Archive for the ‘Philosophy’ Category

We Have Everything And We Have Nothing   Leave a comment

kenne (1 of 1)-3-Edit-art-72Self-portrait (Photo-Artistry)

I’m now in my 16th year of retirement. Still, like a lot of retired people, I stay very busy, working as a volunteer naturalist in Sabino Canyon, where we teach children about nature, leading nature walks and hikes on the many trails in Sabino Canyon. When I’m not volunteering, I spend my time doing creative things, usually after morning conditioning activities.

Over the years, I have created an extensive iTunes library of music and recorded poetry and psychology. This morning while walking in the neighborhood, I had my iTunes library on shuffle, and two of my non-music recordings of authors came on; Charles Bukowski, “Something for the Touts, the Nuns, the Grocery Clerks and You” and Alan Watts lecture titled “Insides and Outsides.” It was spiritual.

Alan Watts — Insides and Outsides (audio)

Charles Bukowski Video

We have everything, and we have nothing
Some do it well enough for a while and then give way
Fame gets them or disgust or age or lack of proper diet or ink across the eyes or children in college
Or new cars or broken backs while skiing in Switzerland
Or new politics or new wives
Or just natural change and decay —
The man you knew yesterday hooking for ten rounds or drinking for three days and three nights by the Sawtooth mountains now
just something under a sheet or a cross, or a stone, or under an easy delusion
Or packing a bible or a golf bag or a briefcase
How they go, how they go!
All the ones you thought would never go
Days like this, like your day today
Maybe the rain on the window trying to get through to you
What do you see today?
What is it? Where are you?
The best days are sometimes the first, sometimes the middle, and even sometimes the last.
The vacant lots are not bad
Churches in Europe on postcards are not bad?
People in wax museums frozen into their best sterility are not bad?
Horrible, but not bad?
The cannons, think of the cannon
And toast for breakfast and coffee hot enough to know your tongue is still there
Three geraniums outside a window, trying to be red and trying to be pink and trying to be geraniums
No wonder sometimes the women cry
No wonder the mules don’t wanna go up the hill.
One more good day, a little bit of it
Enough and not enough

Arcs and pilgrims, oranges, gutters, ferns, antibodies, boxes of
tissue paper
In the most decent sometimes sun
There is the softsmoke feeling from urns
And the canned sound of old battleplanes
And if you go inside and run your finger along the window ledge, you’ll find dirt, maybe even earth
And if you look out the window, there will be the day
And as you get older you’ll keep looking, keep looking
Sucking your tongue in a little
Ah, ah, no, no, maybe

We have everything, and we have nothing.

— Charles Bukowski

Ala Videon Watts and Charles Bukowski Video

Finding Serenity At The Center Of It All   Leave a comment

Sabino Canyon-Pano-72Sabino Canyon — Panorama by kenne

I love this poem. Like any poem that resonates, it does so in one’s own heart, head, and hands
connecting us to the world around us, for good or bad.

Machines are an extension of who we are. When produced by the right values,
the result will be the right thoughts. “Right thoughts produce right actions and
right actions produce work, which will be a material reflection for others
to see of the serenity at the center of it all,” understanding that we’re connected with everything.

All Watched Over By Machines Of Loving Grace

I like to think (and
the sooner the better!)
of a cybernetic meadow
where mammals and computers
live together in mutually
programming harmony
like pure water
touching clear sky.

I like to think
(right now, please!)
of a cybernetic forest
filled with pines and electronics
where deer stroll peacefully
past computers
as if they were flowers
with spinning blossoms.

I like to think
(it has to be!)
of a cybernetic ecology
where we are free of our labors
and joined back to nature,
returned to our mammal
brothers and sisters,
and all watched over
by machines of loving grace.

Richard Brautigan

Christmas Day, 2019   5 comments

Thimble Peak - Snow -72.jpgSnow At Windy Point Vista, Tucson, Arizona — Photo-Artistry by kenne

When I think of the historical Christ, I think of courage:

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

— Theodore Roosevelt

 

24 to Harwood and Cropsy: No Road Back Home — #1   Leave a comment

Lummi & MCLACThomas R. Turner (May 23, 1942–November 13, 2014) — Photo-Artistry by kenne

This posting is the first of several I will be sharing from a long poem written by Tom
sometime around 1980 after his wife left him. Today is the fifth anniversary of his death.

24 to Harwood and Cropsy: No Road Back Home
(Taken from a Brooklyn Bus Route and the Title of a Blues Album.)

Standing above me in Smith's room 
Awkwardly looking down through a clipped hesitancy 
Our lives came together. 
TURNER 
With all the ambiguity that last name usage implies 
Was what she called me. 
Mannerisms of ingenuousness and a tendency toward the atypical 
Bespoke your ambiance  
                                     (Ineffably I wanted Her) 

That voice - 
Falsetto 
Laced in bursts of Peter's guffaws 
Seemed contrived with a dreamed-of authenticity.  

                                      (Your mouth, my love,the
                                       thistle in the kiss?) 

From within mutually cancelling 
Vignettes of naturalness and gender-cliche' 
She kissed through closed lips of 
Pristine openness. 
Innocently I loved. 

Through summer notes of vulnerability 
Together we embraced an entangled growth of uncertainty  

                                       (Our fictions were tempered in
                                        a painful and inward time) 

Desperate needs equivocated against ordained directions and 
Dead-end holdings of night-bakery-work. 
Even then yours wasn't other-directed but 
A need to keep the Self-absorption of your Ann Arbor soul on a 
Pedastal of conforming difference. 
Eliptically we lived in the interstices 
Between an illusion of  
Fulfillment and letters etched with 
"Know what?"

 

Windmill On Hope Camp Trail   Leave a comment

Cooks Camp TrailWindmill On Hope Camp Trail — Image by kenne

Where do you go
when you’re
Already gone?

— kenne

Drift On My Friend, Drift On   2 comments

 

East Texas Sunset-Edit-1-art-72-2East Texas Sunset — Photo-Artistry by kenne

Growing up, I recall an old-timer
Who was poor, but knew the truth
The difference between right and wrong
Telling me to take whatever comes,
Moving on down the river
Like a drifting boat —
Drift on my friend, drift on.

— kenne

 

Last Day In Bolivia   Leave a comment

Lake Titicaca Sunset-2-72Lake Titicaca Sunset — Image by kenne

To see the sunset is to recall the earth.

— kenne

 

Posted September 26, 2019 by kenneturner in Bolivia, Information, Lake Titicaca, Philosophy, Photography

Tagged with , ,

%d bloggers like this: