Saturday, January 11, 2014

New baby photon: 40,000 years & 8 minutes old

strangled grape in a lotus bowl

Today's morning pages (slightly edited -- very slightly -- for your consumption)

Here I am again. Not still. Well, still. No, not still. Never still. Always growing & evolving. Eternal, yes. Still, no. No river, no matter how slow moving is ever still. Not even a puddle is still. Water molecules are evaporating & joining the water cycle in the welkin. Or seeping down into the ground water. Or getting gulped by the grateful beak of a bird. Or flying off in birdbathed feathers. Nothing is still.

I think today, Saturday, I'll write some poetry. I wrote some last night. I actually wrote it with my heart yesterday when I was worshipping the congregation of droplets that were worshipping the cedar branches. So beautiful. Sometimes it's okay to forget your camera, because then you want to devour the beautiful sight with your eyes & your mind & your heart & your soul.

So year I am again. I was going to right here, but my finger reached up & touched the y, & before I erased it I decided to write year. New year. New routines, mixed in with the old routines. Nothing is ever old. There is only new under the sun.

Once I heard a story about neutrinos. Once I held my hand out for a second, held my hand in for a second. 65 billion neutrinos flew through a square centimeter of me, on their way to being on their way. Mmmm. Neutrinos. Changing flavors as they go. Sweet neutrinos. Spicy neutrinos. Savory neutrinos. They're really not related to neutrons, except having shared a name for a short period of time.

That's another thing I have no shortage of -- besides sun & neutrinos & air, grin. Ideas. No shortage of ideas. I love having so many ideas. I love being able to execute them. What an interesting word, execute. I don't want to execute them. I want them to realize. I want them to grow. I want them to hatch out of cocoons, groggy with transformation, & spread their wings. I want them to suddenly discover claustrophobia & an eggtooth & no need to stay hunched together. I want them to remember who they are, who they've never been until this exact moment. I want them to blossom. I want them to develop spores. I want them to sneeze & seed the universe. I want them to build webs. I want them to colonize. I want them to leave home with a hobo stick -- or a barbie doll suitcase -- & a dream.

I am in love with the idea of ideas loving their gestation, their evolution. I'm in love with the idea of ideas pumping iron, bulking up, flexing their new muscles. I'm in love with the idea of coaching ideas & having ideas coach me.

I'm just completely in love with the world, with every congregation of droplets worshipping every cedar on the way to every post office. I'm in love with librarians, still sleeping, not yet on their way to the library. But maybe they're awake now, in the early morning, having some coffee & some private time before they head out to be there in case I might be coming by. I'm in love with the sun, boiling out its photons (&, of course, neutrinos) & I'm in love with every photon born in the solar core, struggling through the dense gases for 40 thousand years before it escapes to make the 8 minute journey to earth, in case I might be there. (Or some other beautiful being, be it rock or plankton or hummingbird.) There is such squanderous beauty everywhere. All that is contemporaneous with me, & all that has been, & all that will be -- I am in love with it. So much beauty been & now & yet to come.

It is delicious to eat & drink the idea of that with my mind & heart & soul -- even the parts that have never & will never be in range of my sensors. Dear eyes. Dear ears. Dear taste buds. Dear nose buds. Dear skin cells. I love you all so much.

Blog alternative:
276. Spend a few moments with the idea of all the beauty you'll never see or taste or sense in any way, the infinite beauty. Then spend a few moments with beauty you can (appreciatively) sense. Coffee with just the right amount of milk (which, for you, could be no milk). A blue glass. Your own smile in a mirror. The soft coziness of your robe. (Mine is made of bamboo!)