Sunday, September 14, 2014

Good Morning Jack

Letter to my Son
Sunday, 14 September

Good Morning Jack...


I tire of words eventually.  I’m no poet.  Words for me are but a tool of reason.  They pass along straightforward information.  There’s little nuance and definitely no frills here.


There was a time when I was comfortable with creating images.  I discovered I didn't have to be an artist – I didn't have to be good – to express something of what I felt.  It all offered no explanation.  I liked the mystery involved.


One’s own mind offers room to wander.  We find places we never thought to go.  I like it best when I don’t let thinking get in my way.  I’m not interesting when I try to be smart.


Is this how she truly looked?  Don’t be silly.  This is how she felt.  Actually this is how I felt about her as she sat across the table from me… making up stories; creating altogether new words to describe her thoughts.


It’s an image of a particular thought.  It’s like a hieroglyph.  Something captures one’s attention.  Something all too familiar is suddenly seen as though for the first time.  New ideas come to life.  New associations are made.  It only happens when we disentangle ourselves from our humdrum inner narrative:  yada, yada, yada.

no remedy

She was in a park.  I don’t know what was going on.  Does it matter?  Isn’t the face a marvelous device?  Our face provides a wealth of visual clues.  What complex creatures we are.  Think of all the means we use to express who it is we are.  Besides the face there is body language, words, voice, touch – and art of all kinds.  Dogs have tails, barks and whines.  Maybe porpoises use mental telepathy.  It doesn't make for Shakespeare. 


You can get lost in a face.  Age enriches one’s image with extraordinary topography.  Countless frowns, smiles, laughs and arched eyebrows leave their mark.  There’s history here.  All these telling nooks and crannies.  Wrinkles are magnificent; even sexy.

curtain up

Explanations can be tiresome.  Intrigue provides a fertile field to explore.  If you insist on talk, try substituting this desire with music – minus the need of lyrics.    


What is more personal than living in the moment?  It is its own reward.  We’re fully grown but we have all the observational powers of a three year old.  Here’s how we truly get away from it all.  Enjoy your day. 


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