The Journey

When we walk through the world with our eyes open we never know what we'll stumble upon next, but for sure there are just so many interesting people in the world doing so many interesting things that we know we'll not be bored.

While in San Francisco two years ago, we (my family and I) found ourselves in a little store that had some really interesting art with little stories accompanying. Turns out, they had cards made by this artist, and books, too.

His name was Brian Andreas, and the company this very original man created was called StoryPeople. About a year ago, after I had been receiving his daily StoryPeople email drawing and story for a while, I attempted to interview Brian for Ennyman's Territory. He expressed interest, but it was not to be at that time because his wife, Ellen Rockne, was in the midst of a battle with cancer.

One evening this past month, while randomly visiting other blogs I stumbled upon Ellen's blog, Unexpected Songs: The Writings and Music of Ellen Rockne. I loved the title so I had to take a bit of it in. It was like finding a piece of hand-crafted jewelry in a field. Knowing that Ellen had been through the cancer ward, this poem especially moved me.


Friday, June 5, 2009 at 6:05PM
(What is the loss that you carry, like an anchor, weighting you to the past?
Sometimes we must be willing to embark before we are certain we are ready).

The Journey
I row my boat over the open sea, no land in sight,
Longing for home. The current carries me awhile,
Then settles to rest alongside my resolve.

Many shores have come and gone in my time on the ocean.
Many dreams have faded to nothing, not
For lack of wishing, but for lack of will.

I sleep a bit, respite from the wonderings
That wash like waves across my tidy craft: Where am I going?
What guiding star have I missed, under cover of cloud?

The night is long (as nights can be).

Then at last, and as always, the sun rises,
Sometimes in mist, sometimes calling to the huge blue sky
Saying, I am come. I am here, the light you waited for in the dark.

Then I take my oars, and breathe the deep salt air,
And begin to row.

Camnesia and Other Wonders

We live in amazing times. I'm referring to the power of the Internet here. Whatever your interest, you're but a mouse click away from more info, images, sometimes even videos about that subject. And many of these cyber places and spaces have email newsletters and RSS feeds which you can subscribe to so you don't even have to look for them any more. They come looking for you.

Whatever your interest, whether literature, languages, rhetoric, philosophy, ethics, logic, sports, science, history, theology, politics, media, auto mechanics, art, shopping or simply diversion, you can probably find something in your daily inbox just for you.

I personally dislike subscribing to too many things, especially since some seem hard to unsubscribe to... and some are probably collecting emails for other things you don't really want like Rolex watches and enhancement meds. But there are some really cool things out on the Net and here are a couple of my favorites: Storypeople and wiseGEEK.

I wrote about Storypeople a few months ago and you can click the link here in my favorites list, just below Quiet Heart Music. The wiseGEEK emails are something akin to a trivia feed where the subject line is usually a question and you can read the first portion, or click on the link and read the entire article.

Here's what I received this morning...

What is Camnesia?

There's a reason why the world is not overrun with pictures of Bigfoot, the Loch Ness monster, UFOs or your cousin Jim's first birthday party, and that reason is known as camnesia. Camnesia is a condition in which a person either forgets to take pictures at a once-in-a-lifetime moment, or else forgets to bring a camera at all. Many sufferers have a flare-up of... hotlink here

Apparently camnesia is a real condition, even though I never heard about it till this morning. I've experienced it, though.

As for the Loch Ness monster, a friend of mine did not have camnesia when he was in Scotland. He came home with an interestingly ambiguous shot and I wrote about it for the Highland Villager, one of my first published stories. Undoubtedly he'd only captured shadows, and maybe there had been a little too much time spent at the pub before that sunset boat ride. It was fun to hear and write about.

Let's hope we remember our cameras when we go to the Grand Canyon next spring.

To get your own daily wiseGEEK insights visit http://www.wisegeek.com/

Throughout this blogsite, you may click on photos to enlarge.

Storypeople

While in San Francisco last year with my family, we spent a little time going into various shops and stores in various sections of the city. There is a lot of art and creativity in this crazy town, as you can imagine.

In one store we came across some line drawings that had pithy or thought provoking sayings, whose simplicity enabled one to connect, but with a reflective depth that made an impact. We all liked the cards very much, and the book... and the art.

Well, I discovered that they also have a website, and a daily email with a drawing a very short story each day. This one here is one of the longer ones, but it gets to the heart of what Storypeople is all about. I hope you will check out their site... maybe even subscribe to their daily uplift like I do. It will encourage you to maybe find a creative way to make your own daily input to make this world a better, more thoughtful place.

This one in particular reminded me of a couple of my own haiku which, like Storypeople, is an "idea" boiled down to its essence... simple yet containing more than the sum of its parts. Enjoy the haiku and then take in Storypeople.

White paper, black ink.
Words form sentences that make

no sense. Mysteries.

White paper, black ink.

Words define truth and obscure it.

Sublime engima.

Often, I write all day long with white ink on white paper, late into the night, until it is all I can do to feel the letters curving to earth from the tip of the pen & then, I fall asleep. Dreaming of running, or maybe driving in a car the color of water & I wake the next day remembering nothing & I gather the stack of paper & a pen of black on the desk in front of me & the words begin to dance over the page like long legged insects across a still lake & the words in white whisper behind & underneath the new day. If there is any secret to this life I live, this is it: the sound of what cannot be seen sings within everything that can. & there is nothing more to it than that.

Visit STORYPEOPLE here