Archive for the ‘Existential Moment’ Category
Image Source: Etsy (Palestine Watermelon United Hope)
I Know the Reason
I know the reason you left the rind on the melon—
you wanted the bite to hold both worlds.
You said the green makes the red redder,
that perfection’s a kind of lie.
I just nodded, took another slice,
and thought how love is like that too—
sweet at the center,
but always holding on to something hard.
— kenne
Duende speaks without permission — Image by kenne
Duende can’t be rehearsed
it blooms suddenly—
dark, luminous, and real,
flooding the room with soul.
— kenne
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vI72kyy2Ius&list=RDvI72kyy2Ius&start_radio=1
The Feeling
The Feeling
It begins—
a tremor beneath thought,
a rumor of motion
through the bones.
This flesh remembers
what the mind forgot—
a door unlatched,
a heat before language.
I move,
or am moved,
by something older
than my own name.
— kenne
For Twenty Years She Has Bloomed On Christmas Day — Image by kenne
Every year, she opens
without asking why—
white mouths of praise
lifting from the green.
How many ways
can faith be quiet?
— kenne
Aging by kenne
A beard teaches patience:
days become weeks,
weeks become memory.
You learn what it means
to grow slowly,
and not mind the uneven parts.
A Christmas Touch — Image by kenne
Rain in the desert on Christmas Eve,
the kind that doesn’t wash anything clean,
just blurs the outside lights
and my nerves.
Some of the family visiting for Christmas —
the women feeding video poker
machines at Del Sol casino
their pensions and prayers,
one still face down in sleep
another out birding,
counting feathers instead of people,
as usual.
And me—
alone with a cup of black coffee,
on the table next to the laptop
with Alexa playing in the background.
They say this is how it goes.
They say this is normal.
But something’s crooked in the picture —
like a smile held too long,
like a joke nobody laughs at
because it’s too close to the truth.
Christmas keeps insisting
I should feel something.
All I feel is the rain
tapping the window
knowing I’m home
and doesn’t care who else isn’t.
— kenne
Hands in Soil (2005) by kenne
Hands in soil,
the old language returns—
shared labor,
shared laughter,
the first vines trembling in their beds of earth.
This is how belonging begins:
not in words,
but in what we choose
to plant together.
Desert Mystic by kenne
The desert teaches by absence. Beneath the old olive tree, the stones rise into a small architecture of intention. Their balance is temporary, but what isn’t? Wind moves through the leaves like an old story. Somewhere nearby, a lizard watches, unbothered by the human need to make order from dust.
Taking In the Sun On at the Copperqueen Hotel, Waiting on the Patio for Abby and Justin to Take the Copper Mine Tour
The patio smells of rust and lemonade.
History sits nearby, pretending it’s on vacation.
I check my watch, then accuse it of exaggeration.
Below the hill, copper veins run out.
Here, time does not.
I will stand when they appear,
smile at the right moment,
and call this interval nothing,
though it has said
quite a lot.
— kenne
Desert Existential Moment — Image by kenne
Thinking is the fever we mistake for health.
We name the world to quiet it,
draw borders around what frightens us.
But fear is faithful—
it returns with every sunrise,
reminding us the map is not the mountain,
and reason only another storm
in the endless desert of being.
— kenne
Couple Watching the Sunset on the Sea of Cortés Shore in Puerto Peñasco — Image by kenne
The sun sinks into its own silence.
No myth, no god—just heat and gravity
doing their patient work.
The couple, small in the vast geometry,
watch without speaking,
and for once
the scale feels right:
love and ocean,
each immense,
each ending.
— kenne
Carillo Trail — Image by kenne
Nearing the Birthday
Soon another year
will place its hand
on my shoulder.
Nothing is wasted.
Pain becomes a record
that I was here long enough
to be marked.
I will not ask
for fewer days of pain.
I will ask
for more moments of noticing—
the hummingbird darting
the chipmont on the ground,
The olive tree’s kindness of shade.
If this is my work now,
I accept it gladly:
to love the world
as it is,
from inside
this aging, faithful body.
Tell me,
what else
would I have been practicing for?
— kenne
Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
Go alone, if you would see clearly.
Crowds borrow courage from noise.
The solitary man,
standing before a vast horizon,
measures himself without deception.
There, humility is not taught—
it is required,
as gravity requires weight.
— kenne
Aspen Trail Autumn Colors on Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
Events drift in the lattice of time,
stitched by light’s patient hand.
Shift the coordinates,
and yesterday’s truth dissolves—
what was simultaneous
now follows itself in echo.
What you see in nature
depends on where you’re standing.
Front Range Snow On the Catalinas — Image by kenne
Sun breaks over the Rincons,
throws gold sideways
onto Catalina snow.
Raven rides a thermal
rising from bare rock,
circle over circle—
energy borrowed
from sun,
stone,
air,
everything.
Nothing mystical—
just earth doing
what earth does.
And me,
lucky to stand in it.
— kenne
