Thoughts on the Empty Field

I have written a bit about the concept of an empty field and what this means spiritually, mentally, and physically to myself as a wandering soul, a student of this life struggling to relate and come to terms with previous lives.  The empty field is the essence of the mind and energy transferred to a physical state, represented by a field, landscape, or a similar feature of nature.  This field is like a chessboard, and there are pieces representing parts of the person such as memories, roadblocks, behaviors, and habits that prevent a more peaceful and happier existence.  We do not have to struggle and suffer. We can choose and recast ourself and re-enter the world.


Romanticism of the Empty Field

(1)

From two perspectives -
the field gives, and
the field takes.

I see mountains and other
landscapes miles away, yet
here they have no influence.

Yet I cannot help wonder
what was here before me?
Before emptiness?
Does this field hold the
mountains higher, or offer
clear water to the gods?

On this particular day
cloudless and bright
there was no wind,
there was no sound.

I stopped on a single boulder
with eyes closed and filled the
emptiness with childhood memories -
moments we bring into the present
and view with a diffused and
soft light – the romanticism
of our past.

What happens to the real
memories, the emotions – where
are these upon the empty field?

Have I already incorporated
what I needed, taken the experience
and lessons, and discarded what
does not work, what only
weighs me down?

(2)

When I stand before the
entrance to the valley
and the immense gates
ask questions of me

how do I answer truthfully
when I left part of me
scattered and broken
fractured and fragmented
across millions of miles
of empty field?

Does the gate see the
same light or hear
the same vibrations as I?

(3)

I step down from the boulder
and vow to recast the person
I am into the person I should be
and begin to reassemble the being
from the pieces.

Poem – Layers

Why do I spend each weekend
breaking sweet and back?

What does each peeled layer represent?

What am I looking for?

Across the water lapping at my feet
the land rises to the sky
and the cliffs.

I dream in color, I dream in green
I smell warm pine and feel my skin burn

as each layer dissipates and I melt
into the earth and am consumed by roots.

Poem – Intersections

At the intersection I
woke to a wall cloud
filled not with rain
but fragments of some
life I did not recognize…

they elicited no emotion, only
confusion, a detached
sense of being…

I watched the images for hours -
people, faces, death, and birth.

~

I watched children play on the cold water
of a fountain in the center of a city.

I watched a brother and sister climb
a tree.

At the peak a raven held tight
overlooking the park and cawed.

~

The images slowed, they became a movie
of one person in particular, one face.

She smiled while looking over her shoulder
as if she was holding someone’s hand,
she was leading somewhere, determined,
always smiling, almost pulling the person.

There was no sound here, just two people,
focused on her face, the background fuzzy

yet with depth through shades of black and white.

Then she stopped.

The scene went black and returned triggering
an instant pang of regret and remembrance…

Joline

If Jackson Pollock was a photographer, Part 2

I imagine one of his photos would look like this:

Jackson Pollock Photography

Jackson Pollock Photography

New Music

Some of the music that has wandered into my collection the past month.  Reviews of the most recent Celldweller release, End of an Empire, will follow.

  1. Bass for Autism – Volume 1 and 2
  2. Celldweller – End of an Empire: Chapter 1
  3. Celldweller – Space Time Deluxe
  4. Celldweller – Wish Upon a Black Star
  5. Celldweller – Soundtrack for the Voices in My Head Volume 1
  6. Downlink – Ignition
  7. Earth Octave Lounge: Volume 2
  8. Fahrenheit Project: Part 1
  9. Fahrenheit Project: Part 3
  10. Imogen Heap – Ellipse
  11. Josh Money – Odderhead
  12. SeamlessR – Momentum
  13. The Cure – Disintegration

Poem – To the Outside

To the outside we are primitive specks of dust lost on some distant chunk of molten rock destined for an uncertain future defined by the egoistical driven actions we take for ourselves with little regard to the sphere of influence we exert on those around us.

We are primitive in our methods and usage of earths resources and limited in our knowledge to expand beyond the current landscape.

We blindly walk through night and dust and through each other.

When will this end? Where is the desperately needed shift to open closed eyes and minds?

Where are they and what are they waiting for?

Still Here

It’s been over a week and my blog has been silent.  I have been writing some poems, working on a screenplay, and preparing the introduction for the fall issue of Stone Path Review.  For the blog here, I’m going to start posting essays about nature, ecology, and matters more important to me.

I have also been meaning to blog about new music which has kept my ears delightfully happy.  I will put everything that I have picked up the past month into a post later this week.

Poem – Machines That Move Earth

(1)

Putting aside hollywood notions
of machine versus man -

September morning is
hidden in fog, coated
with an early frost.

Subdued sun scattered
across fields, meadows, and prairies.

The sky becomes the land
becomes the horizon.

We head north,
leaving behind city
lights and traffic
for pine trees and
winter in the air.

(2)

Winter is coming
early this year.

With axes, shovels
and our hands

we move the earth
gently and with care.

Preparing trails
and food plots,

becoming part of
the system,

returning to our roots.

Tools of the Trade

Tools of the Trade

Shelter and Home

Shelter and Home

My Helper

My Helper

Random 9/11 Thoughts

(1)

A depth of feeling
carried each day
buried into the subconscious
of each witness, born into
each offspring, burned into
humanities collective.

(2)

Questions will always outwiegh
the answers when we attempt and
desire to look beneath the
surface, the material evidence,
the words and images – we want
the person’s thoughts, state
of mind, controlled actions, the
depth or lack of emotion.

The motivation. The why.

A snapshot of the moment’s impact.

What we all left behind
and what we are left with
incomplete and still searching.

(3)

Will closure ever come?

(4)

Even when we really do not
want to hear, the edge of
reason and the unknown can
only be walked for so long
before it takes over and consumes
and we free fall through the void
the dark night – or we accept
what is done, gather the pieces that
are left and attempt to rebuild.

Poem – 13 Years – 9/11

13 Years

(1)

An arctic sunrise opens this day -
cold, calm, and reflective.

The sky burns today but
not the way it did 13 years ago.

Scattered across the deep blue
colors from every palette

converge and blend, overlapping,
without boundaries, without hate.

(2)

At the edge splitting
humanity we gather

and watch 2977 people
hold hands and become one.

Poem – Memories

On the cusp
between two worlds

the fine edge we walk
through each day.

One world filled with the
memories we choose to keep.

The other filled with what
we have left behind.

In the current understanding
time is a persistent reference

a way to communicate and exist
within this space.

But memories operate independently
wavering through all space

and the fabric that holds the
grid keeping us from flying off to nowhere.

They exist as energy and continue a journey
we started and they pass back and forth

ignoring conventional laws and mathematics
seeking out and obtaining experiences

from systems and lands we will never see
with our eyes but will return to our minds.

Poem – Where I Stood

(1)

Where I stood on that last day
I saw you walking across the bridge.

I believe you did not see me
but you must have sensed my presence.

When I could no longer see you
I lit a cigarette and sat on a

graffitied boulder near the
river’s edge.

(2)

Let me go back to the beginning.
Of something, of a foreign time.

I came into this body detached
from a previous version of myself.

With few memories or tangible experience
I went within and sought refuge in

the primordial soup beneath the
burning sky and molten mountains,

a time of transition,
a time of birth.

(3)

Back to what could be the present
where I stood on that last day

I saw you walking across the bridge
and I approached you.

With the first step you turned around
and the bridge disappeared

replaced with lights, energy
beautiful chaos that triggered

a recollection and with the memory
I lost my physical self and as

I took your hand we entered
a gateway back home.

FlameArtwork2

Poem – Fragments of the person

(1)

Washed with silent words
spoken by creatures of

the day and night
I let go and slept

in their midst while
the sky turned and

the sun left this
space beyond the trees.

(2)

In the depths of dreams
I saw the clouds

move slowly across
the empty fields

and at the beginning
or the end

I stood and talked
with a raven holding

fragments of the person
I was before coming here.