Archive for the ‘Texas Hill Country’ Tag

Chapel Dulcinea   Leave a comment

Wizard Chapel-5-B&W-72Chapel Dulcinea — Images By kenne

Chapel Dulcinea sits daringly on the edge of an ancient walking trail on the
Wizard Academy campus, approximately 20 minutes southwest of downtown Austin.
The chapel was new when we first visited Wizard Academy in 2005.

This summer Jerri and Justin had scheduled their wedding at the Chapel Dulcinea,
but because of COVID
, it didn’t happen, even after rescheduling a couple of times.
I had prepared this post to go out before the June wedding. The wedding
did take place in east Texas this summer, but we were not able to attend.
Too bad their wedding was not able to be at Chapel Dulcinea
; it’s a beautiful place
in the Texas Hill Country.

— kenne

A Texas Hill Country Throwback (06/21/02)   3 comments

Hill Country Rocking ChairA Texas Hill Country Throwback (06/21/02) — Image by kenne

In this time of the pandemic
we spend a lot of time
thinking about getting away.

But where to go and stay safe.
The safest way to travel now
is through my many photos.

Till COVI-19 decides to leave town,
we will travel in captured moments
before we will be getting away.

— kenne

Free Flight Into The Wordless   5 comments

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA“Free Flight into the Wordless” — Image by kenne

Poetry is a deep inner calling in man: from it came liturgy, the

psalms, and also the content of religions. The poet confronted

nature’s phenomena and in the early ages called himself a priest,

to safeguard his vocation. . . . Today’s social poet is still a member

of the earliest order of priests. In the old days he made his

pact with the darkness, and now he must interpret the light.

— Pablo Neruda

I Remain A Traveler In Other People’s Reality   14 comments

Kenne Self-protrate art blogSelf-portrait 

Invoking the Full Meaning of Life

How best to express sharing new life,
when each moment deserves its own face.

What seems apropos for the moment,
when the next moment fosters a new experience.

Is it in a number?

The number of days?
The number of thoughts?
The number of heartbeats?
The number of turns?
The number of prayers?

. . . you can count the ways,
only to still not know life’s score.

Is it in a word?

Loving?
Caring?
Sharing?
Giving?
Sheltering?

Words to communicate thoughts and feelings
when manifested in knowledge and experience.

Or, is it in art?

Transforming thought,
expressing feeling,
experiencing emotions and
the desire to evoke life,
even when distance
appears to separate a lifelong bond.

I wrote this in the 1990s. Much has changed since then, retirement and moving 1,000 miles from where we had spent 25 years, putting distance between bonds. In the three years since moving, we have watched the bonds appear to drift away, causing me to question the desire to evoke life, even when distance can’t separate a lifelong bond. 

We had moved to the Sonoran desert with the illusion that friends and family would be beating a path to our new home in the desert southwest — not such luck. We try staying in touch through social media, often questioning whether the bonds were ever real — confirming that we remain tourists in other people’s reality.

The other day I read a posting by blogger, Old Jules, “These damned ego-warts.

Old Jules is a 70-year-old hermit, living with three cats somewhere in the Texas Hill Country and writing a blog I enjoy reading from time to time. Old Jules has concluded that he has spent over a third of his life “being insignificant in the lives of others.” 

In 1992, after 25 years of marriage and a career of 20 years, he began a new career and life in Santa Fe. 

All secure in the knowledge the extended family and friends remaining behind were part of my life in which I’d been and remained, important.”

Over time he concluded it was all an illusion. 

“Kids, young adult nephews, and nieces  I’d coddled and bounced on my knee pealed out of my life-like layers of an onion.  Most I never heard from again.”

He began to realize that he was merely tolerated, “. . . a piece of furniture in their lives.”  

Over time he rebuilt his life with a more potent dose of skepticism concerning his own worth and place in the lives of others, which resulted in his becoming a hermit.  

“I no longer assume I’m important in the lives of other human beings and get my satisfaction in knowing I’m at least relevant to the cats.  

Because cats, though sometimes dishonest, aren’t capable of the depth and duration of dishonesty humans indulge regularly.”

Old Jules has come to believe, “. . . that life is entirely too important and too short to be wasted in insignificance.”

His new awareness of life is now in teaspoon measurements, “. . . measured in contracts with cats not equipped to lie. A determination in the direction of significance measured in teaspoons of reality, 

as opposed to 55-gallon drums of  dishonesty and self-delusion.”

“Teaspoons, I find, don’t spill away as much life in the discovery
when they’re found to be just another ego-wart of pride and self-importance.”

Kika_20120101_1163 blog II

Bonds, illusion or not, have difficulty being when the moments are separated by time and distance, becoming gleams of light, for an instant, in the long night.

I understand from where Old Jules is coming and feel his disillusionment. There is, however, a binding force that comes from a homesick longing to be whole, to have completion as Plato described in the myth of the human halves passionately striving towards one. Like all mythical totalities, humans are subject to the triple dramaturgical rhythm of primal completeness, separation catastrophe, and restoration. The most significant effect of attraction takes place between the second and third acts of life’s drama. This is where I find myself today — maybe this is also where Old Jules is. I am learning to understand myself from a new divide, one half experienced, the other inexperienced — in such a way that I’m learning to understand myself in new ways.

But then, there are the darn cats!

Kika, what do you think?

kenne

“Have you not done tormenting me with your accursed time!
It’s abominable! When! When!
One day,
is that not enough for you,
one day he went dumb,
one day I went blind,
one day we’ll go deaf,
one day we were born,
one day we shall die,
the same day,
the same second,
is that not enough for you?

They give birth astride of a grave,
the light gleams an instant,
then it’s night once more.”

— Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot

Seattle Lummi Island & Vancouver_Stacked Rocks_0150 II art II blogImages by kenne

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Capturing the Moment — Texas Hill Country, Revisited   Leave a comment

Image by kenne

****

Somethings in life moments
become too precious to keep

consigned only to
yesterday’s memories

serving as a drink
for tomorrow’s dreams.

****

kenne

Posted September 12, 2010 by kenneturner in Art, Capturing the Moment, Life, Photography, Poetry

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