Tumbleword

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 notes to him#6.43 b

I am chronologically out of order. My memory, it goes back
and forward like a wild rabbit jumps someplace
in an infinite grass, chases invisible things—

each with a violin of then
willing to play for me, for you;
if you just give to it a squeezed ounce of attention.
It sings . ~

We must be small to remember, we must take off our adult skin
and shimmy back to the little legs, the little stick breathing ribs
to the wordlessness of our fingertips
                                                 
to the little indent between your heart cage      & mine
that barely had a layer of fat on we were beautiful we are beautiful
I hope to see it again

your face.  These new crickets 
                                   (say something… 
          don’t they …)      
     green
    in unmowable grass.

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Carolin Reichert here & Cyrus Karimipour (Invented Memory) &
            face your pockets (an idea) &
a small shared story about finding the unexpected – Buddhist pearls.
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Link to Tumbleword’s Other site; & Peace to all .
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Its honeysuckle time here–a vine that twines up from under hedges and in the leaf swollen woods. You don’t go to it like a beautiful flower, the wind carries its scent to your senses; the heady sweet invisible.

Walking late in soft wind, moonlight and shadows from new leaves–the honey suckled air from unseen vines reminds me how scent is presence in absence. 

How so much of human love is presence held within us, the mystery, the soulfulness, the words, our thoughts and attention; held “in regards towards” another person outside us.  Even if that person is in the room: family, friend, your lover gorged on like fruit… inside us we hold what outside has a life of its own, and yet wafts through our inner rooms, a fragrance to us.  Mystery uncoiled from its coil.  Linked by thought and time, care and love.

In Japan, a honeysuckle represents “devoted affection,” commonly referring to young fated lovers.
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Kiki Smith at MOMA here –great site with much video and lots of images–click around in it.
More Kiki Smith –small video fragments (its like standing in the wind and …), here, and here, and here.
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The emotor: Tim Hawkinson …
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Dylan Thomas audio: Do not go gently. 
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Happy mothers day to you all… male and female alike–I think we are all each other’s mothers; we who love and listen and just be patient with each other. We help give birth to each other’s dreams, sanity, wisdom and gentleness.  My mother taught me this. (All of them) (One) (The One).

Thanks for your wonderful comments, for sharing  your rusty nail experiences, too. I loved them all.
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Link to Tumbleword’s other site (often faster to load and leave comments)!

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There are symbolic gestures all around us–the world full of “signs”– some intentional and others waiting to be opened by our inner dialogue with ideas, memories, culture and education.

So much of what goes on in us is private dialogue. The nail above means different things to anyone; to a culture, a religion, depending on what’s layered inside the mind and heart. There are personal and public ideas in us about everything.  

I stepped on three nails in one day while exploring the woods with my brother when I was about 7. If I feel my way back into that moment the nail goes through the rubber soul of my sneaker and into my flesh.  I don’t always indulge in traveling into memories but with concentration one can almost ”be” there again. Vividly, like a photograph that feels and thinks from that age. Can you spell what happens next … Tetnus shot?
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Memory is divine. The smallest gesture of one stranger moving past the lens of our senses (a tone of voice, a specific smell, an elegant motion of hand or neck; a color or fabric against the skin, slants of light–anything can suddenly open up rooms of powerful psychic content. So much art comes out of there.

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Link to I Met the Walrus: John Lennon interview and visual.  A sort of Peace talk.

Really don’t know where I got this link, but “knowing how way leads on to way” 
as the poet Robert Frost says … I should never find the path back
to find or figure it out to say — all your blogs seem alive,
a tangled shifting window display of light and possible connection.

You have to be a Jazz musician to figure it all out.
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Peace to all.
Link to Tumbleword’s Blogger site… which isn’t so sloggy sometimes at Blog. :0
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 at Home : Boston Marathon
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The Boston Marathon is running today. Now (photos).

My buddy Boston B is helping with crowd control, and the runners (some of whom will pass out and get sick).  The Marathon is opening mark of Spring in Beantown for me (though some believe Spring begins on opening day at Fenway Park built in 1912 where the Red Sox play).

How many times we walked from the house, through a small park, to watch the runners of this marathon? Heartbreak hill just to the right (the hardest hill).  On Com Ave, with Boylston Street, the end of the race almost visible, but still far off. College students hanging on all the balconies, drinking, cheering, people all up and down the streets. The night before the race, everyone eating mounds of pasta out at all the restaurants. “Carb”ing up (filling their body with carbohydrates = fuel.)

Some people won’t finish the race; broken on the side of the road, hurt, cry, trying not to pass out. The body has its own ideas. The mind… has its dreams.  Others just take their time; and you can see people running the route way after the crowds die back; people who may have promised themselves to to finish if they have to walk it, or crawl. It doesn’t matter, people cheer them on, pass them Gator aid drinks.  There is so much emotion in the air. The famous runners, the Olympians, the wheelchairs, the everyone and anyone person (all of us)–people who run and/or believe in setting goals, meeting dreams. 

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We’ve all been talking here how fast the past 4 months passed! In exactly 5 months, the Autumn season opens. Five (5) months… then into the Holidays. 2008 running fast.  Maybe it is signed up for the marathon, too. If you see it go past, tell it to slow down.
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Wish you were here: Pink floyd
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lil sweet dress

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Its too beautiful a day today
to believe in anything less–
not one crumb or crud. : )

Perspective is everything anyway.

Out around 8:30 am walking with my dog
its one of those days that you know marks
the end of winter and the opening of summer.

Everything shines in a clear warm light.
How is it where you are?
Hope for you a similiar feeling.
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Nature is a Haunted House — but Art –
a House that tries to be haunted.

~(Emily Dickinson, Letter to T.W. Higginson)
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Tumbleword’s sister site

street sun
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rain-bow-pale_s (time
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Awesome! For all of us bird lovers, The Nature Conservancy (here) set a webcam to watch newly hatched Eagle chicks way up, up in places most of us dare not climb.  Thank You Bookbabie!

Another tenderness in action, like that seen here, and yes here.  
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Sat up late, reading Alexsander Wat, a postwar Polish Poet– some quotes:

Our world. So small
that one guitar
is enough
to populate it with sounds–
if played with Love.
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Everything that lies in rubble
reaches tenderly at me.
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 … Nothing will tear Chaos
apart. It tears itself apart.  Eating into
itself, piece after piece, insa-
tiable.
           And there’s nothing I can do about it,
dear friend. –Paris. July 1963
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But the experienced one sees the watermark.
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 Listening also to Coldplay:.

1. See you soon 
2. where do we go, nobody knows
3. Green Eyes–  (for you ms. d, and pie) And to all of you, too, who hold anyone up. Ever. Thank you. We’re all dependent on each other’s strength and tenderness. Aren’t we?  Who do you lean on?
4. a rush of blood to the head. etc.

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Path to Tumbleword’s other site
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app;e 23yr
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quadrants of past ( f u t ur e )
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Learned yesterday that when the temperature inside the house
is exactly 76 degrees, it is the perfect time to eat dark chocolate truffles. 
At this temperature, the inside is all a melting.  My newest discovery– 
excellent with a good spicy red wine.

Besides the wonderful people, the best part of living
“South of the Dixie line” as they say, is the absolutely beautiful Spring.  
In celebration, a little Mississippi moon where catfish R jumping … and this
and Ms. Nina Simone doing this and this, and my favorite this ….

Got the doors and windows open, listening to the rain fall; all a haven of green here; still white dogwood fowers falling out back.  Dancing around some, then writing then dancing …

Spring everywhere and I’ve dreamed snow: of places located in memory where the heart runs.  The eternal return to origins…  You see this across the gap when skiing at Bretton Woods in New Hampshire, a slow easy mountain, a favorite family place for Spring Skiing.  (memory prompts)
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Thanks to everyone sending Love and Concern.  I really appreaciate.
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I was so surprised and really pleased about this too… a powerful voice … go Junot! 
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Tumbleword’s other site here…
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approaching home

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we lovers under the sea

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Song for the heart (my old friend) … Hold on, 
Hold On to yourself. 

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All the light in all the horizons shines
in the skeins of our loving, our crying.
Right under our skin–

Look. 
Love what you have to love while it lives
to be tended.  Tend it.  Softly. 
Use your hand

and your voice like a flowering word that has yet to open. 
Say what it is that you alone contain–
the unsayable Yes, the inner fragrance. 
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Let rain within
the inner gardens. Lushing now
as we speak of it.  Bend to it. 
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A life == A tree house open at last.
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Peace and health to all who enter here.

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What does the delicacy of a flower ask of us?
Fragrance hearted progeny to summer.
Does it make us kinder, gentler people to treasure them?

Each, an elegace unlaced from winter branches.

Sometimes I wish we could all exist this gently every day,
to break beyond the exterior bark, open and comfortable with our own beauty

to let the unexpected in– the rain or the exceptional bee 
mingling inward to collect the inner pollen, leaving some from across the field…

even if only to wither, exhausted at the end of day (every day),
to fall into sleep, to dream and again the next day, wake to open
white and wide again.  Available.

Maybe we do, when all is perfectly aligned within.  Maybe
my eyes have grown scales and I can’t see anymore.

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I walked in the woods, my mind full of words (so many people talking indoors).
I tried to see the smallest things.  I tried to step slowly, the way
my father taught me as a child, to pretend as if an Indian in hand stitched 
mocassins on the pine needle floor, the earth’s floor, the wind swept and tended
house; outdoors.  To honor the silence there, the way he did, so the silence

would open for me.  (Yes I think silence opens up).  I willed
to take the silence into me, like ripe berries (silence is always ripe)
to savor it all, or to share with you.  But it flees.

Here, back in the city, everything everywhere vibrates
with the traffic of commerce and ideas.  Logics
have their own vibrations, and follow us everywhere.
I look in my pocket, my memory, silence teasing me.

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All day I have something. Was it something I ate, didn’t eat? Something I
drank or didn’t drink; something I said, or didn’t say; someone I kissed
or hugged, or who kissed or hugged me–too much of too much
gave me something… ooofff…. have been trying to shake it off all day

Peace, and Happy Easter to all. It was a wonderful weekend.
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Listening

I walk past this tree
and it says to me, please–

take my flesh as paper.
write ( love ) to me.

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Everything is Spring
in our steps, a heap of mystery.
Do you think the human heart is like a flower of pollen
bursting invisibly, everything seems available for flirting in this weather.
Ever since grade school, i have felt this way.
Is it true for all of you??

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The sun is an eagle
soaring round the earth, looking for its prey.
It will Take you to its nest, high up

high up.  It will Take your breath.
Plant itself inside you–
you who stands now, naked
as a seed
           tilling the soil of new dreams.

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(   ) A ,&  B (why i love this?) and same with images of Russia,  C , X song and little frozen peoples.
and i like this painter too.
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I also love Easter, what about you?  Better than any other of the celebrations that remind us.
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The Easter Bunny is bringing me carrots this year, not chocolates…
Peace.
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