by

Attachment

“When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”~Wendell Berry

Posted by Ravenous Butterflies

*****

On days like this my friend asks, what’s it all about? What is this life? Why is it such a struggle? She struggles with the decision she has to make. Wrestles with it, like the angel and Jacob, it’s that serious and that life-altering. I’m not much help. I tell her to just make a choice and move on. I try to gently urge her into the giving up of attachment without those words. She has no patience for Buddhism or Buddist beliefs. Still, the truth of it is that it’s the attachment to what could be lost or what the outcome of her choice and actions will be that is making her crazed.

But I’ve been there. I’ve wanted everything to be perfect. I’ve wanted us all to be happy. I’ve searched and struggled for the perfect answer to those things which cannot be without some sacrifice, by someone. And once done, no way to be undone.

Gunggex Durga Laksmi utSpg7onhsohred · Golden Evening

Gunggex Durga Laksmi· Golden Evening

And it suddenly occurs to me that that is what I’m doing. I’m trying to give her peace. I’m trying to make it OK for her. That is my attachment—the attachment to the right outcome for her. The one I cannot give her.

by

Making A Great Day Splendid

It doesn’t take much for me anymore—to find the sweetness in a day. Today was simply splendid as I was able to get back to the pool for swimming. As it turns out, when the pool reopened they did not reinstitute the restrictions for age and compromised people (such as I with chronic asthma & bronchitis to boot)! So, luckily I called and found out, along with reservations made for lap lanes. Along with today I’m now scheduled through August, every Monday, Wednesday & Friday, at 1 o’clock. Splendid, I say!

Psyche's Call with Donna May 1tSepoatnsso7rehd · “Begin to weave and the divine will provide the thread.” ~Old Proverb

Posted by Psyche’s Call by Donna May

I saw this and thought about Joseph Campbell and his “Follow Your Bliss.” Because, as we know, when you do this the Universe opens doors for you. We also know there are always those for whom this does not occur. I think of van Gogh dying in poverty. And writers of course. More than one writer gave all only to fail. *Sigh* Still, driven by passion there is no choice.

As I posted “A Mouthful of Forevers” twice, I thought I’d do some checking into Clementine von Radics and see what else she had to say. Quite a bit it turns out. So here we have dear Clementine, as splendid as poetry herself.

“My battered heart will always be
where the ocean meets the sand, I
will break over and over

Every day. That is the best and
worst part of me.”
― Clementine von Radics

“I mean you ask me
not to fall in love with you
and then you go write poems
with your tongue
and draw constellations
in my freckles.”
― Clementine von Radics, As Often As Miracles

“But my heart is an old house
(the kind my mother
grew up in)
hell to heat and cool
and faulty in the wiring
and though it’s nice to look at
I have no business
inviting lovers in.”
― Clementine von Radics

by

A Mouthful of Forevers

I may have actually posted this before. Does it matter? Sometimes the words are so ravishing of themselves that we need to repeat. Don’t you think?
Posted by Ravenous Butterflies
I am not the first person you loved.
You are not the first person I looked at
with a mouthful of forevers. We
have both known loss like the sharp edges
of a knife. We have both lived with lips
more scar tissue than skin. Our love came
unannounced in the middle of the night.
Our love came when we’d given up
on asking love to come. I think
that has to be part
of its miracle.
This is how we heal.
I will kiss you like forgiveness. You
will hold me like I’m hope. Our arms
will bandage and we will press promises
between us like flowers in a book.
I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat
on your skin. I will write novels to the scar
of your nose. I will write a dictionary
of all the words I have used trying
to describe the way it feels to have finally,
finally found you.
And I will not be afraid
of your scars.
I know sometimes
it’s still hard to let me see you
in all your cracked perfection,
but please know:
whether it’s the days you burn
more brilliant than the sun
or the nights you collapse into my lap
your body broken into a thousand questions,
you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I will love you when you are a still day.
I will love you when you are a hurricane.”
Clementine von Radics
RavButters

Rodin

 

by

Jimmy In Detroit

On this date in 1975, labor leader Jimmy Hoffa was reported missing.

this-day-in-history-07311975---jimmy-hoffa-disappears

Posted by This Date in History

On the morning of this day in 1975, James Riddle Hoffa, one of the most influential American labor leaders of the 20th century, was officially reported missing after he failed to return home the previous night. Though he is popularly believed to have been the victim of a Mafia hit, to date nothing has been proven.

He was scheduled to retake his Union, The Teamsters. But Frank Fitzsimmons was president of the Union while Jimmy was in prison and had no desire to give up the position. Apparently Frank didn’t consider the position temporary at all. Mafia and Teamsters were synonymous in those days, so as the saying goes, “six of one, half a dozen of the other” for who killed him. And offed he was, no doubt. He had a meeting with three other men, a couple from the Union, and a mobster. Apparently no one showed up. He was angry about being stood up and eventually left the restaurant only to get into a car with several other men waiting for him in the parking lot.

It was at one of the Fox and Hound restaurants in Bloomfield Hills, on Telegraph Road. It was not far from where I had been living at one point, and I often met people there for lunch. They had great food and a lovely salad that I would get. But by the time of the hit I had moved away from Michigan, returning home to La Crosse, Wisconsin. I was no longer associated with the Union, though I was still involved with a Union person and would be for several more years, even returning to Michigan to again live there for a while.

We used to see several Teamsters at Carl’s Chop House in Detroit where we often went to eat and drink, socialize. Detroit was still very much alive in those days. There was a vibrancy and energy that existed everywhere then: a thriving theatre district, restaurants with long lines of cars waiting to get in, and people walking the streets while expensive cars drove by with their music loud and pulsing.

I saw Jimmy at the Chop once. His wife too, as she was sitting at the bar drinking while a group of us were dining nearby. The place was loud as usual. When Jimmy came into the bar it grew quiet and we watched without speaking. It happened quickly. He went up to the bar where his wife was, grabbed her arm as she reached for her purse and the coat draped over her barstool. He didn’t say anything at least that I could tell. Obviously he didn’t approve either of her drinking or drinking at the bar. Someone at the table said he didn’t approve of women at the bar. Probably not of her drinking as much as she did either. In any case, she must not have expected him there, certainly not then.

And that was it. Just as quickly he walked into my life and just as quickly out of it. It must have felt the same for him getting into that car. Exciting, sad, and quick. And that was all there was to it. Gone.

by

Afterthought Apologies

It occurs that I’ve never quite explained why you’ll rarely find a plot outline or summary in my book reviews, which are only sort-of reviews. My reasons are thus: To write about the plot in sequence is boring. And tedious. Additionally, you (or anyone) can find the plot on any of the bookseller’s sites, which is where you would go if you are interested in purchasing the book.

In turn, my comments about a book or play or movie or series tend to be haphazard or about such things as purpose or flow, sometimes issues. Things that seem to be such that make the piece at least work, if not enchant, or things that make for a fail. Besides, as in the opposite of the previous comments, this is writing that is fun and easy to toss about.

The things that I write about move me. Why would I otherwise write about them? A natural energy comes along with that. And with that energy, the impetus to write. Hence, fodder for a blog, which in turn is the very reason why we are here. That and of course to sell my book, The Fat Man. It’s on Amazon and on Barnes and Noble.