Ursula K. Le Guin, The Dispossessed (Perennial Classics, 2003), pp. 348.
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
"I remember thinking, Oh great, it's four in the morning and I'm having some sort of weird mystical experience right in the kitchen of one of my best friends, merely by touching a woman I've never met before. This is not going to be easy to explain..."
Ken Wilbur, Grace and Grit (Shambhala, 2000), pp. 9.
Ken Wilbur, Grace and Grit (Shambhala, 2000), pp. 9.
Saturday, December 13, 2014
"The private world of instinctive interests is a small one, set in the midst of a great and powerful world which must, sooner or later, lay our private world in ruins. Unless we can so enlarge our interests as to include the whole outer world, we remain like a garrison in a beleaguered fortress, knowing that the enemy prevents escape and that ultimate surrender is inevitable. In such a life there is no peace, but a constant strife between the insistence of desire and the powerlessness of the will. In one way or another, if our life is to be great and free, we must escape this prison and this strife."
Bertrand Russell, "The Value Of Philosophy", The Problems Of Philosophy (Oxford, 1997), pp. 158.
Bertrand Russell, "The Value Of Philosophy", The Problems Of Philosophy (Oxford, 1997), pp. 158.
Sunday, November 30, 2014
There Are No Angels (Dance In The Cracks - Part 2 of 3)
There's been this thought
tumbling around my head for a while
Perhaps a truism
It's that all good things
are the result of patience and care
That relationships
if they're to be worth a damn
ought to be no different
With this in mind
A worry entered
months ago
as I drove home
for the first time
from Cotati
I worried that the stages of infatuation
of surface
of surface
had not run their cycle
that patience and care
the bloom of sharing
and nearness
would not take
in this sand of long distance
so soon
this thing
so young
It was a worry tied to others
perhaps inevitable
perhaps circumstantial
The fact is that each of us hid
ourselves
our motives
our hurts
I fragmented my anxieties
and loneliness
made them look mature
balanced
more then they really are
You suspended the rawness
of your past
and both of us
shaking
felt for the other
for warmth
for release
It happens that
We get what we sow
Yet even though I've never known
the raw de-centering
of heartache
until now
I'm still glad that things were put on
pause
that it was felt necessary
to step back
halt the momentum
I'm glad because I was thinking
similarly:
a step back was necessary
if our gentle thing
was to be worth a damn
if it was to get past the stages of
infatuation
and enter into the depths of patience
and care
if we were to even seriously talk
about what we wanted
if we were to look each other in the eye
if we were to look each other in the eye
To do this requires that we reveal those
cracks
in the street
which we have fallen
to see the deep darks
It requires that we see one another
and ourselves
no longer as drugs
taken to forget our bodies
but as dying pining creatures
trying to create and maneuver
trying to face up
and sometimes flee
those hurts
that have crystallized into scar
that back us into corners
cut off the oxygen
prevent deep breaths
deep movement
that strand us in space
When we paused
and then when you stepped back
in your small orange notebook
allowing me to see you
from where you came
to what path you now peruse -
and how far I had gotten attached -
I was forced to sit with both
revelations
and suspicions
things I saw off in the periphery
One suspicion:
I tended to use you
in a hazy way
as a distraction
yet deny
was a distraction
Often I saw you as sexual attraction
as playful spontaneity
I saw you as a respite for loneliness
a loneliness I've carried around
for years
I saw you as easing my anxiety
lack of confidence
philosophic crisis
post-college malaise
I saw you through the longing and hope
for communion
Yet here you were
standing in front of me
naked
cold to numb
using me
for warmth
like I was using you
Oh, the distractions we'll sow
Yes
I know you are not without blind spots
and hang-ups and faults
There are no angels
in this world
Only longing
and trial and error
But I want you
I want you even though
the will to love
precedes the appearance
on the scene
of the beloved
I want you even though
the world gives no clues
as to what we should be up to
and we stand alone with what we take
seriously
I want patience and care
to enter this picture
this story
I want to look directly into your eyes
for a couple sacred minutes
and longer
to not have you turn away
I want to be sacred with you
Did you know that?
Sunday, November 23, 2014
"While reading books I write notes in the page margins and I circle and memorize certain lines and passages. The people in each book might be different, but the plotline is basically the same: Somebody is unhappy and they do dangerous and foolish things trying to become happy."
Sherman Alexie, "Scenes From A Life". Blasphemy (Grove Press, 2012), pp. 233.
Sherman Alexie, "Scenes From A Life". Blasphemy (Grove Press, 2012), pp. 233.
Labels:
blasphemy,
quote,
scenes from a life,
sherman alexie
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Letting In (Dance In The Cracks - Part 1 of 3)
Yesterday after work
I found a small orange notebook in the
mail
Feel shaky as I read
and after
as the sun's setting
I take a walk
to feel my way
to think about you
It happens to be Halloween
and the sky is getting darker
more meaningful
and the kids in costume
fashioned or bought
are all about
Have you ever noticed
how our culture never seems so healthy
red cheeked
life affirming
as on Halloween?
With everyone in on the exciting ritual
with the homes of the streets open
When I long for a utopia
or some ideal at least
perhaps I ought to console myself
with the fact of suburban Halloween
Is this not a good sign?
A fine ideal?
My thoughts and feels as I walk
are much the same as they have been
a month
two months
more
But they're taut
teething
And so I attend to them
over and over
as they come upon me
It's like this:
I feel so much tenderness for you
don't want to see you go
Parts of me pitch fits
clench up
with all their force
turn into desperate White Dwarves
But I still have some energy
some light
And I want to make a play
to pursue you
Exhaust it, as a possibility
because I will always wonder
because I never fully have
Like a psychology student
or a mountain top fire spotter
I wish to sell myself some silence
Sell some to you too
If I can manage
I've said that I didn't have any regrets
out on the beach
some warm bellied resilience
but I'm thinking now that that
conclusion was premature
Truth be told I wish I would have born
my neck to you
more than I did at least
Let you in
Stopped showing off
And above all
Indicated where the gravity pulled
choked
Pointed out where the cracks lay
In your small orange notebook
you showed the gravity
spoke in your own voice
through the cracks
and I hear it
And even though
it was likely not intended
I listen like I'm sitting beside you
like you're Wittgenstein
holding my hand
letting me in
to your newest, vital meditations
to the R behind playful coolness
cultivating freedom
independence
solitude
searching for a way out
through
And I want to speak too
directly
More in my own voice
the warmth rushing out
something I rarely did
wished I did more of
and I want to say why
why I rarely did
wish I did more of
Maybe this takes time, care
Will you follow me
follow me just a bit?
Will you sit beside me here
take my hand?
Labels:
a poem,
dance in the cracks,
kyle waterbury,
letting in
Friday, October 17, 2014
mindfulness
all the run on sentences in my head
inevitably turn back to you
and those simple sacred insights
which i've labored so hard to steal
will not hold
taking care of the self
seems the most unambitious task
from a certain standpoint
we should rather be getting on
with colossal social tasks
orgiastic pleasures
but taking care?
that seems some trifling exercise
to be fit in
between a brisk jog
and piano scales
if the time is free
if the time is free
yet, the effort will be made
it will happen at sunrise
it will happen throughout the day
and it will happen on into the night
it will happen
this is what i say
to the delicate eyes
of the bathroom mirror
at lunch break
for if i'm going to be of use
i need some clues
hints
more than what I've got at least
more than silence
and crippling
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
This Head That Droops
These gusts and swift shifts
when we are away
and this thing so young
makes me weary of every next move
Yet some sage whispers
'You can be lonely, very lonely,
and not swept away.'
And I nod
feel nostrils
and breath and body
Remembering practices and words
and those things beyond words
things I suspect all warm bellies affirm
things I'm trying with all my energy
to take in
just a little more
just a little more
each previous take
the soil
for more mature and more present breaths
Yes,
this head that droops
that sometimes droops
is not quite me
Labels:
a poem,
kyle waterbury,
this head that droops
Head Cold
Here's George
in the lumpy bed
with sick man
day dream haze
Wildly sentimental
with heroic visions
and apocalyptic regret
Now he's hopeful
now he's doubtful
but with the fruits of
the scientific generations
at least he can sleep
at least he can breath
He showers four or five times a day
stretches and reads
eats bowls and bowls of greens
But what of those whirling trajectories
of thought stew
of raw longing pangs
What have the quantifiers
to say about them?
George has this caffeine idea
he says to himself
"Okay okay, the weak
long for strength and courage
and the poor for wealth and stability
So do those who long to have no longings
- to be content with whatever -
do they escape the game?"
In the morning
afternoon and evening
rising wills of utopian overcoming
with warm sepia lover caress
as he walks away from hectic collapse
Gentle wind touching long field grass
George watches himself take a path to the sea
Sunday, August 24, 2014
Magnifying Glass
In my pocket is a magnifying glass
A clear thing wrapped in plastic
I don't know where I got it from
but I carry it around wherever I go
Sometimes I put it up against walls
Trying to spy on others hearts
Sometimes upon passing specimens
of all varieties
When I look out at molecules and planets
I can suffer the weight
this information spreads
But when I turn the thing about
turn it upon this here breathing presence
the weight buckles
eclipses any forward resolve
Am I a bullet
in the wind
A bullet
with collapsing weight
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
The Selfhood of a Soft World
Two boy's come through the lobby
I'm not good with ages -
those sight reading skills
which parents espouse
at company picnics
at grocery store checkout lines,
have never been my forte -
Anyway,
the eldest
who's maybe ten or twelve
the one with a gray shirt,
with light purple jean shorts
has on this big knee brace
and it ruffles up one side of his jeans
making him waddle
Beside him must be his younger brother
one to two years younger -
spotting family resemblance
has become a recent enthusiasm of mine
replacing mere people watching
as I sip the crappy black tea
you can buy in Styrofoam cups
from the middle aged Chinese couple
who own the little cafe
in the lobby of the Santa Maria library
Other than the resemblance
what I observe is the care taken
in their upbringing:
they're disciplined kids
you can tell,
they have some unimposing way
I've been sitting here long enough to know:
What racket kids can make in a Library Lobby!
So, the younger is in front
with a pile of checked out books
cradled between his arms
palms up
with energy
with play
He heads for the closed door:
There's two of them, you see
And it's expected that you use the opened one
But there's no pressure
And the older steers the younger
with a knowing smile
Waddling quicker to point the way
His presence a recommendation
Soft and Warm
you can see it on his face
Acceptance and trust
Not corrupt
Or some sickly threat power,
like those purely on the nurture side
of the debate
are bound to read in
And I sip my tea
and feel a glow
it radiates like a ripple
I think:
In ten thousand years
we will be Gods
Hainish emissaries
If we, with deep breathes,
with stolid dignity,
Will
The
Highest
Path
we have access to,
Not minding what happens
but not dulling our sensitivities.
Consequences can make us such scaredy cats:
that raw self-worry
so prominent late at night,
curtails the most beautiful leaps
And you would find yourself
in a soft world
if only you would slow down
to a waddle
if only you would turn away
from Omelas
from sugary safety hording
from Omelas
from sugary safety hording
as independent dying creatures
With Risk
With unswayed forgiveness
Because really,
the full weight of the world
the full weight of the world
sits atop our soft shoulders
of water and carbonnot unlike a brisk dew
You would know
Pilgrim
If you would slow down
Labels:
a poem,
kyle waterbury,
Le Guin,
library,
Soft World
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Lyceum Blues
You, caffeinated sophisticate
who sit at firesides
pondering wax
allegedly warmed by syntax
full to the brim
with universal affairs
You, fallacy slayer
master of anecdote
practiced at mediation
articulation
charity
who swears fealty
to nothing
but truth
Tell me
alone
in your study
how do you look?
In bed at night
peaking out at wall shadows
how do you fair?
Have footnote efforts stabilized
that panic in the veins?
Have scholastic rituals
diminished haunting states?
In the early days
in love
with Spinoza
and Rome
with Spinoza
and Rome
did you really -
did you?
really?-
worry like mad
questioning allegiance
in every direction?
Did you synthesize your madman thirsts
and raw-hurts?
Did you take those deep-darks
those devils thoughts
biting out the insides
clamoring for a conscientious purity,
did you learn to breath steady and full?
Pierce through the world of red-dust,
of popcorn advice?
Does my sourness turn your taste buds?
Yes,
This is what we say
when we are not nourishing the higher parts
when our poor bodies cannot affirm
the dust
which makes its way
around where we play
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
forgiveness lessons
I know we are alike
you and I
we and they
I spot a shared longing:
we both wish we grew up
with a family down the street
yes, yes
ours is nice too
but over there,
the grass is always greener
and there,
we didn't have to slave over lessons
lessons of forgiveness
oh, don't play dumb
you know which house!
the one with no fence
whose yard differs
from all in town
with big shadow trees
with worn elegance
it's the one with thin hippy parents
smart and warm
who dress in clothes
you can't seem to find
in any shop
it's that family
who sent their eldest daughter
to a Christian university
to study science
the one whose "No on Prop-8" sign
sits atop flattened meadowgrass
you may sniffle at me
but look here
we are preparing for the delivery of spirit
that's the whole thing
why we pine
and stumble
repress and persevere
it would be good for you
hungry eyes
to get up
come dawn
to walk barren shores
or along taboo rooftops
become some spirit burglar
siphoning resilience
from grandfather sea
from sacred morning pulse
for, all of this
this whole clenched effort
is but preparation
for spirit
preparation
to take in but present winds
and colds and grays
and do with it
what Buddha eyes
and ironist mercy
loves
Labels:
a poem,
forgiveness lessons,
kyle waterbury
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Ten Things
i know that it
is late
but i am going to make a play
if you ask me why
i can gibber
say things about that subtle hesitancy
in your voice
but i am going to make a play
if you ask me why
i can gibber
say things about that subtle hesitancy
in your voice
and your smell
as i sit next to you
at the end of the day
at the end of the day
i could sketch your chapped hands
if you pressed me
relay how
gullible i am at your misleading quips
how our eyes
seem to open
when they first meet
or, if you are patient with me
i could stumble my way
through more muddy matters:
the way your breathy whispers
do something to my veins
how we can use
our more personal vocabularies
with little preamble
when they first meet
or, if you are patient with me
i could stumble my way
through more muddy matters:
the way your breathy whispers
do something to my veins
how we can use
our more personal vocabularies
with little preamble
and no
posturing
how i know you
will challenge me
if we get anywhere
if we get anywhere
how i know that
it will be worth it
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Odran and Evelyn
Odran is wilting
He smiles like a madman
With new socks on his feet
Odran buys chalk at the grocery store
When he get to the corner
He turns left in stead of right
Evelyn is blue
Maybe they’re ill
Maybe just on the lip of evolution
Worn thin from impatience
I wonder if even they know
Perhaps it’s the time
That there 7 billion plus
Pulled this way and that
Filled with inorganic weight
Like spinning plates
With precipice suspicions
Of unaccountable gridlocked sour trick
In chemical dreams
Teeth fall from mouths
And when they wake
Stuffy 4am
They cannot remember where they are
Where their tracks began
What brought them here
Oh, I see their baggy eyes
Sometimes they asks themselves things
The product of liberal room and board
The entrapped enlightenment of the well-adjusted
Clutching for straws
Trying to dig out of that hue
They asks: What am I up to?
Why do I do what I do?
Maybe they can find some higher source
Some higher source to make things sing
--Evelyn--
Today Evelyn rolls over
Playing some cosmic script
Squints at aqua mirror
Why am I wilting?
She asks her face
Why is it like this?
A sneeze escapes her body
She opens the curtains
Greets a foggy reflection
Looks longingly at warm sheets
Throws herself to the game
Like a ball
Such a put together lady
Eve stretches and showers
Places freshly washed clothes atop a freshly washed body
Makes oatmeal and coffee
Sits herself down at the kitchen table
A firm thing
Ordered, assembled smartly by her lonesome
With a pad of computer paper
Eve bullet points her blueness
Resolves to get underneath the thing
Five points about her childhood
Four about aimlessness
Three about unplumbed phobias
Maybe I need to risk my neck
Live rule-free in the city park
Get out of this suffocation, she thinks
When it is time to go to work,
Evelyn slips on new pair of socks
They feel luxurious on her feet
Makes things sing
At the corner
She turns left instead of right
--Odran--
After Work
Odran roams the indigo department and drug stores
Stares at fancy packages
Walks down nicely polished floors
The hallmark of thousands of years of civilization
At Navy Drugs he checks the backs of vitamin containers
I’ll eat and dress better, he thinks
Take fish oil and garlic
Practice Zazen
Make goals everyday
A clerks walks by
Black vest over a blue sweatshirt
Does the gentleman need assistance?
How can you tell?
Teenage shrug
Teenage sad smile
Magnesium is two for one, Sir
It’s good for bones and things
Ah structure, says Odran
In his lumpy bed
Odran thinks and squirms
Too cold
Too warm
Too tired
Too much shit to do
He gets up
Drinks a glass of water
On a pad of paper by the refrigerator
He writes down some things for tomorrow
Office things
Good son, good brother things
Staring out the window at the street light
Odran tries to remember a saying
When he walks back to bed
A wonderful idea hits himHe smiles like a madman
With new socks on his feet
Odran buys chalk at the grocery store
When he get to the corner
He turns left in stead of right
Labels:
kyle waterbury,
odran and eve,
philosophy,
poem
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Whimsy
We
bulky
atoms and void
who pine
eternally
who take
care
and
stock
hungry
to affirm
the
whole
We
squishy
water pockets
riders
at a
million miles an hour
hanging
out
vulnerable
with
wild eyes
thrown
into
spinning
stories
stitched
with bruise
and
other lessons
I
wouldn't change a thing
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