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THE DEPTH OF MEMORY
In deeply hidden corners of my memory snapshots of my childhood reappear from forgotten albums. I want to know what was happening just out of frame, or in the next picture in the series but these negatives are lost and so I am left to draw my own pictures, write my own story, and accept…
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NOTA BENE
Sometime this week you will get a note. You will not know who it is from, and you won’t be at all certain just what it is supposed to mean, but you will carefully fold it, place it in your pocket and later put it in a safe place along with all the other notes…
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EVENT UALLY
A week from this Thursday something will happen that no one could have ever foreseen. This is the beauty and the horror, at once, of our limited vision, afraid to see the present although it is all that is clearly within our visual field. Instead we look back into the shadows where memory substitutes for…
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OH, NOAH
None of us can remember what was here before. We can search for clues, develop elaborate surmises and find telling relics from which we can conclude this or that, with a certitude the gods would surely mock. But our field of vision is restricted, our memories equally so, and we are left with one certainty,…
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JOSHU’S DWELLING 鐵笛倒吹 七十
If a poor man offers you the finest diamond do you take it, and what of the gift of a crust of bread from the wealthy man. Each gift, in its way, is worthy of rejection. Once I grasped at great thoughts – now I can forget my own name and wonder whose face…
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NOW
If the time is now how will we know it? And if we miss it how will we know what the consequences are? The better question is whether it matters, for if we can be in each moment to the extent possible, then nothing is missed and every moment is now and there can never…
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OLD MEN
It is always odd watching older men gather, talk about their lives, about how much they no longer remember, of last year, and a decade ago, about the infinite details they can clearly recall about the time they spent in the Army, Navy, Air Force, the smell of Slop-on-a-shingle, of field stripped butts in a…
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SLIPPING AWAY
Each day I am certain something more slips away, forgotten, no longer able to be recalled, lost in the vast abyss of yesterdays. I would like to think this happens because something new, something better has taken its place, and I had no choice but to displace it. That is the convenient story I tell…
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ODE TO THE CAT
I read a poem today about a cat and the memory of my last cat came to mind, and with it, the certainty that cats have an innate sense of people which people utterly lack. It may be that cats are completely ignorant of the masks we wear, or simply that they could care less…
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WAVES
If you ask me the true measure the passing moment I will tell you it is at once invaluable and, by equal measure, useless, lost in the detritus of time’s wave, now receded. Do not try to cling to it for your memory is all that is impermeable, and then only in a moment already…
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an old writer and his words 