Alexandersmap

    Category: Poetry

    • An Early Morning Walk on South Beach

      “the ocean calls for you
      in waves”
      – Kat Lehmann, Small Stones from the River

      South Beach has a mix of cool, wild & crazy and a hint of desperation at the edges where the homeless sleep in the shadows of pricy real estate. Taking an early morning walk, the ocean was amazingly calm, mirroring the stillness of the city. There were enough people to feel you were on a city beach, but not anywhere near the craziness the rest of the day will bring.

      South Beach is filled with storage sheds for chaise lounges, colorful life guard stands with unique designs and a cast of characters with unique personalities. Sprinkled into this scene are small swathes of sand blocked off with orange tape and stakes that designated places where sea turtle made nests. Walking past these rare undisturbed squares of sand I wondered at the momma turtle’s thoughts on this spot they chose to lay eggs as they navigated the visual feast that is South Beach.

      Walking on soft sand offers its own unique workout, and my calves felt it as I made the turn 35 minutes into the walk. This was meant to be a quick walk after all, and duty called. But what a way to begin a day in Miami. As the sun rose the call of Cuban coffee took over, and sand gave way to classic Cuban-American culture. And so began a memorable morning on South Beach.

      Sunrise on South Beach

    • Making a Splash

      This earth will grow cold,
      a star among stars
      and one of the smallest,
      a gilded mote on blue velvet—
      I mean this, our great earth.
      This earth will grow cold one day,
      not like a block of ice
      or a dead cloud even
      but like an empty walnut it will roll along
      in pitch-black space . . .
      You must grieve for this right now
      —you have to feel this sorrow now—
      for the world must be loved this much
      if you’re going to say “I lived”. . .
      – Nazim Hikmet, On Living

      Skipping along the surface of Lake Winnipesaukee, the hull sliced through the wake of another boat, creating spray that flew off the port and starboard sides, water molecules momentarily flying once again before rejoining the lake. The likelihood of catching these particular molecules of water shining in the sun in their one brilliant moment is exceedingly remote. But we treat it with indifference because it’s something we’ve seen hundreds of times.

      This business of living is a miracle in a cold, indifferent universe. This defiant act of being born and surviving into adulthood, at this moment, on this particular series of trips around the sun for Earth, is an extraordinarily random circumstance. More random than capturing these particular water droplets dancing with the sky. We’re all just randomly formed molecules and energy brought together for our one momentary dance with the universe.

      So what do we do with such information, should we recognize it? Celebrate it? Ignore it? Become overwhelmed by it?

      We might choose to act on it. To embrace our brief moment between the earth and the sky and live. To the best of our ability, while we can. Make a splash in this moment with the sun.

    • To Untie the Knot

      Seek that wisdom
      that will untie your knot
      Seek that path
      that demands your whole being
      Leave that which is not, but appears
      to be
      Seek that which is, but is
      not apparent
      – Rumi

      This entire blog is a work in progress. The output is the measure of the man, but the process itself is the progress. To write daily is a challenge, and I’ve had moments when I want to just stop altogether and use this time for something else. But I recognize the knot within myself that needs to be untied, and writing every day seems to be the path to get me there.

      You learn a lot about yourself in the process of daily work, and keenly come to know that which you don’t like about yourself along with the things you celebrate. But isn’t that the point? We all persist and clear our individual hurdles, and maybe turn in new directions now and then. Writers just document it for the rest of the world to see.

      This knot isn’t quite untied. But I’ll keep working at it. Thanks for sticking with me.

    • A Measure of Contentment

      How difficult
      it is to die
      from my
      disbelief
      and kneel
      down
      to the truer
      underlying
      font of happiness
      waiting to
      break
      the enclosing
      surface,
      to believe
      in my body that
      I deserve
      the full spacious
      sense of
      not being
      thirsty anymore,
      of living
      a present
      contentment.
      – David Whyte, Newly Married

      The realization of not being thirsty anymore, of being content with the life you’re living and all that it means; the relationship you’re in, the place you live, the work you do, the mark you’ve made, the places you’ve gone to and returned from, and the fitness level you’ve achieved, this is the promised land of contentment. I look at that list in the previous sentence and know I’m more than halfway there. But the fact that there’s still a list indicates I have a way to go.

      Whyte writes of relationships and having found his thirst-quenching soulmate. When you reach that particular point you recognize immediately that yes, this is more than enough for me in this area of my life. And if you haven’t, well, you’d recognize that too. Contentment isn’t the same as complacency, and each day requires a recommitment to seeing it through. To seeing it continue to tomorrow and the tomorrows to follow.

      Lately I’ve turned my attention back to fitness and nutrition. Eating the right foods, drinking in moderation, exercise and a recommitment to my flexibility and strength that has somehow been missing for too long. I recognize within myself that there’s a thirst, a hunger if you will, to be better than I presently am. This is my current area of discontentment.

      The thing is, things change, and change constantly. If at one point in life I was content with my overall fitness level, I’m not now and work to change it. If I was once content with the number of days I spent traveling and exploring the world, now I’m restless and ready to get back out there. Circumstances change, and we change with circumstances. Contentment is a relative thing, and it’s relatively evasive. We must work for that which we seek in our lives.

      I expect Whyte knows this too. He didn’t say lifetime contentment, but present contentment. We’re dynamic beings coexisting with a dynamic and ever-changing world. Contentment is meant to be evasive. Our purpose is to keep working at this fragile dance, and make of it what we can in the time given to us. To be content with being a work in progress seems the ultimate measure of contentment.

    • Remember, and Live Well

      we will be remembered
      in the way others still live,
      and still live on, in our love.
      – David Whyte, Everlasting

      There’s a certain look in the eye of the next generation, both uncertain and certain at the same time. A look that says “I’ve got this” that convinces you that yes indeed, they really can fly on their own. And I wonder at the look I give back, and hope that it reflects their certainty and more than a little love and hope for their future out there in the world.

      It’s buried, but I feel it still at moments like the moment I read the lines of Whyte’s poem above. Moments when I know the laugh and the look and hear the clever retort and hope that I measure up to what you wanted for me in that moment when I flew myself. I’m a work in progress, as we all are, and smile at the stumbles even as I wish you’d seen more from me in your time.

      The act of remembering often takes a back seat to the act of living. Because it’s living that matters today. But it’s in remembering that we bring the best of ourselves forward in the moment. Remembering is our instruction manual for living.

      What memories are we building in those we’ll one day leave behind? How will we ripple through them to those they touch in our absence? It’s a fair ask, and a challenge of sorts; to get it right. To leave a warm mark but never a sting. To make memories that glow and resonate, inform and build.

      We are touchstones in the lives of people past and present. So love in this moment. Remember, and live well.

    • A Beautiful Reluctance

      We were born saying goodbye
      to what we love,
      we were born
      in a beautiful reluctance
      to be here,
      not quite ready
      to breathe in this new world
      – David Whyte, Cleave

      I understand this reluctance. I wrestle with it myself. And tackle the moments as they wash over me and undermine my footing like a relentless surf. We’re never quite ready for what the world throws at us, but with a subtle shift and a will to persevere we find a way to keep our footing.

      For all the harshness in the world we learn that, more often than not, the waves come from within. The demons aren’t out there marching towards you in waves, they whisper in your ear. The distractions and busywork and perceived obligations squander our moments and precious minutes. The reluctance pulls at our sleeve, back towards what we are comfortable with, back towards the safe and predictable and indistinct.

      Each step is uncertain, but slowly we move forward. The farther we venture, the harder it is to hear the call to come back. And in the growing quiet we might hear something just out of reach. Just ahead. And we continue towards those who call us, towards the Muse, towards our boldest dreams. One moment, and one breath at a time.

      But it begins, as it must, with goodbye.

    • Wake, Into This Life

      The sound
      of a bell
      still reverberating.

      or a blackbird
      calling
      from a corner
      of the
      field.

      Asking you
      to wake
      into this life
      or inviting you
      deeper
      to one that waits.

      Either way
      takes courage,
      either way wants you
      to be nothing
      but that self that
      is no self at all,
      wants you to walk
      to the place
      where you find
      you already know
      how to give
      every last thing
      away.
      – David Whyte, The Bell and the Blackbird

      A poem like this grabs you just like that bell or blackbird, reverberating inside and declaring it sees what you’re doing. What you’re not doing. And reminds you that time is quickly slipping away. And yet here you are, giving it all away.

      Or are you?

      When we finally wake up into this life, we see the uneven ground we walk on, the big asks and the small favors that add up. How do we deal with that, when we finally see life as it is? Do we run away from it or embrace it?

      What is asked of us is not the point of life. What matters is what we give. Willingly or grudgingly, what we give back to life is all that ever matters.

      Have the courage to be selfless.

      Have the courage to give it all away and go to what awaits you.

      But wake up.

    • To Be Touched by Everything I’ve Found

      One obvious problem with long drives is that it eats into reading time. You can solve this with audio books, of course, but then what of podcasts? As a heavy consumer of both, what do you choose? And this is where time becomes our enemy.

      Long drives require epic podcast episodes, and there’s nothing more epic than Hardcore History with Dan Carlin. For the last year I’ve been saving long stretches of travel to complete Supernova of the East, which is like all of Carlin’s podcasts: devastating edge of your seat listening. You want a little perspective as you crawl along in traffic over the Tappan Zee Bridge? Listen to the details of the Battle of Okinawa as Carlin spins his magic.

      What do you do when you’ve finished a series like Supernova of the East and you need to step back into the better side of humanity? Music helps. Lately I’ve been mixing classic rock and what today is known as “Americana” music (personally, I just call it music). Specifically, diving into old Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young tunes and new Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit compilations. Looking for poetry set to music? You can’t go wrong with either. As a lover of words piled together just so, Isbell does to your brain cells what a complex Cabernet does to your taste buds.

      The best I can do
      Is to let myself trust that you know
      Who’ll be strong enough to carry your heart
      – Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit, Letting You Go

      When you get to a hotel room in some remote place and you’ve caught up on all those emails and administrative work, what next? Drink? Watch television? Or dive back into the books that have tapping you on the shoulder for attention? There’s a place for every form of entertainment, but in most of my travels the hotel television never gets turned on. But the Kindle app does.

      After some consistent prodding by a friend of mine, I’m finally finishing Sapiens by Yusef Noah Harari. I know, what took me so long? Honestly it just kept slipping down the pile as other books jumped ahead. Regrettable, but life is about tradeoffs. What we choose to dance with in our brief time makes all the difference in how we see the world. Now that I’ve almost wrapped it up, I see what all the fuss is about.

      “Even today, with all our advanced technologies, more than 90 per cent of the calories that feed humanity come from the handful of plants that our ancestors domesticated between 9500 and 3500 BC – wheat, rice, maize (called ‘corn’ in the US), potatoes, millet and barley. No noteworthy plant or animal has been domesticated in the last 2,000 years. If our minds are those of hunter-gatherers, our cuisine is that of ancient farmers.” – Yusef Noah Harari, Sapiens

      Speaking of that stack of books, I put aside a couple of other books to focus on completing Sapiens. One in particular, The Blind Watchmaker, is a heavier lift than Sapiens, but compliments it well. I’ve referenced it before in the blog, and look forward to moving it to the virtual “done” pile. Combined, these two books have shaken my perspective of the world and how we got here.

      “If you have a mental picture of X and you find it implausible that the human eye could have arisen directly from it, this simply means that you have chosen the wrong X.” – Richard Dawkins, The Blind Watchmaker

      Inevitably I need to sprinkle in page-turner fiction, poetry and sharp left turn material to shake off reality until I can catch my breath again. Journey to Ixtlan by Carlos Castaneda was a definite left turn for me, an interesting read that got me thinking about mysticism and craving more time in the desert Southwest.

      “You can do better. There is one simple thing wrong with you—you think you have plenty of time.” – Carlos Castaneda, Journey to Ixtlan

      The Sea in You: Twenty Poems of Requited and Unrequited Love by David Whyte is a lovely collection of poems by one of our living masters. Whyte stirs words together with the best of them and catches my imagination with his alchemy. I’ll surely spend more time with Whyte in this blog in the near future.

      “be weathered by what comes to you, like the way you
      too
      have travelled from so far away to be here, once
      reluctant
      and now as solid and as here and as willing
      to be touched as everything you have found.”
      – David Whyte, The Sea in You: Twenty Poems of Requited and Unrequited Love

      We collect bits of wisdom and memorable nuggets in our consumption. Does this make us better conversationalists or a faster draw on Jeopardy? Most likely, but there’s something more to it than that. To revisit the old cliche, we are the average of the five people we spend the most time with. What we consume either amplifies our biases or challenges them. I choose to be challenged, and find myself slowly stretching and building a better mind, with greater perspective, through what I listen to, watch and read.

      In short, to be touched by everything I’ve found.

    • Everything, Left Alone

      We want the stillness and confidence
      of age, the space between self and all the objects of the world
      honoured and defined, the possibility that everything
      left alone can ripen of its own accord
      – David Whyte, Living Together

      I’d like to think that I’ve arrived at this stage in my life where I can just let things be. To allow nature to take its course, for things to sort themselves out, to let everything left alone ripen of its own accord. I should think that’s too bold a statement, the arrogance of youth still pulsing in my middle-aged body.

      We see it mostly with our children. In wanting to control the pace of their lives, to see them land well when they fly – to see the flight itself aim straight and true towards a logical place a few notches above where we ourselves have flown. For we’re in such a hurry to get them there, wanting the very best for them. You can’t rush the ripening, you tell yourself, and keep your unsolicited advice deep inside, waiting for an invitation to weigh in.

      You learn to wait in the wings, ready to lend a hand, just playing the parent or friend card. Maybe it’s the gardener in me, knowing you’ve got to let things grow, more often than not finding yourself in wonder at the progression as things surpass your expectations. Sure, you curse the occasional rabbit or groundhog that ruins your dreams of a perfect season, but on the whole things work themselves out in the end (letting things be doesn’t mean you don’t have to fight for what you believe in: install a fence when you need to).

      I’m not in any hurry to reach old age, but I know (if I’m lucky) that it’s not all that far away. A few decades, maybe, to make what I might of this life project. This work in progress. Imperfect. Incomplete. But in progress just the same. Seeing this in yourself lends a measure of understanding and empathy for the journey everyone else is on. For the possibility that they’re grinding away at.

      Everything left alone can ripen on its own accord. This is the way of the world. Just remember that I’ll be here if you need me.

    • One Day

      If we were vampires and death was a joke
      We’d go out on the sidewalk and smoke
      And laugh at all the lovers and their plans
      I wouldn’t feel the need to hold your hand
      Maybe time running out is a gift
      I’ll work hard ’til the end of my shift
      And give you every second I can find
      And hope it isn’t me who’s left behind

      It’s knowing that this can’t go on forever
      Likely one of us will have to spend some days alone
      Maybe we’ll get forty years together
      But one day I’ll be gone
      Or one day you’ll be gone
      – Jason Isbell, If We Were Vampires

      A song like this makes you question yourself. Points a finger into your chest and lets you know that you’re too cavalier with moments. Too willing to take it all for granted and dance with the days as if they’ll always be here. Moments stack up like old photos in a shoebox and it’s easy to believe that there will be another. Because there always has been for as long as we can remember.

      We’re fascinated with immortality because we can’t have it. For ourselves, or for those we care about the most in this brief dance. But we cheat the days looking out to the end. The moments are here, staring at us and waiting for us to put the phone down and look us in the eye. Here we are, in this moment so briefly.

      Maybe time running out is a gift. If we might see it running. If we might use it wisely. Not one day, but now.