Somewhere between reading Rainer Maria Rilke and listening to Ray Wylie Hubbard’s “Drunken Poet’s Dream,” the following just flowed out — as usual, no rewrite, you get what you see.
THE BODY SLOWS ME DOWN
The body slows me down, but the blood still flows, the soul hasn’t slowed fostering a deep and necessary intimacy with life.
The body slows me down, but I count my blessing without a 60-cycle hum, freed from habitual trains of thought.
The body slows me down, but the poets still, please with a taste of bittersweet chocolate, burning through the words manifested in music.
The body slows me down, but my mind leads the way to an enigmatic mystery, seeking a Rilke Maria’s moment freed by Ray Wylie’s applause.
The body slows me down, but I keep running from the ghosts that keep on coming around the bend.
The body slows me down, but it’s a dividing outline is no longer there providing a membrane between inner and outer worlds.
The body slows me down, but I can still hum Polk Salad Sally, framing cosmic image descending from invisible heights.
The body slows me down, but I still use my imagination to inspire conscious thinking, allowing “the damn fox do what a damn fox does.”
“The days I keep my gratitude higher than my expectations, I have really good days.” — Ray Wylie Hubbard
“Be patient toward all that
is unsolved in your heart
and try to love the questions themselves,
like locked rooms and like books that are
now written in a very foreign tongue.
Do not now seek the answers,
which cannot be given you because
you would not be able to live them.
And the point is, to live everything.
Live the questions now.
Perhaps you will then gradually,
without noticing it, live along
some distant day into the answer.”
Christmas Day Clouds Forcast Rain with Snow in the Mountains Around Tucson — Photo-Artistry by kenne
A Desert Christmas Day
The morning sun drives rays
of light through the canyon peaks.
The wind is beginning to pick-up
pushing parts of the sky together
opening windows to the heavens
through which life’s passions erupt in
stories becoming the makings of myths.
Surely all art is the result of one’s having been in danger,
of having gone through an experience all the way to the end,
where no one can go any further.
Forming an archipelago in the northwest corner of the contiguous United States, the San Juan Islands are between the US mainland and Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada and are part of the U.S. state of Washington.
— kenne
“Be patient toward all that
is unsolved in your heart
and try to love the questions themselves,
like locked rooms and like books that
are now written in a very foreign tongue.
Do not now seek the answers,
which cannot be given you because
you would not be able to live them.
And the point is,
to live everything.
Live the questions now.
Perhaps you will then gradually,
without noticing it,
live along some distant day
into the answer.”
— Rainer Maria Rilke (from Tom Turner’s book of quotes and notes)
“After all, works of art are always the result of one’s having been in danger,
of having gone through an experience all the way to the end,
to where no one can go any further. The further one goes, the more private,
the more personal, the more singular an experience becomes
and the thing one is making is, finally, the necessary, irrepressible,
and, as nearly as possible, definitive utterance of this singularity…”
Marine Blue, Mt. Lemmon (July 4, 2017) — Image by kenne
A Grove of Saguaros in Sabino Canyon — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Christmas Day Clouds Forcast Rain with Snow in the Mountains Around Tucson — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Mexican Metalmark –Photo-Artistry by kenne
Two-tailed Swallowtail Butterfly — Digital Painting by kenne
