Mute Monday ~ Summer

[NB: this one is wallpaper-sized ... feel free to click on the image to see the full size & then grab it]

** FYI ~ all of these photos taken by frizzy **
i shot all pics [except the grafitti pic]
at the Dr. Sun Yat-Sen Chinese Garden,
located in Vancouver's Chinatown.
to see more of these pics,
visit my Flickr site
[link in sidebar].

Ivy Grows in the Window Sill

inside-ivy by frizzyscissorhands on Zooomr


inside-ivy-aeriel view by frizzyscissorhands on Zooomr


inside-ivy-close-up by frizzyscissorhands on Zooomr

Life finds a way, doesn't it?

Of course it does. Still, it never ceases to amaze me, that life perseveres, survives and even thrives in the most unlikely, impossible and/or inhospitable environments. The wild ivy in these photos currently grows right outside our house, beneath our lounge (living room) window. Somehow, the ivy picked a path that weaves it between the siding and the actual wall of the house, through the window sill of the lounge, into the house. As you can see, its spread itself across the sill and then begun trailing down the wall.

We take care now, when opening that window, against injuring our new wild and green friend. Most humans fail to realize the fact that life travels such a complex and circuitous path to survive and thrive ... constantly. That makes life a cherished and fragile treasure ~ something which we treat with love and great care. Including, and perhaps especially, the ivy growing in my window sill.

mute monday ~ old man

soaked

i hear the universe ~
softly and steadily
she breathes
thoughts
into my soul.
softly ~
like the glistening petals
of a rain-drenched flower.
steadily ~
like the unceasing energy
of the rich torrents
that cascade
from the heavens.
i feel the universe ~
she infuses me,
soaking me ~
like the heavens
permeating
the deep, red earth.

~written by the.red.mantissa~

the stag lives tonight

death just is

nothing can prepare us for death ... even waiting for death - imminently waiting for death - can never prepare us for the moment of its arrival. any more than waiting for birth prepares us for the arrival of the child.

we need not view death as the flip side of life ... as an entity or state that requires conquering, remedying, or fixing in any way. any more than the wolf's wildness requires remedying.

i do not think of death in terms of proportions - i.e. vastness. its an absolute concept. death -- just IS. period. i view death with the same awe as i view the wildness of an animal.

indeed, a corpse has little resemblance to the entity who animated that corpse. one's spirit - its what makes one look like onself, in a way.

death ... contains life. for, without death ~ how much value would we attach to existence, to time, to vibrance?

from the moment of birth, we begin to die. death IS -- each and every nanosecond ... it never begins ... it never ends ... it just IS.

truth - there's the transient.

emerging, alone, from the darkness

alone in the darkness. illusory - this solitude. and - all the while - my lucidity regarding said illusion remained clear and strong. still, an immense and incredibly powerful and extremely debilitating sense of sorrow - grief, intense grief - settled upon my soul. and paralyzed my spirit. much the same way a tiny spot of dampness renders an fresh bag of brown sugar inert and impenetrable. like that. i could not enter myself. i could not extract myself. trapped - this self of mine - beneath a thick, icy layer of flaming and poisonous grief.

cuddly as a jellyfish. that's how martin described me late thursday evening when i began to emerge from the grip of the devil of darkness that lurks within me. we laughed. and now i have yet another clever and descriptive phrase to ad to my bylines! and, i do no feel ashamed to admit its true. 'cuddly as a jellyfish.'

once again, i released myself from the darkest grips of that devil that lurks inside my soul. but, fools yourselves not! s/he always resides close @ hand. ever close. ever longing. ever restless. indeed, susan - its like having the devil inside you. and you know? sadly, i have grown to believe that it never goes away. that, those of us who house this devil ... must learn to balance its demands with the rest of life for ... all of this earthly existence.



i have spend my time cut off from the collective energy source called the internet contemplating death, life, knowing.

death & life - i wonder - have we got it all wrong? does artificial extension of life really honour its sacredness? what if we have ignored g-d's call for a soul? what if we have extended some lives beyond their ethereal purpose? what if ....? we have not heard g-d's call? because we have busied ourselves too much with our own call? what if ...?

death and dying - what has occurred to many of you only in light of baron's untimely death has rattled around in my heart and soul for a while now - for many years, in fact. the humbling reality of mortality. ours - humanity. for each of us - the end could come at any time. how do you really know you will see that buddy again? or your son, daughter, husband? you don't really. you just develop a certain amount of complacency to hopefully obscure the discomforting sorrow of reality. one never knows. death comes. she does not discriminate. at times we can cheat her - but only @ some expense, the cost of which will only become apparent much later down the time line of our existence. do not mistake this doomsayer-ish-ness for the nihilism of depressive thinking. its not. its a realization of the sorrow that plays a role in the circle of life. humanity likes to deny death. in doing so, we deny life. in doing so, we kill with abundance.

knowing - so few of us really possess knowing. i mean, really possess it down to our viscera, feel it boiling in our very bone marrow. many of us think we know ... oh so much more than we do. 'ignorance is bliss.' true - this old adage, in a surreal sort of way. i think, when one really submits oneself to the humbling reality of the delicate mortal finiteness of existence on earth, one cannot help but feel a constant twinge of sorrow for what loss exists somewhere in the moment. forget not, dear reader, that the circle of life continues to spin - whether pride and fear obscure your view of said wheel or not.

we think ourselves so smart. yet - we do not know. the birds know. the trees know. the grass knows. the magnolias and the cherry trees know. the willow trees know. the hyacinths, the tulips and the daffodils know. the see knows. and it waits, so patiently. the mountains, brood in their knowing. and still, we do not know. those of us that do know - that feel this ancient, silent, mystical knowledge brewing in our very bone marrows - we bear the label unstable, odd, eccentric, mentally ill, even.

i know. i feel this knowledge boiling in my blood. a silent, constant knowledge. it cannot speak as loudly and forcefully as power, or glamour, or ego, or vanity. it cannot speak that language. the knowledge i feel speaks a silent, ancient and enigmatic dialect. it takes gentle patience and solitude of self to decipher its code. its a labour of love. and a life long work in progress.

~here's a poetic musing of our long walk in the sunshine~

an honour guard of grand old cypress and pine trees
protect the dead from the living
an explosion of verdant textures, shades and blooms
tickle my senses
out of the corner of my eye - a late bloomer -
a surreal sepia image - a suspension of time and space:
a young tree, with delicate chestnut buds
and a strange patch of dessicated, pale brown leaves
a chorus of ravens serenades us with their stuttered
and angular sounding spring melody
the sparrows, the starlings -
the blossom-scented breeze carries their songs, too.
its raining the loveliest kind of rain shower
any princess could have on a warm, sunny day -
a delicate and steady shower of the tiniest pink blossom petals.
i breathe. deeply.
i inhale. inspiration.
i exhale. more inspiration.
i live. deeply.
intensely.
down to the cellular level.
i live.
what a gift i possess.
life.
and what a grace -
to know.

welcome to my jungle

written 5.03.07 and not posted
a sane-looking man with white hair shouting out to the street about concentric circles and disappearance of the human race. the groaning and grinding of a diesel engine. a staccato melody only motor coach or new flyer would compose. the growl of a pepsi truck. the garish, brassy, high-pitched whine of construction machinery. constant. unyielding. for @ least 8 hours per day.

the brassy hue to this noise hurts the exposed nerves of my decaying molars. i run my tongue along the caps of said teeth - an attempt to soothe my dental viscera from the brutal, offensive jarring. my cerebral cortex feels clogged. so much sensory input. each molecule of space, infused with sound. no silence in which to bathe my weary axons and dendrites in my sacred solitary moments.

the temperature display says 21 degrees celcius on this day, @ 2.28.46 in the afternoon. i convince myself someone mixed up the 1 and the 2 and the temperature should read 12. i am wearing a scarf and my wool coat. and i still feel the chill. i cannot imagine its 21 degrees and i'm dressed like this!

pink blossoms @ nite

picture moved to my new foto blog

taken saturday nite,
in the vancouver art gallery 'park' -
near the olympic clock

it was raining.
the blossoms looked lush.
its still raining.
and - they still do.
it will rain here for days.
i am keepin' on the sunny side.
just like june carter says.

lupin and the wolf

the snow loomed heavily on the road ahead. the rockies - craggy and sugar-coated - began to take height. the road ahead - and ascent into the heavens. how much closer to heave could one get? as his neurons executed that thought, his eyes spotted something quite remarkable. just as he looked out the window to see the distant, now darkened sunset, he saw it. a wolf. standing at the edge of the pine brush, basking in the glow of the almost full moon. the wolf wore a coat of brindled gray. and sported a large, bushy tail. lupin knew it could not be a fox. a fox ... its far smaller than a wolf. and .... a fox ... does not live nocturnally. no one else in the van saw the wolf. only lupin. and he wondered. just what that meant.

young 'uns - our sweetest blessing!

i felt a twinge of ... nostalgia ... for the little boy that once animated my now-21 year old son, as i counted the dinosaur-type stuff in the science world gift shop early this morning. logan had this absolute passion for dinosaurs. absolute. and ... counting all the games, figurines, plushies, etc ... reminded me how much fun an 8, 9, 10 year-old boy can be. and what a handful! and ... all those questions asked! that insatiable curiousity. like - going on safari each and every moment of each and every day. what a joy and a blessing children are ... not just to their parents ... but to civilization as a whole. and ... (mostly to their parents) what teachers, too! oh - the lessons learned! i treasure each and every one!

logan is 3-and-a-half years old in this pic.
(check out that hair! lol)

here are some beautiful pics i found ...
and hadda share with y'all. ENJOY!

yes - its a tiger cub with a couple of baby orangutans!

doesn't it look like they're havin' fun?
don't you just want to pick them up
and squeeze them? (uh-huh!!)

simply ... adorable ...


PS - still working on the silver harbour story ...
just so ya know (i haven't forgotten!)

EDIT 3.3.7 - just after i published this post ... logan showed up @ my door, with a much prayed for and desperately needed gift (the green stuff - $). what a son i have, who lives so simply (like a yogi) so he can share more with others.

tuesday evening bells

it did not escape me that this .... metamorphosis my spirit appears to be moving toward ... commenced around the beginning of lent. it did not escape me. nor did it escape me that, mere moments after i arrived in the park, and took my seat on the concrete overlooking the pond .... that the cathedral bells began joyously chanting. chanting a vibrant light into the descending darkness. this did not escape me. each time i step out of the building, the first thing i see is the cathedral, and our lady perched up there, near the bell tower. i listen to the bells ... contemplate them. as though vessels that carry the our lady's sentiment ... wisdom ... to the four corners. one only need to reach out and grab a tendril ... savour a rich morsel ... of this energy.

and so i sat, as night unfurled its petals before my tired eyes. and i watched wilbur the goose (read about him here ... and here gracefully contort his neck. i stared deep into the black of his lovely swan-like neck. as i watched its thick sheen dance onto itself it made me think of a thick, plush, black velvet rope. the feathers of his dorsum glittered faintly, as though he'd mucked about in gold leaf and got most of it, not quite all of it off. the stippled brindle of each individual feather i found mezmerizing. as he flared his wings to jump into the pond, i held my breath. and then he gently floated away. sort of like a paper boat floats - effortlessly.

[still planning a "silver harbour - pt 2" post ... stay tuned]

silver harbour - part 1

the cottage - a view from the lake-side @ night.

a lovely, simple a-frame cottage. a tiny one. nothin' fancy. no bells. no whistles. a 20 gallon hot water tank. a septic tank. a tiny patch of trees. a wood stove - not installed according to the fire code. and a deck, screened in and looking out onto lake winnipeg. in the spring, summer and autumn you could here the sighing of the tide from just about anywhere in the cottage. the windows remained perpetually opened, as did the sliding door that leads out to the deck. a gentle breeze sang thru my bamboo chimes. and on some days, you could here that familiar, yet enchanting, flutter and hum of the hummingbirds, slurping up my offerings of fake red nectar.

people lived here only on the weekends. during the weeks, a silent hush descended on silver harbour. and then the gentle, shy does would emerge from their hiding spots. and ... if you were lucky, you might spot the occasional stag - tho they seemed far more elusive that their female counterparts. teeming with life -- this silent, silver prairie nugget called silver harbour. 2.5 hours north of winnipeg. remote as remote gets. coyotes, owls, eagles, pelicans and a certain yearling moose all called this place home.

the forest - thick, lush and vibrant.
just steps from our door.

winter - the view from my kitchen window
(the lake lies beyond the snow pile)

lake winnipeg is the size of switzerland. and though its only a lake, from my kitchen window in silver harbour it seemed like a vast, expansive sea. a walk along the narrow little beach at silver harbour revealed the tiny hoof imprints in the sand ... our wild friends ... visited the beach, too. and i knew, tho i never did see them, that they lurked about our yard in the deep stalk of night.

night time up @ silver harbour. ahhhhh - pure, unadulterated night. a million plus starry beacons pepper the velvet sky. and ... @ those certain times of year, mother nature's spectacular aurora borealis light show forced me to drag my foldable camping chair outside, just to watch in silent awe and wonder.

if you watch them closely,
when they grace the night skies,
you can seem them dance electrically

it all starts today

i am going to quit smoking weed. i've decided. i thought about it. about the fact that it costs so fricken much $. money that i could apply in so many better ways. i thought about it. like ... with the $ i would save from 4 weeks of going without weed, i could treat myself to a weekend of solitude in the mountains. when i think on this scale, it occurs to me just what i am giving up to stay high. its ridiculous. i notice i don't really wanna smoke when i blog, do blog hacs, design and/or tweak templates, and work on my digital art. so ... i guess i need to get more expressive and less stoned.

i went to the market to get some groceries with a $10 bill. i got a nice assortment of stuff. call me crazy, but there is nothin' like some black beans on top of good ole maci-cheese ... all topped of with piquante salsa sauce. and so i feasted. i am so hungry - have not eaten well these past few days. and it seems, today my body demands recompense! and so ... what can i do, but bow down? i have learned, by now - one must listen to one's own body. and one must stop ... long enough, to hear the the message.

i cannot believe how far a $10 can go, if you don't buy drugs. a simple statement ... but you must understand - a monumental one for an addict. and so ... this merely reinforces my decision to stop. or more accurately - re-priorize. its not so much about whether or not i smoke weed. its about setting accurate life priorities. and maximizing my potential.

i emerged from the underground tunnel mall that makes me feel like a prairie dog, popping out from a hole in the ground. as i began my ascent, i imagined that the furious collective sigh i heard emanated from the ocean. and i imagined myself not walking up a concrete staircase, but along the shore of a restless sea. i imagined that the splashes which emanated from the shiny metal boxes zooming north on seymour street were, in fact, the splashes of the tide slapping the shore. i imagined ....

and all the while - my heart longed.

a smoky-silver velvet blanket
still cocoons
my immediate exterior world.
i still feel like
a magenta dot
in a sea of monotone murk.

my wish for today

I can't help getting the feeling that we are rodents burrowing underground in our mammoth concrete tunnels, with our shiny metal boxes. My gaze strokes the scarred ravine @ the tracks' edge. peppered with garish yellow plastic crates, discarded clothing that's been tossed on the low lying brush, and assorted other trash. i'm sure if i could see up close, i would see discarded, empty sterile water containers and used insulin needles - a tell tale sign that junkies live here - everywhere ... here. the trees - they bow down, as if in painful deference to skytrain number 234.

misty rain and a velvet gray sky inhaled existence today. the world felt hollow - emptied of vibrance. i felt like a solitary, flaming magenta lily pad, floating in a murky grey monotone pond. that's what the city makes me feel like. i long for solitude. quiet solitude. and the song of the gentle mountain breeze lazily whispering ancient secrets thru the trees. i long to hear the loudest silence ... the collective silent sigh of the forest. and ... i long to see those brooding summits. and, most of all ... the crisp salty scent of the water's edge. and to hear the sweetest sound - the fretful sighing of my beloved pacific ocean.

quiet. peaceful solitude. that is what i wish for. right @ this moment.