Gazing outward

"Life has taught us that love does not consist in gazing at each other but in looking outward together in the same direction."  Antoine de Saint-Exupery

gBus

enjoy the music and the ride.

Continuous arrivals

To be able to see and vocalize 

the empiricist and rationalist positions.  

The discussion that is premised 

on an end state 

rather than the process of arrival.... 

Listening akin to might is right.

for some the arrival has already occurred.

Here in now in this place. 

This figure, this shell of a human being

who has arrived with answers in hand

Only their path, or paths traveled

seems to be different

than this one I've lived

and continue to live.

Its taken all this to see it clearly. 

All this time. 

That distance was,

or ,

is the process of arriving. 

To think about such things openly

and how it fueled me. 

Clickity-clack

Clickity clack of wheels underway...sky clouds rushing away and a blur of trees.

Trains.

Motive power,

Grounded,

Racing,

This distinct sound.

"Ticket please."
A questioning smile.
And my fumbling through pockets.
Same lack of habits.
A pattern of not having a pattern.

A smile.
A returned smile.
No additional tickets that penalize are required.

A ticket to travel.
Tickets to remind of paid fares and to be fair.

Anew

"Today we . . . in the history of our universe."

Pavarotti

There might not be something better than listening to Pavarotti by the seaside.

Maybe listening with better headphones.

Maybe listening with better headphones on a Segway to be carried along.

Bickering

I'm learning that

Most people bicker
Fight
Argue

Behind closed doors.

When 

is 

this 

learnt
And why?

Add to the silent questions:
Does this one bicker?
Does this one fight?
Is right all that matters?
Is this form of misery fleeting or held closely?

When,

When did they start protecting themselves from the other?
Why,

Why are they so invested?
What makes this the mode of being?

I miss the soft voice
I miss the,

'I can't remember...'
Code for ,'It doesn't matter' or 

'How important is this?' 

The silent questions. 

And statement of sorts. 

I miss this. I miss it. 

There's was nothing to bicker about...there was no argument. 

Just a look to the distance and sometimes a genuine shrug.

Someday they will listen and find joy in hearing.

Overweight runners

The try

Few understand the effort it takes
A body out of sync

And what's life giving?
The try
The passing of this body in motion

Explicit in every way

The mental processing
The war we are witness to

If only we would look

 and listen 

and for a moment bow our heads honoring that try

Rolling oxygen

What is it not to be able to breathe?
For the world to see one is not able to?
Invisible scars have security of sorts...private nightmares.

Grief

I would learn grief is -- was killing a part of us. 

A husband died six months ago. A mother died four months ago. A wife died four months ago. A son, died just a few weeks back. Almost everyone was faced with this in under a year. For one it was years ago.

Grief. We never forgive ourselves for surviving this loss. For not having said a proper goodbye. For not having been human and forgiving and kind and honorable in our lives - in our last meeting.

"Live now - now will never come again." And right -- right won't matter. But shattering will.

its possible

that such things can be as smiley, as happy, as heartfelt.

1947

Something of in broken accented Russian english, 'I traveled to Switzerland - it was beautiful. It was 1947 and we came from Austria to a refugee camp....'

puddles

They are everywhere ... and a dog splashes straight through. The rest of us wander about it and yet...if we retained the child within, we would run, hop, jump, splash right through it and worry about the cold later.

Tryers

Its very different here after it rains. Where have the tryers gone? It is only in sunshine that they are here? That song...can you stand the rain...perhaps they can't. Or maybe they're just bridge and tunnel people.

Water guy

Water...it's hot.

"What are you reading?" he asks.

"Book about the art of consciousness," I respond.

"I'm interested in bring free of my consciousness"

Seems a theme of sorts. (The sermon - a paragraph of losing consciousness.)

This book is the opposite. My response a quiet smile and then laughter as the common ground. A conveyance of "its all good" and a, "thank you" when I receive the water.

And on ones way.

He's here's most weekends...at least one day. 

To phase out...

to fade away...

perhaps selling drinks does this to one.

The sermon today...

More explicit in this polar opposite of philosophy. 

I've come at the worst time to listen. 

Or maybe not. What is it I'm listening for?

(The older gentleman with soft eyes  ... what has his life been? 

Perhaps it's not listening but rather seeing these lives, their age and simply wondering.)

This congregation is older in this service. 

The earlier one is for families...definite different feel? 

I wonder. Gearing the same msg in the same language to different generations. 

Its not the delivery that is different but the reception. 

This older set has lived and thinking in terms of death. 

And the youngers they are thinking in terms of growing children. 

Very different. 

How does it all mesh in the end?

Observations.

Another incredibly lovely day by the seaside.

Styles

The parent doesn't move...she let's the ball drop. Walks, picks it up, tosses it back. Her child let's it drop. Little effort made. Prior to his throwing it back he watches a girl close to his age with her mother and father. She runs after every Frisbee wanting to catch it and her parents do the same. A different standard.

They've sat down this boy with the mother who walks toward a frisbee that has fallen to the ground.  And he continues to watch. I wonder what he sees, what he thinks. Does he already understand what this difference means? 

Or maybe he just sees something in flight. 

kiteboarding

Definitely need to learn how to do this. 

Mistakes are forgiven in this sport.

She's a beginner. 

Feet not ... the kite will fly without one...anchored by a body floating in the sea.

Kisses forever

Little Prince memories by the seaside. Another year (and a few months)...where has the sea carried you?

walking out

i walked out after the first piece. the second time in my life i have chosen to walk away from something that was less than unpleasant. not the correct way to phrase it. perhaps seated in the row farthest from the front. perhaps. but far too loud. a place of quiet that turned into a wonderful celebration for those who can embrace such. the walking out. that is new. to not sit and endure it. perhaps i needed to walk more than listen to music. unknown.

the lights of tiburon faded away early last evening. just a night time grey.

Result of flowers

this is the happiest day i've had in years.