Wabi-sabi

In Japanese art and culture there exists a term for beauty in imperfection. The all-too-perfect may get boring. The reason that movie star with the mole on her cheek captured us more than a flawless one. The reason the priest threw a handful of leaves back on the newly swept sidewalk after the novice had dutifully swept it spotless. The reason for shadows in pictures. The rationale which often inspires us to find a sinner far more interesting than a saint? Thus, Billie the Kid Casino and not Mother Teresa Casino? The reason Shakespeare's Blank Verse is not PERFECT unrhymed iambic pentameter but strays now and again to give it character.

The beauty of a pinto horse, a field with one lone tree, a rotting, pine log sprouting several yellow, pulpy mushrooms.

The interest in one extra day that's only added to our calendar almost every four years, but not quite (look it up).................... the beauty of wabi-sabi.

Pink Elephant

A stuffed animal left near a rental cabin in the Lincoln forest. The proverbial

pink elephant? An insignificant item that seems to anchor those few days in one's

mind. Muddy and forgotten. What sort of life did it participate in before it was  abandoned in the rocks, pine needles, and mud? Did it once absorb dreams in a sleeping child's arms? What became of it after it received this brief attention from a lens? Did it cause someone else to wonder also? Was it carried away by a playful pet? Did someone

come along, wash it, and place it on a shelf...a do-dad, a treasure to remember a pleasant weekend? Did a wisp of wind drop it to the forest floor again to lie once

again neglected?

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I want to imagine that a youngster with pink bows in her hair picked up the lonely little elephant and talked her mother into washing it clean again. Perhaps the little elephant has started a new life of adventures that include reading stories, tea parties, and trips taken on a high-flying swing into the atmosphere. A Mary Poppins existence.

Interpretations

This was a sketch of me done by an art student. More an interpretation of me than a close representation. Everyone sees us differently. We see ourselves differently than anyone or everyone else. And we are constantly changing, so it's really hard to tie anyone down to a certain perception. We live and learn. We make mistakes and, hopefully, move on. Experience growth. Experience failure. Undergo success. Play our part in the grand experience until curtain call or fade to black.
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Sometimes it would be a good thing to look at ourselves through someone else's eyes. One thing I learned along the way is that when a man tells his wife that she's beautiful, he really means it, and the wife doesn't have the right to try to change his mind by saying the things we women say. "Noooo. My hair isn't done" or " Noooo. My face is broken out" or some of the other words we use to pooh-pooh the compliment. It's all about interpretation. He looks at her and sees the mother of his children, his life partner, his whole world. That's how he interprets her. Women should bring themselves to understand that.

Clouds, three straight trees, a cottonwood, a pecan and life's changes

I took this pic to capture the gorgeous clouds in the background. During the drought that went on here for several years (it's not really over) we went what seemed like eons without seeing a single puff of white in the sky.

The three green sentinels in mid picture I planted years ago. When first joined to the soil they stood not over a foot high. Now they top me, and other evergreens I planted various other places did not fair as well. There is still a lot left up to chance in nature. The pecan tree framing the picture is a native plant while the cottonwood behind it that seems to have struggled and still strains to make its mark on the sky I planted to remind me of the bosque I used to frequent growing up in Socorro county.

We always hear that life is change. And that transforming road often has curves, detours, rough spots and occasionally milestones. Events, sometimes with a dash of synchronicity thrown in, Signpost events that stand out and mark drastic reorganization. Sometimes good, sometimes bad, sometimes bittersweet. All just a part of life.

Tedious relationships

Venturing into the world of human relationships, there is wheat, but there is also chaff. One often hears of toxic human relationships, but googling the word "tedious" finds that that particular sort of interconnection seems, to this writer, to be more prevalent nowadays. That relationship where you must do all the work. Build their ego up. Often at the whittling down of your own. Not being met even close to half way in give and take. They can express any opinion and you still "want" to find common ground or not give up, so you allow yourself to concede to their wants and desires; if you express an honest concern or feeling they berate you or lay a guilt trip on you making it hard to penetrate their narcissistic shield. I believe even wise sages have recommended avoiding or lessoning those type relationships even though that decision comes with a certain guilt that must be dealt with--once again, by the aggrieved party.

Article on tedious relationships

Late nite diatribe

The native plants are revealing signs of spring growth. Possibly, winter may be easing out.
                                 Spring season awakening dormant nature.

Tonight, a brief respite from trials and tribulations of trying to please this one and that. Brief. Visited with a fellow writer for a few moments---minutes of pleasurable human communication stitched into the evening's fabric. Sharing a few stories of past history. What was that? You have a past. Probably why we find great writers so valuable. They pierce the fog of non-communication however briefly with such finesse.

Seems to be a tremendous amount of negativity in the air. Everyone appears so angry: nationally, regionally, locally, individually. Everyone with the ability to air their grievances to the world with harsh words or angry actions. Yet, ironically, so many individuals ensconced in their private spaces: through the day, every other person staring into the window of their cell phones...walking, holding them forward like diviner rods, lost to their surroundings. Mounting their automobiles with their tinted windows, rushing toward their destination? Anonymity making it so much easier to be irate and indignant on the web and on the road. Rushing. Sliding through stop signs. Passing others impatiently. Me first. Me first. Me and mine first. 

So many problems that appear so vital at the present time flame up momentarily but will fade into obscurity after all of us gave them too much importance today...

Salt lake

                                              Today’s heretic is tomorrow’s sage.

Synchronicity

As synchronicity would have it, I've been reading The Name of the Rose from Umberto Eco:

http://www.amazon.com/Umberto-Eco/e/B000APW210/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1456113093&sr=1-2-ent

Until a few days ago, one of our finest living writers. One would benefit from perusing something from this great writer and philosopher.

Creative or confused

Three poems and novel excerpt

3 poems

Basho Haiku

Breaking the silence
Of an ancient pond,
A frog jumped into water —
A deep resonance.

Basho

Editing a poem

What an encouraging afternoon. A student visited late in the day. Had given me a poem earlier at lunch and we went over it together looking at ways to work on the rough draft. Always fulfilling to work with a young person interested in poetry and receptive to improvement. Willing to polish that diamond even more and apply craft to natural talent to develop a finished work of art.

News of Harper Lee's death. As I told a friend, she lives on through To Kill A Mockingbird.

Journaling

The last several days have been gorgeous. Tomorrow (Thursday) two local writers will perform a reading at Starbucks here in Hobbs. It's nice to see an attempt to stir up interest in the Arts: painting, performance, music, poetry, etc. We hope for a good turnout.

Working on my yard. The repetition of simple maintenance routines can be soothing. Zen. 

Surprised a couple of friends this morning with a visit. Always nice to see their smiling faces. Maybe even thinking I helped initiate those smiles.

                                 Life emerges from decay......

Tonight, something makes me recall Hugh Prather, a New Mexico writer (he adopted us for awhile anyway)---for some reason. All we have left now are his thoughts expressed in numerous tomes that may hit home for some if one seeks them out---since he has moved on to another plane. He took time out to explore being a "writer" but while working on fiction found that his most profound thoughts seemed to lie in the journal he kept. They eventually became his first published book: Notes to Myself. This work made an impression on me as a young college student and his books still occupy my shelf today. Aphorisms of life, love, and humanity.

I believe writers should journal if nothing else. Something about placing ink on paper, or nowadays, keeping that pulsing diagonal line moving forward on the monitor screen, may aid one in "making sense of things?" for oneself and maybe even striking a chord in someone else. Helping them to realize, "Hey, I'm not the sole one to think or speculate on that."

I am thrilled recently to have introduced a friend to All The Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy. Something so fulfilling about sharing one's respect for a great work of art. Hearing that they enjoyed something that you found so enjoyable. That held your interest and drew you in through its diction and syntax to another world and another's perspective, if only for a brief time.

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A Poem and a pic

Catching up...

   Several years have gone by since I've blogged. I confess, I haven't played around with it much since Google purchased Blogger, so I'm still discovering how the new system works and attempting to iron out all the kinks in making my contribution.
  
One realizes, technology has provided all with a "soapbox" despite their varying abilities to handle it. I confess. This is my soapbox. I plan to use it to pursue and peruse the topic of writing and publishing in 2016 and forward. Wow! That sounds audacious doesn't it? Even to me.

I'm moving this discussion away from my Facebook page to give people there a break. I'll be able to get some items off my chest without boring everyone utilizing Facebook or even MY Facebook to catch up what's going on, spread their Memes, and socializing, and sharing their latest diatribe against a certain famous person, politician, or viewpoint, or religious or moral slant. I'll assume anyone who ends up here on this page as someone interested in my particular topic.
  
I understand the blog allows others to "put in their two cents worth" and I would love to hear from others, but I will be monitoring suggested input to the blog to spare us both having to listen to "that person" or as some relate to them: trolls.

   Introducing myself for those unfamiliar, I often relate I'm the Jack of All Trades...master of none. I  tested the waters in numerous careers before settling down to teach for the past 24 years. But all that time, since an early age, I've felt the need, urge, desire, call, curse, or blessing if you prefer of needing to write to feel complete.
   So with that, onward and upward.

P.S. Happy Valentine's Day...

  

Testing new blogger site.