Via Cruelty

 

The Greek god Pan was of the stuff that gods were made of, half man, half goat, notorious for his ravishing of humans and other drunken debauchery. 

One day Pan encountered a young wood nymph as she danced through the forest, singing to the trees. Her name was Syrinx. It's a beautiful name, isn't it? Syrinx.

Maybe it was something to do with the half that was goat, Syrinx refused Pan's advances and fled. Being a god and accustomed to getting his own way, Pan pursued her. Rather than surrender her honour Syrinx threw herself in a river, and drowned.

For weeks Pan could be seen sitting on the bank of that river. Some reeds sprung up in the place where Syrinx died, the wind rushing through them reminded Pan of her voice, whispering of joy and of melancholy.

And so, via cruelty, Pan invented the flute.

Parkstreet

Ko-fi

Tram Scenes - #2

 

I've stepped into Nirvana, clumsily, in a rush.

I was running for the tram one moment, in Nirvana the next. 

Buddha is here, asleep in his pram. Everyone is quiet, smiling, soaking up his mellow Buddha buzz. Between his belly and his weeboks lies a stuffed toy lion, a friendly lion, smiling up at the world like a saint. 

Everyone is smiling. Everyone is looking everyone else in the eye then smiling some more. I'm sure this baby knows he is holy, a sleeping gift. 

Two stops later I have to leave Nirvana, get on with my day. I squeeze past the vessel containing the holy one, press the stop button, stand by the door, step down to the street.

For two stops I was in Nirvana. 

Now Nirvana is in me.

Parkstreet

Ko-fi

Tram Scenes - #1

 

Little girl on the tram, moving to sit in a different seat for thirty seconds or so then going back to her dad to shake his hand earnestly and introduce herself by a different name each time.

Parkstreet 

Ko-fi

There Is No Diamond In The Sand

 

He dreamed the most precious diamond in the world was buried on a beach. He set himself the task of sifting all the sand on all the beaches in all the world until he found that diamond. He soon realized he didn't have time to sift all the sand on all the beaches in all the world. He would be lucky to complete one beach in his lifetime. 

He searched his memory for details of the dream, sought a clue, a hint, any reference that might at least tell him which beach. He found nothing, just a dream of himself sifting a handful of sand, finding the most precious diamond in all the world.

He tried to dream the dream again, to no avail. He went mad. All he could think about was sifting sand, finding a diamond.

While he was incarcerated, he wrote a self-help book titled Dreams Are For Fools. He taught people how to avoid dreaming, how to avoid disappointment. “There is no diamond in the sand” became his catchphrase.

The book sold, and sold. The man became insanely wealthy. He could buy any diamond he desired.

One morning he awoke from a new and beautiful dream. He knew what he had to do. He purchased the most precious diamond in all the world, spread a rumor that he had buried it on a beach.

A beach somewhere. 

He travelled, watching people on all the beaches in all the world sifting all the sand, trying to find his dream diamond.

“There is no diamond in the sand”, he would say, but no one would listen.

Parkstreet

Ko-fi

Dazzling

 

Reminiscing about that time I was walking down NE Alberta and a woman stopped suddenly in front of me then turned to give me a dazzling smile by way of apology and the word dazzling came out of my mouth and hung in the air like a caption from a silent movie then the action started again and I kept walking and I never saw her again.

I said dazzling.

Like I’d travelled through time to be an idiot. And now my mind is going back in time and laughing at me.

I said dazzling.

Parkstreet

Ko-fi

Every Step

 

One o’clock in the morning I’m sauntering home after a sweet day full of coffee and conversation and enough work to pay my bills. My old black Chucks are so worn in, they have grown wings. I don’t feel the ground, every step is poetry.

The idea of detachment has been on my mind all day. I'm blissfully detached. As a boy racer makes an attempt on my life at a pedestrian crossing, I have Roger Federer's footwork, I dance around him, then forget he exists. Anger spent on fools is below me tonight.

I weave through the bustling crowd on the strip. My mind pays no attention. My feet know which direction to lead me. They can feel the unknowable patterns in chaos.

My pace slows as I approach the heavy lads between me and my home. To speed up would be to admit intimidation. My gait tells them I'm removed from their world. The sins they have to offer are in my wake.

I smile at happy couples, walking arm in arm, step for step. I'm charmed by them. I feel I have the universe on my arm. Everything and everyone are my lovers. The rhythm of my steps is the rhythm of everything, the rhythm of everything is the rhythm of my steps. How could it be any other way, if everything is me and I am everything? 

My day's thoughts on detachment conclude as my journey home is complete. I have to walk through this world on my own two feet, I can make every step poetry.

Parkstreet

Ko-fi

Student Of Nuance

 

A student of nuance, he is interested in the hinges, not the door. A door is just a wall without hinges, without the fluid, moving parts. 

Let the students of metaphysics see everything as a lock and a key, let the practical folk design and build better doors and locks. Let the artists make the doors more beautiful. The student of nuance is only interested in the subtle movement that alters reality.

Parkstreet

Ko-fi