They lie with the damned
and those left to wonder, who try to give directions with talk of love
and light, the shortest distance between ground and sky. Remember God?
Those in waiting ask the good who, dumb as dirt, stagger for the answer
to a god too distant to wake the dead.

fireflies

fireflies

they skirt in settling air
of the evening sky
with boundless energy

in sudden twists,
in blazes, in bursts,
invisible paths of
fading luminence

wings soflty humming
rhymes in motion
ghostly melodies

night sky is the stage
the firefly is the player
the plot a challenge
to meet destiny

if one could follow a muse
if one could follow the spirals
an ephemeral trail of lights

fickle skies

today the sky was fickle. it started with the familiar grey windy and damp airs of autumn and then the sun broke through and took the morning. typical california. it reminded me of the things i hate about los angeles even though i'm 500 miles away. the bright autumn sun made me restless. it made me want to be outside on the side of a mountain when i could not. i am not fit for suburbia. it is killing me.

2:46am

somewhere out there i know the sun is rising. in this place, i am caught between wanting to be in the safety of darkness and the renewal of morning's light. i have no knowledge of how to make such a decision. i have no knowledge of what these primal urges inside really mean. it is a language that i've never learned. at the middle of my life, the basics of love and hate are alien to me. how have i gotten this far? all i know are to stay or run. how do they translate? have i always been this way? i don't remember. i thought i knew what feelings were. i guess i was wrong. so now i have to learn. another language to learn, i am good at languages. however, this language involves a grammar that has no rules; a vocabulary that has no etymology. all i have to use is the bareness of my heart, a pencil and a paintbrush for those moments and phrases where all i can do is to paint a picture.

...

an hour and forty six minutes past midnight.

i am wide awake and conscious of the hurricane that lives inside of my head. i feel like new orleans looking at walls of grey with specks of blue. at least there are specks of blue, it is just a matter of getting there.

i can't say that i know what seeing walls of grey really means. my sense is that i don't like it. it won't kill me or anything like that, i just don't like them. not that i am a blue sunny sky person either, i just want to know what the in between is. right now, it feels like a state of teetering between the here and now and the there and far away. my flight instinct is going through its checklist though there is no destination. what does that mean?

i surprise myself by seeing how blunt i am about what is going through my head in this medium. i think it is an exercise for me to face myself, if that makes sense. it is really not a confessional. it is more of a conviction or commitment so that i stay my course whatever course i decide on. strange and roundabout way of doing things i admit but sometimes that is what it takes. it does no good to be confessional and to trash your limbs about in saying what you are going to do. it is better to put it down somewhere that is not secretive and then go do it. now i just have to figure out the details of what i'm doing...

shells

Shells
by Kathleen Raine

Reaching down arm-deep into bright water
I gathered on white sand under waves
Shells, drifted up on beaches where I alone
Inhabit a finite world of years and days.
I reached my arm down a myriad years
To gather treasure from the yester-milliennial sea-floor,
Held in my fingers forms shaped on the day of creation.

Building their beauty in three dimensions
Over which the world recedes away from us,
And in the fourth, that takes away ourselves
From moment to moment and from year to year
From first to last they remain in their continuous present.
The helix revolves like a timeless thought,
Instantaneous from apex to rim
Like a dance whose figure is limpet or murex,
cowrie or golden winkle.

They sleep on the ocean floor like humming-tops
Whose music is the mother-of-pearl octave of the rainbow,
Harmonious shells that whisper forever in our ears,
The world that you inhabit has not yet been created.

cold from another place

the weather changed today. it was very un-californian. when i stepped into the hotel lobby and prepared to walk out to get some food, i realized it was like a cold rainy autumn evening in switzerland. the ground was littered with damp maple leaves. the air was fuzzy with light streaks of rain.

it didn't look real, more like someone put a motion blur filter on the air in photoshop.

the lobby door was actually closed. i put on my jacket and walked through the door into the cold of a different place. i wished i was in the other place that the cold remined me of, but that is far from here. it must be the figh or flight reflex. or maybe it is just avoidance behavior! something i might have picked up from someone i momentarily became enamored with *grin*.

i would confirm that but that person has disappeared!

i'm trying hard to amuse myself.

the walk in the light rain across the street, passing the parking lot and into the alley then onto the next street to the restaurant was refreshing though. i didn't mind the rain at all. well, i never do. not ever since living in scotland, how could i?

i walked into a new vietnamese restaurant and sat down. ordered my usual dish, i wondered how this new place would make it. it was quite good. it was slow so the chef came out and sat down. we chatted and ended up talking for over an hour. we traded stories about our last trips home to the old country. we talked about the restaurant business and cooking, it was a nice conversation. he even broke out some special lotus tea he brought back from vietnam on his last trip. it was a good experience. it relieved my restlessness, at least for a short while.

it made me realize how much i need to meet new people constantly. i think i am a social nomad...

need for change

i am at the cusp of the end of one chapter of my life and start a new one. there is a sense of relief because at this point i feel so broken. it is not that i am in pieces. i am still in one piece but it doesn't feel like it is a healthy one piece. so change needs to happen, where it will take me i do not know. i only know i've slowly become someone i don't remember. maybe i'm schizo or have multiple personalities, i really don't think it is anything that exotic. i've just lost something and i need to figure out what it is i've lost and why and how to replace it or regain it. in any case, change is the only certain thing and i'm looking forward to it whatever it might be.

hues

they called this morning
they called this evening
trying to bring me back to sanity

i think it was their colour of sanity
i was trying hard to understand
like sifting through three or four languages

it tired my soul
so i opted for sleep
but instead there was another world

with the complexity of colours
all my history replayed
a whirl of hues i can't escape

00:14

so it is a litlle a little past midnight.

and i'm sitting here eating granny smith apples sprinkled with salt and watching "collateral" by myself. it is probably not a good example of social behavior.

i could get philosophical about this but it is probably a bad idea.

milestones vs. flagstones

so i come close to another milestone, one of those milestones that happen whether we want it or not. this one is called a "birthday." so called birthdays are always strange creatures as far as events go, they are are often like relatives. they are often "love/hate" relationships. when you are young, they are love relationships. as you get older, they gain more and more of the "hate" relationships. sometimes, we do this as a matter of following the flow of the river. at other times, standing in the stream and wondering if you should really flow that way is a matter of personal choice. in either case, it can be difficult to really know which way you are tending toward. how does one really know which side of the stream one is loyal to?

this brings me to ask which side qualitatively is more the real me. of course then i have to ask what is the real me, it is odd to have gone this far in life and not to really know intuitively which is which. the budhhist in me says to see it for what its true nature is and let it go. it is probably the most peaceful solution but one that is not easily grasped by the emotional part in me. isn't that strange? isn't strange that the most simple and elegant solution is often the most difficult one to attain? isn't strange that attaining something like that is often so subtle that often effort put forth is simply an obfuscation of the end? perhaps in that there lies the lesson that it is not about the goal but the process. perhaps in that i have come to lean too much toward where i should be as supposed to how i'm supposed to be stepping toward that next slab of stone that is the moment in which i'm in. perhaps that is what i forget, i need to step onto the flagstone of the moment and try to clearly see what is the next stone i am aiming at.

single moms

so i'm sitting in front of this deli this afternoon enjoying my lunch and this woman (dressed nicely in a suit skirt and red wool sweater, black hose and heels) comes out of the place walking away from me and says back into the deli, "all single moms are poor!"

uh, i didn't know quite how to react to that...

it's a wrap

today i completed a project i started in april...yay!

i think i still have all my limbs and most of the same brain cells i started with...?

fuzzy air

all around me the air seems fuzzy. maybe it is because i've been up since early. there is a mellowness to my state now that is unusual. i'm rarely mellow. maybe it is a response to all the things that are there in life that bend us out of shape. maybe it is a sign that though i trip up all the time i'm still moving forward. people ask and i mostly don't have an answer. sometimes one really doesn't need to know why, just know you are on the path where you ought to be. try to walk it as best you can...

no warning

sometimes realizations come to you without warning. you are sitting there talking to a friend about something and in trying to explain your point you find an epiphany. if you are lucky enough upon this unveiling not to fall over or feel suddenly nauseus it could be an interesting passage. when you see yourself in the light of another's illumination, things appear that you know are undeniable but you were absolutely not ready for. in this particular case, it is a strange thing for someone else to confirm those strange rumblings inside of your heart. they point out the obvious that you aren't really quite ready to accept. so if you accept them, then what happens?

the shape that my heart molds itself to is not something to be given lightly. it is a strange and somewhat blunt awakening to realize that i have little control over. it is a reminder that i actually have little control over much that happens. i struggle to be open to situations and to see what the horizon offers. this does not in any means remove the ever natural and present sense of fear that accompanies the effort.

yes i am trying to be vague. i am trying to be vague as i might be when telling her how i feel. i am trying to be vague because it is something i've brought up once before and really don't want to go there again but this is just the way it is.

i am in strange territory and in most cases i would never find myself in this place. i would not allow such a thing. nevertheless, i am where i am. it is now pointless to try to understand it now. this is a time of flowing with the stream and learning how to surf on the lines of least resistance. i am teaching myself how not to fret about the dangers of the adventure i'm in. i'm learning how not to fear about the things i have no control over. i am learning that i feel the way i feel and this will lead to something that i don't understand but that is okay. i don't have to understand.

the shape of something inside is changing. i have no control over it and that is okay too. come autumn when leaves are shed in some distant land something here will be affected and i will be ready.

until then there is repose, not in the way john singer sargent would have depicted it but it will hold. i know in the visions of these experiences there is something of the light of the morning and late afternoon. the other periods of the day can be left out for the labeling of being fantastical.

mackerel skies

mackerel skies line the ceiling of my world today. little bands of white clouds hide evasive strains of the sky. in this same way she hides those parts that don't want to be seen. with fuzzy edges and transparencies she divulges clues that let me triangulate her position.

matching the moves of another emotional nomad is almost as challenging as figuring out the twists and redirection of your own heart. this is especially true when your heart wants to dart and turn like a minnow fleeing a prey.

is it a game of predator and prey? the way people move between camouflage and presence like a changing of moods?

equine behaviour

the measure of the distance between a sunflower's petals to the hive is written in the spin of a bee's dance.

he has seen the dance and now is quested with finding the location. it is a bit of a quest between realms, the distance between where he is and where she resides.

it is a bit of a journey into forests with foliage unfamiliar that would confuse him. he is timid about the swirls in his heart though not of the creatures in this forest. she lies out there in the midst of these arboreal giants. a faerie she might be he is not quite sure.

it is more important that she kicks the soil in the equine manner that he might expect.

somewhere in another incarnation, they must have run together. these crossing of paths don't happen in random...

horses

there are parts of me that want to cry
to fall apart in the way an empty shell is broken upon the pacific's surf
something keeps convincing me to stand there in front of that ocean
knowing that it takes less than two seconds to engulf me

yet i find myself standing here waiting for her
not even waiting for her but for some symbol of her presence
i have found someone as nomadic and evasive as i
so i try to contain my fascination of her in my own world
knowing it is bound to fail

one cannot hold a horse to corral, knowing that its counterpart is out there
so when you have two horses at great distances from each other
how do you determine the difference between corral and range?

crossing paths

in his dreams he sees the reflection of her eyes in the sunlight as snow. she looks up at the heavens, smiling. it is one of those quizzical looks where you can't really tell what is amusing her so. but she looks and she smiles, that is all that is important to him in his vision. there is a tang of something inside that is happening to him. he doesn't quite understand it. it is something between the elation of a happy moment and the trepidation of one's worst fears. the grays of reality that he has come to accept elude his vision. the strange comfort of knowing that nothing is really as it seems give way to a range of siena and then finally grays finalized by the rich harshness of black and white. in the way that weston can depict blacks and whites, his world has suddenly become something that is categorically undeniable in its richness and extremes. he is not ready for this. this thing, this thing that is changing his emotional anatomy. this thing that is changing the shape of the vessel that he carries the things he cares about. it is changing without his volition and his permission. how did he get here? it can't be because of a smile. it can't be from the sound of her voice. they must have known each other in another life. simple silk threads crossing over time and space in a manner that would drive einstein insane.

what does one do when paths cross this way?

in the afternoon

in the afternoon the sun moves and clouds dance to keep the shadows in the right places. i look at my feet and wonder if they ought to be in shade or sun. as a child, these games seemed so important. now, nearing the close of a third decaded i find the value in those childhood games and try to revive them. i am understanding how important they are. i am understanding how precious those moments are when you aren't feeling judged by anyone in your moments. so i am silly. in some ways, silliness is the only way i can understand the dynamics of my connection with her.

she is mature yet silly and retains those traits as she deals with the bullshit of this place we live in. she has not gotten eaten up by the acid of cynicism and lacks the polish of being burnished by years of misguided purpose. so i find myself in a place that i've not been in in a long time. i don't really quite know what to do with this.

so i look at my feet and ask them if they know where they are going.

nonsense

what does it mean to finally realize you miss the presence of another person? when you miss it in ways you are sure that wouldn't happen to you?

disconcerting. we as humans like to think we are in control. what a joke!

what is it to understand that one loves another against one's will?

strange

from where he finds the strength to love and not to be in love he does not know. he realizes the oddity of their relationship. a liaison like that of a dragon and an earthling, two worlds apart but in heart sharing the same space. their best moments together is the sliver of grey between night and dawn, day and dusk.

he takes this trip and there is an empty seat next to him. in his heart, tissues have healed but there is still a hollowness in the shape of her. the boundaries between the two of them are like a strange nourishment. manna that they feed on when they are in contact with each other but they have to be careful not to partake too much and too often lest they let through the thing that keeps them safe from each other. the thing that connects them is the very poison.

need rainstorm

i am here in person

my soul is in another place. somewhere where the rainstorms look different, the way the sun comes out of the clouds is different. you don't need huge rain clouds, you need the way people look at the clouds.

looking at the rain clouds differently, changes you. don't ask how, just look

france

i am going home in september. yay!

fascinating thought

to be an heir to your action...a completely interesting way to look at the world

"Beings are owners of their actions. . . heirs of their actions; they originate from their actions, are bound to their actions, have their actions as their refuge. It is action that distinguishes beings as inferior and superior." ~from the Culakammavibhanga Sutta

silicon valley traffic

now that i'm back in the land of PDA's and YOT's (yuppie offspring transport), i have to state that crossing the street is incredibly boring. traffic here is very predictable. people move to the right of the road before turning right and so on...how dull! ; )

back in the usa

so i landed at SFO on wednesday afternoon, my body is here but i think my mind is still at 10.82º N latitude, 106º longitude. the moments between clear waking states are still punctuated by images of streets crowded with mopeds, roadsides littered with drying coconut husks and myriads of smiling children. i've come home with over 6000 photos. fleeting moments and expressions captured, each containing its own little universe of characters, plots and moods. all those elements are like threads in a tapestry. we will see how the stories will re-tell themselves...

on a motorbike with a buddhist nun

on a motorbike with a buddhist nun
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

so i have to say that one of the highlights of this trip has been riding on the back of a motorbike with a buddhist nun!

we were in van hanh village and visiting five families of children we sponsor to help keep them in school. they are poor and live in remote areas of the village. some even have no land to build on and they live on grounds provided to them by a temple.

it was a touching afternoon. learning how difficult life is for these people yet seeing how they are able to carry on with no help and never for a moment lose their dignity is a powerful thing.

in short, the day's experience contained enough for a novel. some experiences change you in ways that might take lifetimes to understand. the subtleties are endless...

wide sea of greens

Mekong Delta region
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

we are into the Mekong delta now. left and right there seem to be endless rice paddies or other crops. there are women working the fields. banana groves demarcate the edges of fields. every bit of available land seems to be put to use to some sort of agriculture as long as there is not a building sitting there...

14D Cong Ly Street

little red pagoda I
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

at 14D Cong Ly Street, Saigon


So today the gang went out to lunch in downtown Saigon at this cool place called Quan An Ngon (literally translates to: Place Eat Well, or A Place to Eat Well). The building was very cool and obviously was old enough to date back to the colonial era. It was a villa laid out in a rectangular manner with a perimeter and then a center building leaving an arcade surrounding the central structure. The street it was on was definitely the same street as the street the old house that I grew up in was on but something seemed unfamiliar. As it turns out after we got out of the restaurant I looked and there was an adjacent alley. I thought to myself that this might be the old place so I follow it. The alley is currently being used as a moped parking lot. As I walked down about 20 meters it turned right at a right angle. As I turned the corner, I realized this was the alley leading to my grandfather's house. It was at the end of the cul-de-sac and the gates and adjacent buildings were unmistakable to me once I saw it. What I didn't recognize was beyond the gate.

I had been here only five years ago and there was no building in what used to be the driveway, courtyard and garden. The fish pond had been filled years ago and there was a cafe there last time. The thought that they destroyed the little altar at the end of the pond inside a structure modeled after the one pillar pagoda in Hanoi was distraughtful to me. There is a night club in the space where a garden used to be. The place where I climbed all over the footbridge leading out to the pagoda. I remember climbing the ficus tree next to it to reach the star fruit tree behind the pagoda and picking its fruit. The fruit from that tree was never sweet but it never stopped me from picking and eating.

We walked around the outside and even went inside. I described to Ivy what each section of the house was. Who used which room to the detail. We started walking upstairs but stopped past the second floor landing. There was a sign there. The last time I visited there were some in-laws of an uncle living on the top floor, it had been turned into an apartment. I knew in my stomach that was no longer the case. The sign read "mean dog, ring doorbell first." I didn't feel the desire to find out if they were there really. I don't know why but it was okay in any case. We started back down.

As we were just about to leave the premises I decided to check out the nightclub. We walked inside. There were only the proprietors there as it was just after lunch. I said hello and asked if we could look around. I explained that I had grown up here when I was a kid. The man was very nice and spoke to us and told us feel free to look around. Out of the right corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of something through a sliding glass door and a wave of relief washed over me. There was a small courtyard and in the far right corner from where I was standing I saw the sight of a red, relatived newly painted one pillar pagoda. With all the construction around it, they had saved the pagoda. There was a newer altar next to it for some deity of protection or luck. I went out there. There were still remnants of the stone footbridge left. The ficus tree was enormous and had hanging roots all around it. A little spot of something from another life was still left and those who have taken over that space have respected its sanctity. I didn't think about all this in that moment but now it is clear to me. A strange sense of gratitude became alive somewhere inside of my heart.

When we left the place, I was reminded that nothing lasts, all is impermanent. What we might have that would seem more permanent is not necessarily tangible. The fragile intangibles though are the things that can indeed be passed on and kept alive in out thoughts and in our memories.

The rest of the afternoon, I had very nice pleasant moments. One arising and then passing but the chaing of them are linked together. It was a rainy afternoon and I walked up and down old Catinat Street with Kevin in the rain but in my mind when we stopped to look out over the grimy Saigon river with its waters muddied up by precipitation I still remembered that this is the place where sunlight rests.

kwanyin (boddhisattva of compassion) in neon

i had written this on the night of arriving at Kieu Dam temple. we were to stay another night but our plans had to be changed. i hope to return there and spend a couple of days with the children there as well as the wonderful people who run the temple before i leave the country during this trip.

kwanyin in neon
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

20:53h 1 July, 2005. Chua Kieu Dam, Van Hanh Village. Vietnam

So I have wondering for a long time what it would be like to be at a monastery and here I am. Chua (temple) Kieu Dam is a temple/monastery about 70km to the east of Saigon on the way to Vung Tau. We arrived here about an hour ago. It is dark. The air is pungent and sweet in parts from the rain. The night is alive with life. Sounds of insects, birds and toads are a symphony beneath the unspoiled sky. The rain has lifted and there are bits of inky sky dotted with glittering stars upon the earth's ceiling. One of the benefits of being in a third world country, especially out of the city is the lack of light pollution.

Coming through the temple gates, the first thing I saw was a glimpse of the altar hall. It was lit inside and what I saw was very beautiful. The setting of the foliage grounds was a little like being on a forest path and serendipitously finding a thing of wonder behind a wall of trees. I have yet to go inside that building. That is to be saved for the early morning chant. I understand that begins at four AM. When I asked what time I ought to get up for that, I was told that I would hear the summoning bells and drums. Quyen tells me it is not something to be missed if you have never experienced it before. Surely I will not miss it.

The quarters I've been given are spartan and serene. It is a cottage about four meters wide and 10 meters long divided into two rooms. At the front room there is an altar for prayer and meditation, in the back room there is a sleeping platform (no mattress here, a wooden deck topped with a straw mat and a blanket) and cubicle where the toilet is and also a back door. There is no glazing here. In this humidity the doors are shuttered and the windows have scroll ironwork with outside storm shutters. The only thing between you and the mosquitoes is a gossamer veil dropped down and tucked under at the edges of the straw mat. The floor is tile and swept incredibly clean. This is one thing one notices in the details of daily life here. Even in the poorest of houses, the floors are always kept as clean as possible and shoes stay outside. If you don't walk barefoot inside then you have a strictly indoors pair of slippers. It is an important detail, especially on hot days there is nothing quite so pleasant as a cool tile floor to relax on - forget the chair or the couch.

I joked with Ivy and Quyen earlier that if you didn't know you were at a temple, the grounds, the buildings and layout of this place has the feel of a tropical resort. I will leave it to the pictures to tell that part of the story. It has settled down here and I think most are asleep. The only sounds outside are the crickets and the occasional toad. If I close my eyes, I could be in a tent in the middle of the tropical forest. 10.82 latitude north and 106.2 longitude. This is the place where sunlight rests.

the place where sunlight rests

the place where sunlight rests

it is the place where dew rests
in the too warm morning.

ten degrees latitude north
but far enough south for
painted clouds to convene.

it is the place of legends where
the celestial and earthbound

congregate against counsel.
heaven hungers the sensual
flesh desires tranquility.

where sunlight rests
is the dusk and dawn

of human experience.
just short of paradise
distanced enough away
from sweat and toil,
the body's tears,
the heart's aches.

warm summer rain

this afternoon we were blessed with a brief set of showers, cooling off the city streets of saigon. with each day passed running around the city, parts of it start to become familiar. on some of the streets, there are still strong residual feels of the french colonial history. it is strange to realize that this city located in southeast asia shares the layout and city planning of a place like paris. there are some good remnants from those days like long tree lined boulevards and gigantic roundabouts.

i have to say that the experience of saigon traffic still mesmerizes me. i've decided the best description i can think of is brownian motion. yes, it may sound a little strange but it is pretty accurate.

today, i had an interesting encounter with a little boy named Lam while out at breakfast. he is just a little kid trying to help support his family. the thing is he is only eight years old. one can't help but be touched on different levels after sitting there talking to him. it makes you reconsider things. once you understand something, it is impossible to turn away.

For Alexander Calder
by Erin Lambert

We are more ourselves than earthbound, mobile birds, sculpted shadows.
I had an orange bike once I had a cold and then a life around my someday
circus, glass bells. With wire, I found means to quit electricity, speak softly
to a row of cucumbers, but my distaste for office light remains as a series
of unfortunate hands cramped over keys. For I used my own to rescue
buildings, to demonstrate in red with human touch how one's presence is
a series of connections all at once — gone, like a spark — drawn through air.

bodhi leaves

bodhi leaves
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

Poem by Czeslaw Milosz

Love means to learn to look at yourself

The way one looks at distant things
For you are only one thing among many.
And whoever sees that way heals his heart,
Without knowing it, from various ills -
A bird and a tree say to him: Friend.
Then he wants to use himself and things
So that they stand in the glow of ripeness.
It doesn`t matter whether he knows what he serves:
Who serves best doesn't always understand.

life in motion II

life in motion II
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

life in motion

sitting in a car moving through traffic in vietnam, especially saigon can be a zen experience.

there are lanes yet no one pays attention. there are no manners of making turns from a particular side of the road to another.

crossing the street for a pedestrian from the viewpoint of an outsider seems as perilous as walking across a freeway in the states. however, there is an organized chaos to it all. if one watches the traffic from above, it will look like water flowing down a stream in particles made of people, mopeds, cars and the occasional bus. but unlike water it doesn't all flow in one direction. it flows closer to the way ants flow. they go in all directions and seem to bump into each other, sometimes catastrophically but rarely do.

as someone riding in a car, your first instinct is to cringe but after a couple of deep breaths you can relax and just watch the motion. strangely enough, it occurs to you that everyone on the road has the same expectation that everyone will figure out a path to get where they are going without careening into one another. at first it might seem like inattention then later you realize that it is some sort of faith, or something like that...in any case, there is a lesson there i think. it may not be obvious but there is definitely a lesson there.

view from hotel, hanoi

view from hotel
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

view from the hotel. from sixteen floors up, the moped traffic is akin to an ant farm with thousands of little creatures moving about like water flowing around stationary objects

flags in temple altar room

flags in temple altar room
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

at a temple in Hue. see more pictures from this set at http://flickr.com/photos/horselatitudes

95 degrees

yesterday was the grand opening of Tue Tind Duong free clinic in Hue, Vietnam. we attended the ceremony and it was a success. the show of support was incredible. standing room only. standing on the balcony of the third floor looking at people arriving, one can't help but be moved by visions of old monks and nuns making their way to attend the opening in 95 degree heat and close to 100% humidity by foot, bicycle or moped. the staff who were helping out ranged from the young to old from various walks of life. in the back area being used as a kitchen, women stooped over huge baskets of vegetables, slicing and dicing away. at another corner, there were portable burners set up. all in all the logistics going on in the porch there would have rivaled a modern resto kitchen able to serve a hundred people at a time. in fact, there would be aboout 350 people eating this afternoon following the ceremony. it was amazing to walk through the building and photograph room by room. they were currently brand new, unused. i thought to myself that in months if i came back these rooms would be filled with patients and caretakers. there would be a different kind of bustle going on here. perhaps not quiteas festive as today but in the long run, much more important. for many people, this free clinic is their only option of getting medical care of any sort. in a country of 80 million people, there are only about 825 hospitals. i am reminded why this is good work.

fulfilling wanderlust

P6210507
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

first leg of trip over, taipei intl airport just after sunrise. i survived cramped conditions on an airplane full of kids but survived intact. even slept most of the way. i gave thanks for having a small frame and being able to stretch out even in economy class!

another leg and i shall be home...

almost home again
strange place but somehow familiar
it’s either the faces or something in my chest

a feeling like the swell of the ocean
in a space the size of one’s fist

there is no fear of the ocean’s depth
it’s a place something could drift forever
and never quite touch bottom

but when on land and oh so close
to the deep blue’s sanctuary

one never asks why but dwells on how
it’s a pull to origins
the mechanics of reason are left on the sand

rain drums

this season’s rain
comes to me like angels
striking bronze drums.

pre-iron age staccato
striking old rhythms
still looking for answers
from so long ago

eons pass but the struggle,
the same. purposely, i ask
questions without answers.

answers aren’t resolution,
only skeletons of desire.
metallic artifacts buried in silt.

making the world nicer

my horoscope for the day:
"Even in your grubby errand-running clothes, you're undeniably appealing. Yes, they're looking at you, so don't just stand there -- smile and say hi. Make the world a nicer place, one person at a time."

oh dear, here it goes again. that constant struggle between being intelligent and useful vs being an ass. heheheh

it is a mystery

life is full of mysteries and when i think i'm finished with being confused by one, it gives me another. firefly says i'm confused about being confused. how on the point is that?

spiky

spiky
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

so i'm walking around a street corner and see this beautiful old asian woman standing there. it is late afternoon and she has a straw hat on. i notice in her hands she is holding four maple seed pods with stems intact. my first thought is i've never seen anyone collect those before. they are sharp and mean looking and as a kid they are what you avoid cause stepping on them barefoot on a lawn is very painful.

i smile to her as i pass and she says something to me. i do a double take cause i didn't understand a thing. she tilts her head and says it again very gently but direct. ah, it's japanese. no wonder i don't understand. she points south across the street and asks something but my japanese is so long gone i can barely order sushi. all i can make out is "ikimasu" and then she pauses and looks at me and says, "anata wa wakarinaidesuka?" i don't know what happened but i understood her. something clicked. i nodded and motioned for her to come over to where i'm standing and show her the crosswalk light button and then point across the street at the light. i press the button and then stand next to her and wait. when the light turns, i point and say, "ikimasu yo..." she looks up at me and replies, "arigato, arigato!" i nod, smile and she crosses.

it's moments like these that can make your worst day turn...

blueberry

blueberry
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

jane's new blueberry clogs. composition à la leslie williamson

chloe, semi-nautilus-sasana

chloe, semi-nautilus-sasana
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

it's easy to find your center when you are close to the ground...

Phap Chon et al

Phap Chon et al
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

My Sensei, second from left at Vesak day celebration. San Jose, CA. May 14, 2005

trained behavior

early morning tv news.

the guys are sitting there barely awake yet transfixed to the tv and all its shallow and irrelevant stories such as the "finger in the chili at wendy's woman's court case." believe it or not, some people try very hard to turn such a subject into socio-philosophical discussion.

the next story that comes on is one about pit bull owners and the usual controversies surrounding them. pedro gives a sigh. someone else says, "they are just dogs. it is all dependent on how they are trained when they are young." another disagrees citing some horror story. i glance at the faces and stand up as i slip the ibook into its sleeve and prepare to leave the room, "they ARE trainable, of course you can train them. they are dogs. if you guys can be trained to wake up and lose yourself into the banality of the local morning news every single day then i can sure as hell train a pit bull to behave any way i'd like it to."

faces momentarily glance at me, trying to absorb what i just stated. there are no voices behind me except for the meteorologist saying that there is a good chance of rain today. i look through the kitchen and out the back door. there is a drizzle coming down. duh!

mike

mike
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

5:45 AM Philosopher sans caffeine

sunrise & clouds

sunrise & clouds
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

"only god makes stuff like this!" – mike

CowboySon

CowboySon taken by AeroDan
Originally uploaded by equusignis.

Dan assured me this would look cool, especially with the folded Buddhist prayer amulet...yeah, right!

C sans Prada

over several cups of tea, a couple of miles worth of strolling, a vegetarian lunch (it's dan's fault), a fantastic crèpe dessert at ti couz, a handful of funky store browsing in the mission district and hayes valley, dan and i have tested the hypothesis and proven that his friend L is indeed "C sans Prada." L kind of looks like C, speaks just like C, her voice sounds like C and is hip like C sans Prada!

dan and i have known C for a long time and we love her dearly but we have come to accept that it is difficult to hang out with her because over the years we have missed out on our "high maintenaince continuance" seminars and are no longer properly certified to be get C's time in any significant alotment. but we have rejoiced since we have found L. this is not to say that we don't want to hang with C or that L is a "replacement" of any sort, such an assessment would be unfair to both. it was simply serendipitous that dan met L. and in this fact, we hope to have many new found moments of laughter in good company together.

having said this, i have to admit that we were in a shoe store on hayes and i picked up a really cool pair of black shoes and showed it to dan. his eyes said, "cool!" i flipped over the shoe to see the price: $348. we frowned, i looked at the heel and saw the logo...in those unmistakably distinctive trapezoidal slab serif letters: PRADA.

chloe contemplating

chloe contemplating
Uploaded by equusignis.

"if a cat turns its back on you, you no longer exist..."

chloe as a nautilus

chloe as a nautilus
Uploaded by equusignis.

cats have a better evolved way of dealing with everyday life no matter how insignificant or mind blowing a situation can be they *know* how to deal...