09 January, 2016
were it my choice, i would be a camp fire
the best ways i know time passing:
time in the forest, in the sun, in warm oceans, in cafes without english, in college classes, with particular friends, in breath gulping workouts, first entering an unfamiliar library, cooking meals with or for loved people, anonymously watching life happen, when gravity feels less persistent, without a deadline, crammed with the smell of newly blossomed plants, free of leaders and genuflectors alike, with tastes that remember, among animals that make it feel like there is more blood, in quiet, when the ache shows me what it wants or what i want, when power happens on all sides the same, when birds can be seen or heard, when buildings are too far away, when it is too dirty for you and just right for me, near the desert, when i get scared, while the duff is drying, when rivers are louder than thinking, as friends are asleep at camp, when fires remind me of love, when music reminds me that people can be really good, looking at art that makes my thoughts reverse, hearing rocks clang together, feeling sex in every cell, drinking lovingly brewed coffee, without too many clouds, when i have given everything i can and want to give more, hugging, building things with tools i don't yet understand, writing, sitting in trees, recognizing contributions, learning about species i don't yet understand, driving on ice, being hungry, listening in a open plaza, smelling outdoor summer festivals, with mulled wine, dancing, filled with thoughts of lost friends, pondering geometrics, with few numbers or codifications, listening to stories, seeing movements of animals and plants under water, creating bad haircuts, with my back against a tree, as toes fill with mud, when things taste like gravy, when i lose control of most things, as the vision i know becomes distorted, while grey hair grows and grows, holding off judgement to search for other truth, adding wood to a campfire, aimlessly traveling, writing, the few times annually when it feels like the words "best" or "good" may be internally generated, with warm or dissonant tones, deconstructing nearly anything, believing, being honest when it hurts, when i should shower and don't, when the clouds break, when someone tells me the hard thing they want to say, mosquitos being eaten by birds, without traction, listening to mechanisms do their jobs, touching cactus,
04 January, 2016
occasionally deleted for the record
how to use a semi colon, properly place the words affect and effect, or a commanding sewing machine technique are all things that i know i still want to learn. there are myriad others worth knowing; these are some of the more obvious bits i feel i should learn, but never make time for.
since finding parts of the means to make our move to Regello, Italy next year, I have begun making additional time for studying. the more i learn the more my hunger for learning and knowledge grows. it's similar to the times i allow myself to venture into an unfamiliar situation, with unfamiliar and unique individuals and rituals, and suddenly i feel able to recall parts of my life I have not thought about in many years.
it feels like remembering something new, which is a concept born in drugs, depression, and little sleep. it is a beautiful thing to have a memory come, then the narrative of what was give way to a new and old emotion all at once. the exact terms of that narrative are no longer relevant, as what i actually recall is what i base my present reality on. with much more to say on the philosophy of memories, i would like to shift to the tick of this post.
recent mornings have sounded like plodding footsteps of an Italian toddler. rudimentary phrases concerning horses who drink milk and monkeys with money are commonly stammered, if spoken coherently. seldom is my cup of coffee complete without a spirited verb conjugation quandary. the program i am learning with, titled Duolingo, claims that i am now 40% fluent in the Italian language, though i know the real learning comes when i need to buy parts to fix a broken water pump in the small town we will soon inhabit. on the whole i find learning Italiano much less confusing than francais, and my motivation far clearer. i am legitimately excited to learn and grow in a culture that i know little about, and to share that experience with my closest friends. driven to experience culture in the most honest manner i can muster, this appetite for learning is sure to find a glut.
my penchant for consistent learning has further been quenched by a new book Megan bought for me titled The Tree; A Natural History of What Trees Are, How They Live, and Why They Matter, by Colin Tudge. The author explores many animal uses of trees, how trees affect human civilization, and why critical taxonomy is important. It is a beautiful work that intertwines many of my favorite things: philosophy, trees, language, and science! I love this book (and i am only on Ch1)!
last night Megan introduced another amazing bit/phenomena when i made the remark, "i can not tell the difference between genre or era of classical music." MC asked if i wanted to have a mini lesson, via Youtube jamming some classic music, and then proceeded to share some super interesting info on all of the unique periods of music -- as it were. MC began with a piece by the Gregorian Monks, titled Dies Ire, and i have not been able to listen to anything else since. this is a piece written by a catholic nun that depicts the goings on of judgement day. the particular recording i have heard most is sung by a group of monks inside Notre Dam Cathedral, and clearly bounced around in that cold stone building in exactly the way it was written. the piece inspires me to do something with music again. something with my own hands. something respectful of all of the folks who have felt music rattle their bones, in many ways and for many reasons. thank you for the beautiful opening up Megan!
i remember as a teenager i heard about how Chris Christopherson had gone to college for most of life, and from my first poli-scie course i have wanted to do the same. i love learning, sharing, critiquing, deconstructing, constructing, advocating, high-fiving, and teaching alike. i now know that it is possible to do this outside the classroom. with the right bookends of accountability. school provided a metric and a method to get through subjects, and to build on them. with a careful collection process i think i can do the same for free, and hopefully continue a branching swath of intake all along.
lastly, this is my first attempt at writing while not depressed.
here is to more of that!
since finding parts of the means to make our move to Regello, Italy next year, I have begun making additional time for studying. the more i learn the more my hunger for learning and knowledge grows. it's similar to the times i allow myself to venture into an unfamiliar situation, with unfamiliar and unique individuals and rituals, and suddenly i feel able to recall parts of my life I have not thought about in many years.
it feels like remembering something new, which is a concept born in drugs, depression, and little sleep. it is a beautiful thing to have a memory come, then the narrative of what was give way to a new and old emotion all at once. the exact terms of that narrative are no longer relevant, as what i actually recall is what i base my present reality on. with much more to say on the philosophy of memories, i would like to shift to the tick of this post.
recent mornings have sounded like plodding footsteps of an Italian toddler. rudimentary phrases concerning horses who drink milk and monkeys with money are commonly stammered, if spoken coherently. seldom is my cup of coffee complete without a spirited verb conjugation quandary. the program i am learning with, titled Duolingo, claims that i am now 40% fluent in the Italian language, though i know the real learning comes when i need to buy parts to fix a broken water pump in the small town we will soon inhabit. on the whole i find learning Italiano much less confusing than francais, and my motivation far clearer. i am legitimately excited to learn and grow in a culture that i know little about, and to share that experience with my closest friends. driven to experience culture in the most honest manner i can muster, this appetite for learning is sure to find a glut.
my penchant for consistent learning has further been quenched by a new book Megan bought for me titled The Tree; A Natural History of What Trees Are, How They Live, and Why They Matter, by Colin Tudge. The author explores many animal uses of trees, how trees affect human civilization, and why critical taxonomy is important. It is a beautiful work that intertwines many of my favorite things: philosophy, trees, language, and science! I love this book (and i am only on Ch1)!
last night Megan introduced another amazing bit/phenomena when i made the remark, "i can not tell the difference between genre or era of classical music." MC asked if i wanted to have a mini lesson, via Youtube jamming some classic music, and then proceeded to share some super interesting info on all of the unique periods of music -- as it were. MC began with a piece by the Gregorian Monks, titled Dies Ire, and i have not been able to listen to anything else since. this is a piece written by a catholic nun that depicts the goings on of judgement day. the particular recording i have heard most is sung by a group of monks inside Notre Dam Cathedral, and clearly bounced around in that cold stone building in exactly the way it was written. the piece inspires me to do something with music again. something with my own hands. something respectful of all of the folks who have felt music rattle their bones, in many ways and for many reasons. thank you for the beautiful opening up Megan!
i remember as a teenager i heard about how Chris Christopherson had gone to college for most of life, and from my first poli-scie course i have wanted to do the same. i love learning, sharing, critiquing, deconstructing, constructing, advocating, high-fiving, and teaching alike. i now know that it is possible to do this outside the classroom. with the right bookends of accountability. school provided a metric and a method to get through subjects, and to build on them. with a careful collection process i think i can do the same for free, and hopefully continue a branching swath of intake all along.
lastly, this is my first attempt at writing while not depressed.
here is to more of that!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
