Birth of the Elements
It was a meeting like no other as there was no meeting before.
Tag: short stories
To Be Human in the Milky Way Melting Pot
It is the continuous journey of stones and souls.
Dust being churned into another type of stone.
We can imagine stones on a seashore over the eons becoming
Sand.
Music generously permitted by Randy Hathaway
“American Sonata” to hear more of his beautiful music go to RandyHathaway Music.com
Becoming Mist
Swirl, bounce off rocks past shores
Then become mist.
Cabin in the Mountain of Forests
Please download this free ebook as a thank you for reading my posts and a wish for a Happy and Joyous New Year, the beautiful illustrations are by a friend and HS classmate, Cynthia Jones Maglaqui
Molten then Rock
It is a Rock that feels warmth, then cold, then warmth.
This for the Rock is how it began.
First in fire, then cooled.
Pressure formed its shape.
Constant churning of
Atmosphere, layers of earth, dirt, water, more stones
Tumbled from the depths to the surface over
Centuries, over Eon’s
Over a vast, endless period of time
The churning is a constant
To the Stone,
To the Creatures that walk upon it,
Toss it, build with it, Carve it
It is a constant in their lifetime.
Solid as a Rock.
The Rock will feel the light of days,
Coolness of Nights,
It feels the duality of time,
Creatures that speedily
Live their lives above the ground, then return to the Earth
As waste, then repeat their cycles through dirt,
Grass, Plants, Bugs, Prey, Predator
It will feel the landmasses float on magma as they
Crash into each other
Push up mountains, bury and squeeze Oceans into
Rivers and lakes.
The Rock will ride a land mass below the surface, be
Churned into hot lava to be spit up again,
Churned with other Molten Rock,
Spit up again to cool under the Sun, then the Moon
As they take their tangent infinite spins.
This is the Nature of Rock
It’s sense of time is not Daylight then Nighttime.
It is to be Mountains, then Stones, then Landmasses
Then Lava, then Mountains, then Stones, then Landmasses.
Molten, then Rock
Molten, then Rock
Molten, then Rock
Crucifix
Earlier that summer the President had people gassed out of a park so he could walk to a photo op, posing with a bible being held upside down and backwards. When asked by the Press if that was his bible, his answer was “It’s a Bible”
On the corner of 1st and Lenora, South West corner there is a man passed out. Like laying on a cross, Arms stretched out, legs stretched straight, and downhill, shoes had been kicked to the side, his face staring straight to the sky, mouth open eyes closed, he slowly begins to get soaked as a light rain has started, his empty liquor bottle rests against the building next to him.
A ferry blows its horn from the dock below, as a car heading south on 1st rushes by whooshing a puddle that just misses the man.
Speakers are blaring Bible quotes spoke in a foreign language by a young group of men I believe are fundamentalist, they hold the bible, dressed in purple and gold Toga’s the crowd walking by them are mostly homeless and druggers There is no interaction between the two groups it’s as if they are from two dimensions sharing the same street.
A young couple begin to cross the street towards the man, think better of it as they decide to go around him instead.
His mouth has gathered enough rain to choke and wake him, he spits out a bit as he lowers his head again, this time with his mouth closed. I see him blink a couple of times then return to his sleep.
I check my phone, then facebook, there is a post that has a picture of a Black Jesus, and a White Jesus, the caption reads, if Jesus was Black, would White men be Christians?
Below that pic is a cross that says, remember the Crucifix
The Bindweed
Seattle has two stadiums that sit on either side of a street in Seattle, not so much now a street as a walkway.
It is landscaped on one side, small perennials, ivy, juniper, bark dust
A Bindweed sends a vine through a small gap between bricks reaches towards the center of the sidewalk, its leaves uncurl, white trumpet flowers, the end of the vine is curled.
People step over, step next to it, occasionally step on it, through the weeks it continues to grow longer. I walk this area again; landscapers have cleared the vine.
Pine street has a walkway between 3rd and 4th.
Today a mid-30s man has stalled in his walk, one foot in front of the other as if in a normal walk, his jeans are muddy, shoes are dark, long coat, beard, long hair dark hair that hasn’t been washed in months. His arms are in a natural swing state but stationary, he is looking at the ground maybe 3 feet ahead of him. He looks like a freezeframe who’s next step is into the crosswalk. People pass him both on the left and right, some step around him glancing behind them, wondering if maybe his is a street performer.
My light turns green, he is to my right as I drive by him. I continue on my route to 2nd, south bound, then east bound back to Madison Park. I layover for 20 mins, then head back to Pine street about 50 mins have gone by, he has now crossed the street is on my left, a few feet from the crosswalk, frozen, or moving incredibly slow.
The old woman who dresses in black, grey hair spraying out beneath her hoodie pushes her grocery cart of belongings around and past him.
My light turns green, I continue on my route to 2nd, south bound, then east bound back to Madison Park. I layover for 20 mins, then head back to Pine street
15th and John
15th and John is a corner stop in front of one of Seattle’s major Hospitals, it’s a stop where you will find people in all stages of health.
Today a man I guess to be in his late 70s or early 80s, has a worn fleece vest over his hospital nightgown, his feet in socks, slippers, his white beard and hair contrast his dark skin, sunken eyes. His arms have band aides that indicate recent I.V. and shots. His skin is blotchy, weakly, slowly, shaking as he climbs onto the bus, he hangs onto the hold bars as he finds a seat next to a window, he holds a pizza and a bottle of something in a brown bag that he takes a long draw on after a bite of his pizza. His gaze out the window seems long drawn, his mood melancholy. I’m at a stop next to a small greenbelt, his hand is now on the window as he looks out, then he sits back wiping tears from his eyes. He sits alone, and I have the feeling he feels alone and has been revealed to him his time is near and he left the Hospital abruptly leaving clothes in an effort to leave the situation behind him.
I wonder if I should call this in, what does one say when you only have a feeling.
We arrive at a stop downtown, there are homeless, bottles, broken glass boarded windows, graffiti of lives matter, old clothes laying about, dirty, wet from rain. He carefully, weakly, shaking, leaves the bus and makes his way out through the crowd.
There is a tree there, who’s branch has been broken, hangs from its bark as its leaves are turning brown, one lets go in the breeze fluttering to the sidewalk.
The Bear and Raccoon
Last Sunday morning, just as the morning light was defining its colors, I stepped out of my cabin to pee under the last bits of stars. Its so quiet that time of morning, the birds haven’t woken yet and the fresh air fills your lungs with that morning smell of cedar woods and alders.
Last Sunday morning, just as the morning light was defining its colors, I stepped out of my cabin to pee under the last bits of stars. Its so quiet that time of morning, the birds haven’t woken yet and the fresh air fills your lungs with that morning smell of cedar woods and alders.
I stood there looking up at the stars loving the color of the sky, when I looked right and saw about 30 yards from me, a small bear standing on one side of the road, his nose sticking out of the brush leaning forward, sniffing while looking at a Raccoon who was sniffing the air back at him and looking back at him. Iv seen this Raccoon before, hes not like the city raccoons, hes skinny, slender, muscular. Direct with his actions and very cautious of me. The Bear, first time Iv seen him (or her) that close. They didn’t look at me at all, they were facing each other having some sort of visual discussion. Maybe territory, maybe just a morning greeting, it was not aggressive or even determined in some sort of way.
I finished my business quietly. I moved back to my door not wanting them to notice me at all. I stepped up into my door and watched them for another minute ,
The Raccoon washed his hands while he sat, the bear had sat down, He looked my way, sniffed the air, then turned into the woods.
Stanley’s Death
Passing of a mentor
Bailey Bouche is a care facility in the Madison Park area of Seattle and one of the great places in the world. Stanley’s care was everything any of us would have wanted. Their staff was involved and understanding of who he was. When things got difficult and his health was at its end…. Bailey Bouche asked he keep visitors and contact with people to a minimum. As this proved to be impossible, they did come on a compromise and some kind of balance, the outpouring from people everywhere was inspiring, Stanley’s care takers felt this amount of love was keeping Stanley here maybe longer than the pain should allow…Life for Stanley was about all those people.
Wednesday night, cant remember the date, but I do remember just a few days earlier taking Stanley for a drive through the Arboretum, we took in the trees, we were seeing some beautiful homes and breathing air with scents of grass, woods, wind. Stanley confided he really wished his finances were more advanced than they were, and was a little embarrassed that he had so little money at this point in his life. He had enough for all his bills, he was a responsible man but, there was so little money left.
“Your the richest man I know Stanley” Your the richest man any of us know Stanley” people from every corner love you, you’ve given us so much, people think of you daily. He was silent for a few minutes pondering…. (Iv often wondered if his passion for the activity sometimes blinded him from the good he did us, his silence seemed to support that, I think he knew we all had fun, we all learned and grew, but I wondered if he knew of the sort of a daily mantra from his tutelage) “Well” he said, then took a deep drag from his cigarette, they way he did when he was in deep thought, gracefully held between his forefinger and middle finger, blew the smoke out of the window, l found something I completely loved”. I took his hand in mine and drove a bit farther in silence.
Wednesday night came, the last one. 12-15 of us in the room, half lit, room strewn with coats, flowers, cards smeared all over walls, notes, drawings, room filled with 2 and 3 dimensional Thank yous, Stanley was in and out of consciousness, people took turns holding hands with him, caressing his forehead, telling him, he was loved, he would come back and say obscure things from years past, to, “Stanley is no longer available, please leave a message” (a classic Stanley comic relief moments) meant I think, as one last gift to us, he made us laugh once more.
As we took in the shadows and group of people around Stanley’s bed, all surrounding him, their hands on him, easing his passing best that can be done, Mary looked at me, said, this should be a piece of art, a painting, drawing or something……… I fused the image in my mind, it was beautiful. There was a sense of the spiritual, tangible, something is coming next. He went to a place that received him as eagerly as we wanted him here. I do hope, someday, I can paint that.
My 2nd favorite artist, John Baldessari has a painting that best describes what Stanley did for me, the way I think of the world.
Painting for Kubler
This painting owes its existence to prior paintings. By liking this solution, you should not be blocked in your continued acceptance of prior inventions to attain this position, ideas of former paintings
had to be rethought in order to transcend former work. To like this painting you will have to understand prior work. Ultimately, this work will amalgamate with the existing body of knowledge.
Peace, love, light and movement
Transit Transients and Other Stories 