morbidly beautiful

“Permanent Smile” by Bill Callahan (aka Smog) is one of the more powerful songs about death that I’ve heard. I couldn’t find a video of him performing it on the YouTubes, and reading the lyrics alone doesn’t do the song its full justice, but here they are anyway…

Oh God, can you feel the sun in your back?
Oh God, can you see your shadow, inky black on the sand?
Oh God, can you hear the saltwater drying on your skin?
Oh God, can you feel my heart beating in my tongue?

Oh God, by being quiet, I hope to alleviate my death
Oh God, by sitting still, I hope to lighten your load
When your shadow covers me from head to toe
Curtain every flies, tell me it’s mine, my time to go

Seven waves of insects make babies in, in my skin
Seven waves of insects make families in my skin
(It’s just like animals) It’s just like animals that play
And the flesh…flesh…flesh…rotted off my skull
And then I will have earned my permanent, my permanent smile

Oh God, I never, never asked why
Oh God, I never, never asked why

Unmarked

Before, we sat and stared out at the trees. Making food and making conversation. Food and shelter, the clothes upon my back, and a reason to spend the day otherwise. Because, as Annie Dillard says, you can’t take it with you. These days like coins dropping through an unseen hole in your pocket, clinking along the pavement and rolling into the gutter. Those days unspent, in rolls packed tight by the merciless crushing machinery around us. To disengage is to appear a failure in the soulless eyes of those watching you. To walk away is to sew that hole up, to turn your pockets inside out in defiance. In dreams I sink my hands into a deep sea of wild minutes and hours, their flashing sides unmarked by the greasy brand of a dollar sign. They swim untamed and free and I slip from the shore into their midst, shake off my rusty shackles and float away into the golden light.

escape


Flew out of the city like bandit bears with a swarm of angry bees on our tails. At the top of a mountain, pitched the tent only to return an hour later to find another tent pitched next to it, despite the many other available sites nearby. It gets harder and harder to escape humanity. But, alas, this was not a backpack-into-the-middle-of-nowhere situation and, after all, on the first truly nice warm weekend of the spring after an unpleasantly cold winter, what can one actually expect. Surely not solitude with nature when still so relatively close to representations of civilization. Surely not the absence of every last vestige of human life. Surely not that. What one can expect, however, is depraved college-age youth yelling and carousing until the wee hours of the morning. Yes, one can count on one’s expectations in that regard to indeed be met. Even in the midst of such pure and innocent natural beauty, the horror of humanity awaits us.

I shoved all that to the back of my head, though, and we made the best of it. For example, I saw a Brown Creeper! I was excited about that. Chipping Sparrows engaged in esoteric mating rituals. Northern Flickers abounded. And on an isolated Sunday morning hike at Catoctin we met a couple of spry older men in training for their hike of Mount Kilimanjaro next month! It was a pleasure to engage in dialogue with such good folks, and it wove back together a few tattered shreds of our hope in humanity, which had been subjected to such vicious thrashing of late.

Bike parking at Catoctin:

mixed messages

Fact: it is illegal to ride your bike on the sidewalk here.

Fact: people have been issued tickets for this offense.

Fact: it is illegal here for a cyclist not to stop at a stop sign or red light.

Fact: the other day I was riding home from work and saw a police officer directing traffic up ahead at a light that I usually run. So I opted to pause and wait for it to change. However, a young woman riding her bike on the sidewalk in the same direction that I was riding reached the intersection and was waved through it by the cop!

Not only did the cop see her riding on the sidewalk and did nothing about it, but she also waved her through a red light!

What is the point of these so-called laws then when they are not enforced and, in fact, violation of them is even encouraged by law enforcement officers?

Fact: Idaho has a law on the books that says a cyclist is permitted to roll through a red light or stop sign provided the intersection is clear.

All states and cities should have this law. It is ridiculous that a cyclist should have to wait at a light or stop sign if they can pass safely through the intersection. One of the many benefits of cycling in the city is that you can get places quicker than a car. Part of this involves running some red lights and stop signs. And I don’t buy the argument of drivers who say cyclists don’t deserve to be on the roads because they are generally irresponsible (e.g. run stop lights). I see drivers run lights and stop signs ALL THE TIME. But a 2-ton hunk of steel moving through an intersection at 30 mph is WAY more dangerous than a 160 lb person on a 20 lb bike moving at 5 mph. If a cyclist wants to assume the personal risk, then they should be allowed to. But a driver is piloting a deadly weapon capable of killing a person and as such, should be subject to much stricter traffic laws.

This great animated video explains how the Idaho rolling stop law works.

return of the little yellow birds

I spent four hours birding in the woods today and was excited to finally spot some warblers! I saw both Pine Warblers and Palm Warblers (an entire small flock of ’em). The Palm Warblers are just passing through; they breed much farther north, chiefly in Canada. But some of the Pine Warblers will be sticking around and raising families.

It was an otherwise good birding day. I saw and heard several Brown Thrashers. Not exactly exotic, but they are only here in the summer months and their intricate songs are a real treat to hear. I like hearing them skulk around in the underbrush, too. I also saw two Pileated Woodpeckers goofing around with each other on a tree trunk. That was cool…I always love seeing those crazy birds. Down on the water, I witnessed some fascinating social interactions between two male Mallards and one female. It seemed like the one male was trying to chase off the other one, but at one point the female acted like she’d had enough of both of them and chased them off so she could do some feeding in peace. Eventually the one guy got the girl and the spurned fellow cruised off to sulk by himself.

I felt like I could’ve stayed out there all day. Four hours passed so fast, and I was reluctant to leave. Lately I’ve been thinking about those solitary days in the past spent alongside a muddy river. I spent so much time outside back then…it was the only way I kept from going crazy. It seems like I’ve always felt much more at ease in the woods, or otherwise surrounded by nature and wildlife instead of inside, surrounded by “stuff.” When I’m inside, I tend to go too far inside myself. It’s like I’m being squeezed tight by the walls around me. But outside I can breathe, I can untether my soul and let it roam free.

I think I am just going to be forever restless.

involuntary memory

Reading Proust makes me reflect on involuntary memory, a concept that I’m perpetually fascinated by. Something seemingly mundane occurs in your everyday life and that transports you to a certain point in your past; a valve opens without a conscious effort on your part, and a sluice of memories suddenly washes over you. A common trigger for me is certain smells. From these I experience the deepest, most intense recollections. Hearing certain songs or parts of songs sometimes also has this effect. Because I have a memory that approaches the photographic, these recollections are particularly vivid and can even induce a trance-like state. I stop short of calling my memory truly photographic, because my mind has not retained one hundred percent coverage of past events. But I can, either at will or involuntarily, view many specific “scenes” from my past that are painted in the most exquisite detail. For me, involuntary memory is something to indulge in when it occurs, while at the same time exploring its significance on a personal artistic level.

the fog that turns people inside out

As I sit here staring out at the foggy woods, interrupted only by my compulsions to chase away the squirrels leaping from the house onto the bird feeder, I once again contemplate my general feelings of dissatisfaction. Yesterday, walking home from the park in the cool drizzle, I paused on the bridge over the interstate. I look down at this abomination: two strips of hot pavement running north and south, hardened abscesses cut into the Earth, supporting two-ton blocks of steel racing here and there, the blocks full of people (of all things!) going everywhere and nowhere all at once. I suppress the bile rising from my gut and walk on. I pass by the stream and stare at the trash floating in the water, the grotesquely shredded plastic bags hanging in the trees. I curse my sensitivity, my thin skin like a gossamer membrane through which I have no control over what passes in or out. But by turning away from the ugliness, by trying to dull the extremes and desperately seek out a middle ground (the Middle Way!), I only make myself sicker. The only times I come close to traveling on the middle path are while running or riding my bicycle for long distances. In motion, my mind stands still. When my body rests, my mind races without end. But I cannot stay in constant motion, so I continue in my struggle to find the right state of mind.

“Develop a state of mind like the earth, Rahula. For on the earth people throw clean and unclean things, dung and urine, spittle, pus, blood, and the earth is not troubled or repelled or disgusted. And as you grow like the earth no contacts with pleasant or unpleasant will lay hold of your mind or stick to it.

Similarly you should develop a state of mind like water, for people throw all manner of clean and unclean things into water and it is not troubled or repelled or disgusted. And similarly with fire, which burns all things, clean and unclean, and with air, which blows upon them all, and with space, which is nowhere established.

Develop the state of mind of friendliness, Rahula, for, as you do so, ill-will will grow less; and of compassion, for thus vexation will grow less; and of joy, for thus aversion will grow less; and of equanimity, for thus repugnance will grow less.”

~from the Majjhima Nikaya, translated by A.L. Basham

in my head

in the woods

Warmer weather lured me and Em Ell up the winding roads to Prettyboy. We hiked around and stalked the birds. We sat then in the soft brown grass under the still bare spreading boughs of a sycamore. The air is still; the wind rustles through the trees and the birds sing. I am calm. I am finally quiet inside. I think that if I spent every day of the rest of my life in the woods that everything would be okay. These moments are the antithesis of the hours spent in front of my computer at work. There is no substitute for them. These moments are bigger than anything else I can ever dream up to bring peace to my ragged mind.

state of the birds

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