tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54366632024-03-12T21:22:20.637-07:00nativearthlingsnapshots from EarthUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger722125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-32088251814435245932008-11-07T05:51:00.002-08:002008-11-07T06:01:16.386-08:00Mathematically—time is just another dimension.There is no past or future—just a line in the network of dimensions.8orangesnomadicfishesUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-37594367799898422302008-09-25T21:45:00.002-07:002008-09-25T22:23:41.154-07:00The traffic tears past so loudly-such hurry at eleven at night.In the quiet before dawn this morningthe Great Horned Owloffered his deep, organ-pipe comment-then Barred Owl countered with his nine notesand they spoke back and forth-the reassuring repetition between two old friends.It was a long time since I'd heard their voices.The owls offered comfort, affirmed the strange orderliness of the Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-86984011258457380442008-09-25T03:03:00.001-07:002008-09-25T03:10:59.306-07:00Everything is possible. My first shintaido teacher told me so. Why not, he asked.I took him at his word and found myself in places and experiences I’d never heard of nor thought of.So now why can’t I, without formal training in physics or high-level math, figure out a theory for everything by educating myself; by cutting and pasting; by skateboarding the internet and my environment for clues? Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-31132878798457135002008-09-23T21:37:00.001-07:002008-09-23T21:46:32.157-07:00At 3:15 AM, someone's cell phone in Austin, Texas contacted me from within the rhythmic, sloshing wash cycle of a washing machine. I'm not kidding. It left a very long message.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-60241372617555849592008-09-22T19:56:00.001-07:002008-09-22T20:07:25.719-07:008orangesnomadicfishesUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-61290371264740603552008-01-29T17:55:00.000-08:002008-01-29T19:01:12.138-08:00I’ve received email from 3 friends who visit regularly. Seems we’ve lost touch here! The link out of nativearthling is to the upper right, or you can copy and paste this URL:http://nomadicfishes.blogspot.com/Meanwhile, here's a find from Jeanne. Maybe it’ll help along the way:)http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=epUk3T2Kfno&eurl=http://dailykos.com/I'm honored by your attention.LindaUnknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-64322806868652543262007-11-18T12:10:00.000-08:002007-11-18T12:47:14.602-08:00Something new under construction.I don’t know what it is yet (!) but will report back at a later date.Meanwhile, I’m so thankful for the people in my life. I’m so thankful for you.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-47851281498378782322007-11-18T06:55:00.000-08:002007-11-18T07:03:47.242-08:00The man was tall, dressed in camouflage, dead ducks clutched in his fist. The bodies were plump, the feathers thick and glowing. He and a partner had exited the pickup, were heading for the house. There was a quietness in their movement. The birds, so fresh the kill. It was only noon.A jolt, seeing both the still fluid beauty of the birds, the recency of their death.Perhaps the men will eat Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-59959964736414994222007-11-17T21:43:00.000-08:002007-11-17T22:23:17.332-08:00Keee!...Keee!... Keee! 7 AM, there he was, up in the high branches of a pecan tree, great freckled bird missing most of his tail feathers. Tail-less red-tail. I focused the binoculars. Though his head was facing north, I could see he was angling a glance my way.Hawks have so much carriage, so much attitude with their powerful heads and hooked beaks. They are not humble birds. I swear, this guyUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-38687455464520796542007-11-16T23:40:00.000-08:002007-11-17T17:55:58.267-08:00The sun was risingabove the treetops.As I circled the field this morningagain and again for warm-ups,the lawn transformed from green to white,the grasses coated with frost...they crunched beneath my feet.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-86345296657595575942007-11-15T19:51:00.000-08:002007-11-15T19:52:19.347-08:00Pine needles catch sun’s white fire;Pale hawk follows white-haired man in field.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-54740379155353664212007-11-14T16:25:00.000-08:002007-11-14T16:21:33.514-08:00Two travelers caught a ride from the airport. Three miles down, the vehicle sputtered; the driver coasted into grass on the side of the road. The car was out of gas.As this was BC (Before Cell phones), the driver started walking to the nearest gas station for fuel.One passenger, muttering furiously, slumped low in the back seat of the car to wait. The other passenger got out, breathed fresh airUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-19773271705743418252007-11-13T13:54:00.000-08:002007-11-13T14:00:58.432-08:00Lotsa weird stuff going on.A striped lizard keeps appearing, parading in front of me in the house. Red leaves from Nowhere litter my path. A single azalea bloom in November-and a new brood of Carolina wrens in the garage. Three wild strawberries in the grass.I found the 5 red leaves this morning under the oak where I practice. I looked and looked and found no source for red leaves, no source forUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-73677157156539086952007-11-12T21:56:00.000-08:002007-11-12T22:04:59.319-08:00Ten little birds with red red beakslive in a cagein the reception roomof the nursing home;They twitterwelcome to every new residentwho arrives.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-31821689357391375762007-11-11T21:44:00.000-08:002007-11-11T22:25:11.192-08:00Sunlight filtered through pine branches and an empty bird feeder.Because I practice martial arts in the morning, I have a friendship with dawning light. The sun’s position shifts day by day, creates pleats along the arc of a hand-held fan. The sun floats up from horizon to sky, strikes a new path in the yard.This morning everything was achingly beautiful. I felt weak, first day out after a Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-15604343220955803052007-11-10T20:19:00.000-08:002007-11-10T20:31:09.645-08:00I told someone this month about this poem-that it was by Theodore Roethke. So wrong! Here it is, by Gerard Manley Hopkins:Spring and Fall, to a Young Child Margaret, are you grievingOver Goldengrove unleaving?Leaves, like the things of man, youWith your fresh thoughts care for, can you?Ah! as the heart grows olderIt will come to such sights colderBy and by, nor spare a sighThough worlds of Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-19718368912464927192007-11-09T23:11:00.000-08:002007-11-09T23:20:14.527-08:00Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-52211306094776115052007-11-08T17:08:00.000-08:002007-11-08T17:13:10.717-08:00Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-7195384859828567452007-11-07T20:35:00.000-08:002007-11-07T20:38:38.772-08:0006 November 2005Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-1195868084744714082007-11-06T21:47:00.000-08:002007-11-06T22:23:40.483-08:00I returned again and againto the one red leafin a sea of brown.And, oh, a monarch’s wing-stained glassframed in speckled black-lay near the rosy leaf.And there, a cellophane wing of a dragonflyreflecting gray sunlightagainst green grass.(“head down, feet extended,these sociable birds delight in feeding aloft, and 20 or 30 of them wheeling overheadcan make dragonfly wings fall like confetti…as forUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-47295571540492695932007-11-05T21:31:00.000-08:002007-11-05T21:36:18.937-08:00The Shintaido bokutoh or sword is intentionally designed to be a heavy, clunky chunk of wood so that you don't take sword work lightly. Unlike hands, or staff (boh), or walking stick (joh), the sword is by definition a weapon.The sword is a material paradox.A paradox on many scales:Heal/hurtDestruction/path clearingCripple/liberateIntimacy/distanceLight/darkDeath/lifeself/otherweighty/Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-80156549796832024532007-11-04T15:19:00.000-08:002007-11-04T15:25:49.828-08:00This popped up today on the Yahoo home page:...Currently 997 ancient oaks stand on the 450 acres known as the "beating heart of the forest," Banton said. About 450 are still living, and of those, 250 are good shape, while the other 200 are particularly vulnerable. The remainder are standing deadwood, still valuable to the forest because of the life they support.Each oak has its own management Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-68046793787159586342007-11-03T20:31:00.000-07:002007-11-03T21:33:13.609-07:00The truth isI’ve been running awayfrom writing about the trees-three tall graceful giants,the great broad oak-so braveall week standing therewithout their limbstodayworkers came with their chain sawsand mercifully finished the job.There are plenty of other trees-I know-and the road widening-36 years overdue!This week, I'd acknowledged the casualties,moved forward,focused on the living-such beautyUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-32383785236392268682007-11-02T18:00:00.000-07:002007-11-02T18:13:20.956-07:00I simply believe that there's a very organic, immeasureable consciousness of which we're a part...I believe this consciousness is so unimaginably calibrated in its sensitivity that not one leaf falls in the deepest of forests on the darkest of nights unnoticed.Now, given the immensity of this immeasureable power that I'm talking about, and given its pervasiveness through the universe (extending Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436663.post-83529294149481941282007-11-01T20:19:00.000-07:002007-11-01T20:37:03.434-07:00...or standing on the rocks by the sea and fishing with a piece of thread and a straight pin I'd bent into a hook. I did all those things, and it was fun, because on such an island poverty wasn't the depressing, soul-destroying force that it can be under other conditions.But the special beauty of Cat Island wasn't just what we had; it was also what we didn't have...I was lucky...I didn't have toUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0