Not yet 9AM
An awful Monday Morning
There is no escape
Lisa (Grace Kelly) : Where does a man get inspiration to write a song like that?
Jeff (James Stewart) : He gets it from the landlady once a month.
from REAR WINDOW (1954) directed by Alfred Hitchcock.
sweet or savory
eat, drink, find satisfaction
this, a gift of God
Inspired by:
Ecclesiastes 3:13
That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—this is the gift of God. (NIV)
I admit to suspect editing as the verse itself points to satisfaction in all your toil not in the eat antd drink as I imply in the Haiku.
Chalk it up to creative license and inspiration versus quoting.
We are made in God’s image.
Therefore, God must have a nose.
We read in Deuteronomy, “There you will worship man-made gods of wood and stone, which cannot see or hear or eat or smell. (4:28)
Therefore, there must be smells in Heaven.
In Genesis, we read that Noah, built an altar to the Lord and, taking some of all the clean animals and clean birds, he sacrificed burnt offerings on it. The Lord smelled the pleasing aroma. (8:21-22)
If God smells the pleasing aroma from Earth, there must be pleasing aromas in Heaven.
Therefore, there must be coffee…
One more thing to look forward to Heaven.
voyage, discover
not in seeking new landscapes
but having new eyes
“A pair of wings, a different respiratory system, which enabled us to travel through space, would in no way help us, for if we visited Mars or Venus while keeping the same senses, they would clothe everything we could see in the same aspect as the things of the Earth. The only true voyage, the only bath in the Fountain of Youth, would be not to visit strange lands but to possess other eyes, to see the universe through the eyes of another, of a hundred others, to see the hundred universes that each of them sees, that each of them is; and this we do, with great artists; with artists like these we do really fly from star to star.”
From the ‘La Prisonnière’, the fifth volume of ‘Remembrance of Things Past‘ (also known as) ‘In Search of Lost Time’ by Marcel Proust.
Had a weekend at the oceanfront.
With every tidal sequence, every wave, the beach is swept clean and a clean slate, a new landscape, never seen before, never seen again is presented to me.
Change, opportunity, without boundaries.
On the day we returned, we learned of a new child on the way and that a dear friend was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer.
Circle of life indeed.
Each day, endless change, new landscapes, new discoveries, within a tight circle of limits unknown and unrevealed.
No mutual exclusion zone.
A reminder that a person with limited time, emotional capacity and cultural bandwidth, could more effectively set their schedule, but how?
pink tipped spires glow
short time, daybreak Atlanta
old poetic theme
Each day, I exit I85 to the Buford-Spring Connector in midtown Atlanta.
The expressway ramp takes me up as high as a three story building before a quick decent to Peachtree Creek level.
From this rise, for a brief moment, I have a post card view of downtown Atlanta.
On some mornings, this moment takes place at sunrise or just before sunrise, when the earliest light catches the tops of the downtown buildings and the cityscape glows pinkishly.
The pink light of dawn at the beach, on a city, over the desert or on the far mountain range is a reoccurring theme in literature and poetry.
Dawn takes place every day.
No travel need to experience it.
It can happen on the drive to work.
‘Composed Upon Westminster Bridge,
William Wordsworth September 3, 1802
Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning: silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
layer on layer
each worry, like a blanket
can’t get out of bed
Sleepless nights, examining, questioning, rationalizing everything on the plate along with items on the way, unforeseen but imagined.
Feel each thought and worry as a blanket on top.
At the first the weight is manageable.
As the layers continue to pile on the weight becomes oppressive.
If allowed, panic could push anxiety out and take over.
Can’t get out of the bed.
Can’t get out from under the layers.
Solution?
Crawl back in.
Burrow under the layers.
Hide.
Hibernate.
Make them go away.
No Haiku For You 