Tag Archives: intuitive photography

No Gods, No Masters

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As far as I know, Marv did not believe in God.  He had little tolerance for any form of psychic comfort that involved what he considered to be self-delusion, setting a curiously high standard for a man who led a double life until his 60’s.  (It seems pretty common for us human beings to cherish beliefs that reveal our blind spots and shadows, and Marv was no exception.)

But he did believe in Pooh, and in the urgency of being in this life, as it is now.  And if I have ever shown any courage, it has come out of trusting that in this belief, he really did know what he was talking about.

Glyph

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As touching as it is to see Marv’s picture, it is his handwriting which goes straight to my heart.  He commented occasionally that he meant to try writing in script again; and once or twice mentioned that he printed everything because he felt his script writing was very poor.  Though a few other mementos equal it, nothing I own is more precious to me than this note, which he sent with a housewarming gift for my first days alone again, as a gallant woman.

87 Years Ago

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While this picture may seem to be about a bowl of watermelon, it was actually an excuse to record Marv’s hands, and to remember the times I wondered why they were so much larger than mine, the times I watched mesmerized as they whisked a flaming torch over metal, turning it into liquid, or flew effortlessly along the guitar, turning it into music.  I want to remember, too, how small he was, 87 years ago tonight, maybe feeling hungry for the first time in his life, and to wonder at how tiny his hands were then.

For Ed in 1979

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In my imagination I call to tell you
the apples have reddened on the tree in
the grocery parking lot

And you answer from the pitch black of the Pinto
back seat annointed with Mennen and Old Spice
where we folded around each other in sublime discomfort.

In my imagination I call, just to hear you say
“What do you want?” and to hear myself answer,
“Summer.”

Unrecognizable

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I know it sounds strange, but I feel as if I am taking your picture, not mine.  Or perhaps a portrait of something that might happen between us, the passing of an event sometime in the future.  I know it sounds strange, for the point is to be able to see something which isn’t there in any other form.

Butterfly-Colored Glasses

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This photo brought to you through the magic of  Butterfly Vision!
What do you see with your Butterfly Eyes?
Hint:  It is usually a Dream Captured by Time.

Shaking the Ghost

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It’s a good day at work when your friend gives you a reason to look at a list of English words with Arabic roots, which topic leads to the inevitable Rumi, and where that leads to usually can’t be spoken.

Today, like every other day, we wake up empty and frightened.
Don’t open the door to the study and begin reading.
Take down the dulcimer.

Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground. – Jelaluddin Rumi

 

What Is Required?

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Sit with me; hold hands.
Unleash the silence that is longing to take shape.
Soon the birds will begin to sing, and dawn will rise in our hearts,
not beautiful, not interesting,
and not at all like love,
but full of wanting
nothing but the day.