I do not love you as if you were a salt rose, or topaz
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
So I love you because I know no other way.
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
~ Pablo Neruda
Friday, January 13, 2012
Wednesday, January 04, 2012
And now he rides an iron horse...
At least he might... My uncle, my wonderful, handsome, kind and generous true cowboy uncle... The details, as were passed to me are that he fell off his horse on December 23rd in the late afternoon. He broke his back and was taken to the hospital in Flagstaff. At least an hour, maybe two, from his ranch.
He had emergency surgery and it was noted that he suffered damage to the T1 region of his spinal cord. The cord , however, was not severed. He was doing fine until a respiratory issue had him sedated and on a ventilator with a tracheotomy.
The news since has both flown by and been shockingly slow...
My father is not the best provider of news so I had to depend on my cousin, this uncles daughter, for updates. I am the source of information for those on my side of the family, my mother and aunt who fondly recall him and his twin as a recent high school graduates, following my father to bullfights and embodying the cowboy spirit that they must have inherited from their father, my grandfather.
I don't know what will happen to him, for now I picture him surrounded by healing white light, prayers of a kind, images of recovery.
I am taking this hard, not sure why... it may be the fragile mortal coil and my parents and conversations this led to. It may be the recollections of my uncle as one of the few who came to visit us when we lived abroad; handsome with his beautiful new bride... feeling like there was no judgement from him, just a true uncle in the spirit one would love to have... my beaming at his delight that after so many years of not having ridden a horse that I still had my seat, taking my son for his first long ride, going with him to watch my father bullfight.... I suppose I am so full of heartache because I can't think of a solitary bad interaction between my uncle and me, I don't recall him even uttering a negative word about anyone, and perhaps the most touching of all are the kind inquires about my mother after my parent's divorced (a genuine interest in my mother's well being).
Anyway, this renders my heart heavy and so I put this out there as a request to get people to do what they do for people they don't know; prayer, positive thoughts, healing energy.
He had emergency surgery and it was noted that he suffered damage to the T1 region of his spinal cord. The cord , however, was not severed. He was doing fine until a respiratory issue had him sedated and on a ventilator with a tracheotomy.
The news since has both flown by and been shockingly slow...
My father is not the best provider of news so I had to depend on my cousin, this uncles daughter, for updates. I am the source of information for those on my side of the family, my mother and aunt who fondly recall him and his twin as a recent high school graduates, following my father to bullfights and embodying the cowboy spirit that they must have inherited from their father, my grandfather.
I don't know what will happen to him, for now I picture him surrounded by healing white light, prayers of a kind, images of recovery.
I am taking this hard, not sure why... it may be the fragile mortal coil and my parents and conversations this led to. It may be the recollections of my uncle as one of the few who came to visit us when we lived abroad; handsome with his beautiful new bride... feeling like there was no judgement from him, just a true uncle in the spirit one would love to have... my beaming at his delight that after so many years of not having ridden a horse that I still had my seat, taking my son for his first long ride, going with him to watch my father bullfight.... I suppose I am so full of heartache because I can't think of a solitary bad interaction between my uncle and me, I don't recall him even uttering a negative word about anyone, and perhaps the most touching of all are the kind inquires about my mother after my parent's divorced (a genuine interest in my mother's well being).
Anyway, this renders my heart heavy and so I put this out there as a request to get people to do what they do for people they don't know; prayer, positive thoughts, healing energy.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Joy
I was asked to speak on Joy and what that means in our home.
I said of course, and proceed to realize that I had just set myself up for an intellectual quest.
I come from a long line of scientists and engineers so I started out with trying to figure out a consensus of definition.
In our day in age there is a dictionary which in a way said that joy is things like fun and happy to the 11.
But what does that mean, other than it is really, really, really, really a happy moment for us humans?
So, I did what any other person has the option of doing today and asked what joy mean to people on Twitter and Facebook.
The answers were mostly expected, a few that made me ponder more and I was starting to see some patterns.
I work with some tough kids, so I took this question to them and got some more expected answers, and some unexpected ones... but the patterns were holding... though somewhat elusive in setting into concrete language.
I asked a friend with whom I pursue issues of intellect and faith. I mentioned that I was starting to see that community was a theme, especially if the people were parents. My friend suggested that it was about being a part of something bigger than oneself.
More to think about. I have to admit that I was starting to question if those moments I would have called joyful actually were. I tend to avoid definitions that require faith, as it is something that is not really definable.
A few days later I was sitting in one of my favorite coffee shops, getting ready for a meeting and a dear friend happened to walk in. In the course of our conversation I decided they would be a good person to ask this question to... They revealed some interesting things to think about.
Among the things they said was that they tended to associate the word joy with the Christian faith. That in their work they used that word most commonly with Christians and not so much with people of an other faith.
I reacted quickly, saying that I thought joy was more of a universal concept, that it really did not have a faith barrier.
But, with time, and my typical Scottish Presbyterian upbringing tendency to dwell on such matters... I started to think there was something very valid in that assertion. The word joy is very Christian (though it does appear in the old testament and in other sacred texts).
Joy is sometime that often comes up around this time of year, in reference to Christmas of course.
So, I had to give in to the notion that Joy was a Christian notion... though in doing so I don't say that it is ONLY a Christian one.
I think that the patterns I was noticing, that of community were about being a part of something bigger than ones self. That is was feeling content, that it was not always an easy emotion, that it could include things like watching children being themselves and feeling your heart swell with something that could only be joy, that it could be about our senses being stimulated with simple things like a favorite horse chewing on alfalfa or sugar and just how magical that moment could be. I would even allow for the answers that threw me a little and might not apply to me; a sense of accomplishment, feeling buzzed, and listening to music.
One thing I do know... for me, the most constant source of joy comes from witnessing Squink grow up and be a part of the world he was born into.
I said of course, and proceed to realize that I had just set myself up for an intellectual quest.
I come from a long line of scientists and engineers so I started out with trying to figure out a consensus of definition.
In our day in age there is a dictionary which in a way said that joy is things like fun and happy to the 11.
But what does that mean, other than it is really, really, really, really a happy moment for us humans?
So, I did what any other person has the option of doing today and asked what joy mean to people on Twitter and Facebook.
The answers were mostly expected, a few that made me ponder more and I was starting to see some patterns.
I work with some tough kids, so I took this question to them and got some more expected answers, and some unexpected ones... but the patterns were holding... though somewhat elusive in setting into concrete language.
I asked a friend with whom I pursue issues of intellect and faith. I mentioned that I was starting to see that community was a theme, especially if the people were parents. My friend suggested that it was about being a part of something bigger than oneself.
More to think about. I have to admit that I was starting to question if those moments I would have called joyful actually were. I tend to avoid definitions that require faith, as it is something that is not really definable.
A few days later I was sitting in one of my favorite coffee shops, getting ready for a meeting and a dear friend happened to walk in. In the course of our conversation I decided they would be a good person to ask this question to... They revealed some interesting things to think about.
Among the things they said was that they tended to associate the word joy with the Christian faith. That in their work they used that word most commonly with Christians and not so much with people of an other faith.
I reacted quickly, saying that I thought joy was more of a universal concept, that it really did not have a faith barrier.
But, with time, and my typical Scottish Presbyterian upbringing tendency to dwell on such matters... I started to think there was something very valid in that assertion. The word joy is very Christian (though it does appear in the old testament and in other sacred texts).
Joy is sometime that often comes up around this time of year, in reference to Christmas of course.
So, I had to give in to the notion that Joy was a Christian notion... though in doing so I don't say that it is ONLY a Christian one.
I think that the patterns I was noticing, that of community were about being a part of something bigger than ones self. That is was feeling content, that it was not always an easy emotion, that it could include things like watching children being themselves and feeling your heart swell with something that could only be joy, that it could be about our senses being stimulated with simple things like a favorite horse chewing on alfalfa or sugar and just how magical that moment could be. I would even allow for the answers that threw me a little and might not apply to me; a sense of accomplishment, feeling buzzed, and listening to music.
One thing I do know... for me, the most constant source of joy comes from witnessing Squink grow up and be a part of the world he was born into.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
And my favourite line is... (Stand forgiven)
Stand forgiven
Somber, as is this time, and I ponder tomorrow,
All as was given, and, in this beauty it is granted,
Life as we know it should be.
Of yesterday and those gone by,
For tomorrow, as it is, within question
And, existence in this mortal world
An answer awaits.
Upon this solemn ground I quake,
As though, I shiver in the nakedness of distrust!
Humble, and, I bow mine own head in prayer for thee.
A tear thus shed, in sorrow
Apathy for a time in turmoil, and, mine own disgust!
Truly as it were, a view of what should be
As we look to the morn'.
Alas, thine own view of reality
As to not tiptoe so quietly through the aftermath of yesterday's
Diminished glory!
Standing proud, and, there is nothing of this to be shared
Thus, I listen, and I hear the voice within
Ashamed, for what has become of a notion that all was done
Within reason.
Michael Shawn Groseclose
Copyright 2011 At first sight. Michael Shawn Groseclose. All rights reserved.
Thank You Michael Groseclose for letting me share this.
~b
Somber, as is this time, and I ponder tomorrow,
All as was given, and, in this beauty it is granted,
Life as we know it should be.
Of yesterday and those gone by,
For tomorrow, as it is, within question
And, existence in this mortal world
An answer awaits.
Upon this solemn ground I quake,
As though, I shiver in the nakedness of distrust!
Humble, and, I bow mine own head in prayer for thee.
A tear thus shed, in sorrow
Apathy for a time in turmoil, and, mine own disgust!
Truly as it were, a view of what should be
As we look to the morn'.
Alas, thine own view of reality
As to not tiptoe so quietly through the aftermath of yesterday's
Diminished glory!
Standing proud, and, there is nothing of this to be shared
Thus, I listen, and I hear the voice within
Ashamed, for what has become of a notion that all was done
Within reason.
Michael Shawn Groseclose
Copyright 2011 At first sight. Michael Shawn Groseclose. All rights reserved.
Thank You Michael Groseclose for letting me share this.
~b
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Art history
I just read a line in A Trip To The Stars by Nicholas Christopher that just struck me so personally...
"It was amazing to me, when I thought back on it later, that I got my art history, not from slides or photographs in coffee-table books, but from viewing the objects firsthand, close enough to touch".
This feels so true to my experience... not just with paintings, photography and sculpture but also with literature and music and knowing the writers and artists as well. Oh, mom... what a special thing this was.
"It was amazing to me, when I thought back on it later, that I got my art history, not from slides or photographs in coffee-table books, but from viewing the objects firsthand, close enough to touch".
This feels so true to my experience... not just with paintings, photography and sculpture but also with literature and music and knowing the writers and artists as well. Oh, mom... what a special thing this was.
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