Day 22,040: Lake/Water[2,5]->Thunder/Earth

                                                     

Day 22,040: Lake/Water[2,5]->Thunder/Earth

Day 22,040 - 2011 1202
Belov-ED Days - 4951
Monday
James Oliver Smith, Jr.
http://josjr.com/
http://ichingreflections.com/

I Ching images

Hexagram 42: Adversity, Oppression, Weariness, Exhaustion
01 ---  ---  Lake (Stream, River, Sea, Ocean, Well, Marsh)
02 --------X Mouth
04 --------  The Joyful, Expression, Language

08 ---  ---  Water (Fog, Rain, Flood, Mist, Steam, Moon)
16 --------X Ears
32 ---  ---  The Abyss, Danger, Nourishment

changing towards

Hexagram 60: Repose, Harmony, Enthusiasm, Delight
01 ---  ---  Thunder (Earthquake, Tsunami, Hurricane)
02 ---  ---  Feet
04 --------  The Arousing, The Moving, The Catalyst, The Shock, The Surprise

08 ---  ---  Earth (Valley, Canyon, Prairie, Desert)
16 ---  ---  Belly, Solar Plexus
32 ---  ---  The Creation, The Womb, The Substance


Day 22,040 - Images from the I Ching: Lake [The Joyful] over Water [The Abyss] (Hexagram 42 - Adversity, Oppression, Weariness, Exhaustion) changing towards Thunder [The Arousal, The Shock] over Earth [The Creation, The Womb, Substance, Foundation] (Hexagram 60 - Repose, Harmony, Enthusiasm, Delight) -- Normally, the presence of the joyful, expressive Lake is an image in which we can find comfort. It is from the Lake that we find our voice, our language, our ability to express ourselves. In the context of the external Lake over the internal Water, however, we find ourselves surrounded by the joyful and expressive. There may be a positive and festive mood in the world, in the culture or locally in the neighborhood. It could be an approaching holiday or a series of birthdays for well loved and appreciated relatives or friends. However, inside, within our spirit we may be feeling discouraged and depressed. We may have just lost a friend or relative, or we may have lost a job, been denied a raise or simply been feeling the effects of some virus. Whatever the circumstances, this image is associated with dissonance between what we feel inside and what is unfolding in the world around us. The joy that we may normally feel given the way things are going in our life externally is being drained, from below, inside of our core. Something substantive may be threatened and we are simply too weak or emotionally distraught to overcome the sadness, the melancholy, the adversity.

These are times when we need whatever resources we have stored away for use in the midst of the sure-to-come rainy day. We are all going to experience these times, so pretending that every day is going to go smoothly and quickly is simply inconsistent with the impartial manner in which the Universe plays out. Yes, the sun will rise, and, yes, rain is important for the growth of crops and, yes, even snow is anxiously awaited by the outdoor winter sports enthusiast, but each of us individually vacillate across the full spectrum of emotion and we all react differently to all types of news.

So, it is important to understand up front that just because the world looks great outside does not mean that it is necessary for us to feel exuberant inside. We often feel, and are told by the culture at large, that all we need to do is "buck up", "stand tall" and "smile", as though good feelings and positive perspectives are simply a matter of flipping a switch and all will be all right. That is simply not how the Universe developed us. When the internal Abyss is draining our reserves from below it is a time to rest and avoid over-extending ourselves. All of life in the Universe comes under stress, both plants and animals, and all of life needs to take time to step back, recuperate and build reserves, whether it is for a draught, a flood, extreme cold, deep snows, hurricanes, earthquakes, war, pressures at work or bullies at school. We will never be able to overcome the internal abyss by simply pretending to be happy and proceeding as though everything is normal.

The external Lake is there, and it is joyful, but it also has depths that we need to be aware of, and when the Abyss of water is added to the mix anything we do will add to the weariness, exhaustion and oppression. Taking care of ourselves becomes the priority. After rest and a rebuilding of reserves we will be able to more effectively take advantage of those times when we are ready to be in unison with the joyful Lake around us.

Fortunately, the Universe is a Universe of changes and there are changes in the image of Lake over Water. These changes take place in the second, middle (core) line of each Trigram, moving the external Lake to external Thunder (Catalist, Movement, Shock) and the internal Abyss to internal Earth (Creation, Substance, Foundation).

Thunder over Earth is a sign of Repose, Harmony, Enthusiasm and Delight. The Catalyst of Thunder serves as an image of action, of moving to another level, possibly a reaction to something. Without the motivation of the archetypal Thunder in the Universe, nothing would get done. We would simply stay in one place and ponder the possible. But with Thunder we actually realize our ideas and our desires and carry out those plans that we have so meticulously drawn up. In this case, the external Thunder is an indication that the world around us is moving in some new direction, changing the landscape of our lives. This, of course, can be disorienting, but it can also be invigorating.

Thunder over the Earth brings to mind a storm that has just past and and we can still hear the rumble on the horizon as it moves away. But the air left behind is fresh and there is an electric flair in our nostrils. Our muscles are charged with anticipation, but the internal Earth moves more circumspectfully than the shock-and-awe of Thunder, so we remember to pause for a moment before we move. The storm has brought nutrition to the greenworld and there is much that needs to be done, but keeping the Earth in mind, what is the most harmonious way to proceed? That is the path that will bring delight, especially in the aftermath of the despair we may have experienced in Lake over Water ... il matto ...

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Sunrise over Franklin Avenue

Sunrise over Franklin Avenue
Jazz Poem

Franklin avenue
wakes
The sun glows on the bridgedecks
over the ol' man river
singing in the basso profondo currents of a darkness
still entranced
by the skyline
not far up stream
Minneapolis
with the drone of 94
its blood just
starting to churn...
faces and brains and bodies
marching to a piper's tune
... money ... October huffs with the chill of hazed air
oar boats slide in rhythmic flair
like bugs on a slow stream
in the deep shadow of trees

The Franklin Bridge arches strong and firm
within the mists
unfurled

a v-necked flock of late geese
beat their wings with urgent need for longer days
and fallen seed

The 8 bus groans ... its bellows blow a mist of twisted air
A cyclist sloughs by ...
Helmit and flashing bulb
cycles underneath the string of windows
empty of faces in the pre-work hours

Honeysucles, basswoods and gnarled oaks
rise in silloueted spread
preparing raw for snows and grit
their summer's dress in tatters
swollen in dew dripped mounds
heavy and rusty gray ...

A jogger expels frost
And a dog tugs leather in the lead of human
contemplation and frayed anticipation ...
anarchists stir beneath the maze
of chokeberrys and buck thorn


The first rays beguile a catawpa's crest
with keyboard-like arpeggios of sheen

[keyboard solo]

Twenty floors of breakfast
clatters in the blaze of curtains
greeting luminescence
high-rise convolescence
hijabs
children
cellphone resonance

Riverside construction
Semaphores with red, green, yellow
drumbeat
incantation

[trapset]

traffic
streaming from the ramps and drives
...Starbucks streaming to the hand...
Headlights dim in the wave of blue ... blue ... skies ...

The Coop, Zipps ... the taxi lines ...
by Perkins ...
The 2, the 8 the 7 crossing streams

Students, latptops, Kindles, jeans
Sleep-drained eyes ... homework and mp3s ...
earbuds tethered ... backpacks stacked ...
the university ...
the atms ...
the canyons of high velocity ...
on rails and streets and sidewalks
clicking with the long stampeded trails
to towers, workstations, powerpoint presentations
and smart phone dissertations ...
... a return on vast investments...


Occupy it all at the plaza of protest
... Wells Fargo, Triangle Park, the pottery bin,
and the Second Moon
... they all
welcome the full employed
the unemployed
the oft deployed
and other comodities
of trained and lost humanity ...

And there ... in the morning glare
Beneath the maple trees
is Merwyn gazing long
from his lizard cave
by the river of steel,
a tributary from the Mississippi
a glissando glaze down streets and ways

On the bliss of slick guitars
in the wind

[guitar(s) play]



Riverside, Cedar and 94 ...
Minnehaha, Washington and Hiawatha flow
Past the Nile ...
the Blue Nile ...
the river ...
the words ...
and the syncopated ride
Through Franklin Avenue...

At sunrise

josjr (2011 1028)

USA, Native American Nation sanctions Same-Sex Marriage

I'm not sure why I had to find this out from an Italian source, but here is an interesting story (my translation):

The Suquamish (http://www.suquamish.nsn.us/), a Native American Nation located in Washington State, has legalized same-sex marriage. The France Press news agency has reported that the decision was made by the tribal council, consisting of 7 members, at the request of a young lesbian woman. "It is our tradition and our culture to be inclusive and accepting of those who may be different," declared their legal counsel. The Suquamish have thier own constitution and they can deliberate independently on various issues: this decision, however, only has value within the Suquamish Nation.

----------------------------------------------------------------
The source:

http://www.uaar.it/news/2011/08/04/usa-tribu-nativi-americani-approva-matrimonio-omosessuale/
UAAR Ultimissime

USA, tribù di nativi americani approva il matrimonio omosessuale

I suquamish, una tribù di nativi americani stanziata nello stato di Washington, hanno legalizzato il matrimonio omosessuale. Ne dà notizia l'agenzia France Presse: la decisione è stata presa dal consiglio della tribù, composto da sette membri, su richiesta di una giovane lesbica. "E' parte della nostra tradizione e della nostra cultura essere inclusivi, accettando persone che potrebbero essere differenti", ha dichiarato un loro esperto legale. I suquamish hanno una propria costituzione e possono deliberare autonomamente su diverse questioni: la decisione ha comunque valore soltanto all'interno della tribù.

-------------------------------------------------

Open Window

Open Window
-----------

After days of heat
and sweat
and conversations with the Contessa

on when to air-condition-ate
ourselves

I wake up to a cicada
scratching the wind ...

from the wounds
comes dry-coolness
to the yawning light

so I fling open the windows
to let the music in

a commercial jet streaks the screen ...
the number "2" sloughs to a brief
ponderous exhilation at the semaphore
and bench below the window sill

the next shift of cicadas

slips out and into basswood leaves

one of them lug out a
saxaphone
jammin' a riff on oh, what beautiful morn

syncopation to the river
the clicks of jealous cardinals
and the quarrelling crows on
Franklin avenue

the "2" farts to a stop
... once more ...
the saxaphone cicada toots
through a chorus of
what a wonderful world

then climbs in
through hydraulic doors
and the wheels turn
on ... forward ...
with the light

diesal aromatics
spike the river breeze

a hint of midnight train
whispers
its prophesy
to the newly born
horizon

josjr (2011 0805)

A Tender Moment?

A Tender Moment?
-----------------------

Upon hearing of my mother's
ill health
and "hurt" because of my
long absense

I try to think of some moment to
meditate upon ...
some instance without accusation ...
disagreement ... condescenion ... sarcasm ...
!!!ANGER!!! ...

I flip through the rolodex of images ...
fleeting ... whispy ... dark ... confused ...
thorny ... encrusted ...

but I just can't get beyond those moments
of uncontained rage
that distill down

to a single moment in the arizona desert

my mother lashing at a sister
with a fury that stains walls
and exhails destruction

my adrenaline pulsed
driving me to enter my sister's room
and

try

to still the leather
in flight and flame

then the monster in a mother's skin
turns liquid steel and
twists its magma strips upon my face ...
my skin ... my belief in ... harmony? ...

there was no pain ... [at the moment] ...
the belt ... the buckle ... the flailing arms ...
inflicted what they could ...
but in slice of turbulence
I had entered a place

somewhere else

outside ... above ... to the side ...

but after ...

growing with the years ... the scars
blister and bite ...
they fester with each breath ...
and I can no longer
pass my hand across my cheeks
without the
numbing current of

irrelevance

josjr (2011 0803)

Ode to Sixty Years

Ode to 60 Years
---------------------

I woke up this morning
dark outside
sun long from arriving ...
two thirty ... a bit early ...

but the humidity sticks to my skin
like old moss
in an east Texas cellar

I take a pee
then look in the mirror
and there's this old man staring back at me

"welcome to the third act"
he says ...
sixty years
the third age
the final leg of a journey that started
on a dairy farm on the outskirts of Houston, Texas
and stumbled across ten states
fifty houses
two kids somewhere in the wind
two marriages
and more careers
than an alcholic ranch hand

the mythology of it all
fascinates me

but in the end
its just me and the contessa
"jalopy" bodies crumbling
preparing for the fires that consume us all

so I scoop the vanilla ice cream into
a frosted glass
and lift the root beer high

to salute ...

the stones we threw into
the Irish sea in St Davids, Wales
at the edge of the ancient stone circle where
we married ourselves ... first ...

to salute ...

the gypsies living in their trash house
beneath the tracks at the
Ponte Mammolo station in Rome
(sotto il binario della stazione metropolitana di
Ponte mammolo a Roma)

and sit down for a real conversation
with Pier Paolo Pasolini

to discuss the intricacies of the plot in his film
Mamma Roma

josjr (2011 0803)

Tangled Streets

Tangled Streets
James Oliver Smith, Jr

To steal
A kiss
He had the knack
But lacked the cheek
To get one back
Burma-Shave

This rhyme flashes into my mind. I feel the rhythm and lilt of its humor as I walk west on Franklin Avenue. The sun is bright and a stiff wind stings my face and arms. On the sidewalk ahead of me one the residents of the East Seward Tower steps deliberately. Her hijab and long dark dress press tightly against her back and legs, wings of cloth flapping feverously in the agitated brilliance of early spring. She is too preoccupied with speaking to someone on the cell phone tucked tightly into the fabric framing her face to take much notice of me or the atmosphere, but the kaleidoscope of the moment sweeps me away.

In the glare of the afternoon sun the Minneapolis skyline washes away.

"The nice thing about losing your eyesight," says my ophthalmologist, "is that you can see whatever you want to see."

OK, so what if I let the images of the moment dissipate. The woman with the hijab, the traffic slipping by, the elm tree arching above me and even the trash can at the bus stop are all easy to squeeze out of the dishrag afternoon, but the sun and biting wind remain. My knuckles are stiff from gripping my walking stick. Extending the rubber tip to the cement makes me feel grounded, but that sensation of cold, raw tension in my fingers is impossible to eradicate, like the sun and the wind. It is a firm reality identical to walking the streets of Tuba City almost fifty years ago on the way to school.

My fingers often grow numb from the cold and icy wind while walking through the streets of the Bureau of Indian Affairs housing, by the boarding school, the trailer courts, and down Main Street to the public school. Willow street snakes its way past the houses of friends like the kid who calls himself the "Navajo Clown", even though he isn't Navajo, but he is quite the clown. Next to him is the cute brunette who is so serious a student that she frightens me. Further down the street lives the Morman girl that leads me to believe that Morman girls are the prettiest and most feminine of all. Her neighbor is the kid with a neat electric car track, a delightful little sister and a mother who laughs wildly when she listens to Johnny Cash sing "A Boy Named Sue".

When I pass the boarding school dorms I can't help but think of the twin girls living in the dorm where their mother works. I earnestly hope they don't come out and see me. They are far too sensual for me to feel comfortable around them.

When you move around as much as I do with my Mother and sisters the only thing you know is the road and your literature comes in the form of Berma Shave signs and mile markers. They define where you are, where you are going and who you will become.

Mileage Marker 4534
Spring 1964

My mother is on a mission from god.

Her theology dictates that God speaks Baptist, hates Catholics and Mormans, and that indian girls get pregnant before marriage.

Tuba City has lots of Catholics, Mormans and indians.

To make matters worse, the hymnals at the Baptist church speak Navajo.

She hates it here.

If she were to write a Burma Shave rhyme it might say:

Catholics here
Mormons there
This is the day
To hook the trailer
And pull away
God-The Baptist


With my mother I had to accept several important things:
01. The Bible is the ony valuable book
02. Baptists are the only ones to get it right
03. All boys are bad
04. Girls need to control boys
05. Never settle down and make friends because we'll be moving soon.

Tuba City, I couldn't help but think, is just another roadside stop.

"Hey, Jim, wait for me."

That's my walking companion. She lives right by the street that stops abruptly at the desert's edge. The desert extends east 'til you get to Nevada. Many of our houses have back yards that simply drift off into dunes, sagebrush and sandstone. From our back window I could sit down with a bologna sandwich and see the rugged edge of the Grand Canyon fifty miles away.

The wind presses her skirt against her legs and plays with her brown hair. She trots to my side, adjusting her ever-present headband. She smiles broadly. It's infectious. I'm fairly certain her blouse is becoming tighter.

"Oh look, a devil wind."

She runs and jumps in the middle of it, laughing.

"Come on, join me."

I am never all that comfortable being so compulsive and spontaneous, but she always seems ready to just fly into the now and engage it. I watch her and manage to smile warmly. At least I think I am. I switch my trumpet case to my left hand to releave my right, trying to cradle my book between my side and the horn. It works for a few minutes, giving my right hand a chance to losen up and get warm in my coat pocket. She looks comfortable in her sweater and has no trouble holding the book she is taking to school.

"What'd you do last night?", she asks.

"Wednesday night."

"Oh, right ... church?"

I nod. She chuckles.

"Ever wish you could just stay in one place for your whole life?"

She likes to ask me that question, almost every day, even though she enjoys hearing my stories of travel through Texas, Arizona and Colorado, never missing a Baptist church along the way. Then I would counter with "Ever wish you could just go out alone at night, miss that bible study your dad insists on every evening?"

Then she'd go silent for moment. The only time she couldn't say a word, when she thought of her dad, the curfew, the bible study ... and the night.

We are both puzzled about the bible. It just doesn't make sense how people can control people with something so old and out of touch. At thirteen we feel that it is not relevant to us so we created a secret "unbible", putting stuff in it that isn't in the bible, although we thought it should be, like how to have sex, dance and escape from parents. We can't write it down because they would see it.

The time on these walks is ours, away from our homes and out of school.

"What happened in choir yesterday? You were always able to sing higher than any of us girls. And then..."

"I know ... I know ... and it was so easy before. Now..."

A block away from school she walks ahead and stares back, briefly ... She smiles and straightens her headband ... She turns ... Her dress sways ... My fingers clutching the trumpet case and books ... quiver ...

* * *


Mileage Marker 21900


I grip the shaft of my walking stick with my left hand and twist the knob in my right palm. The woman in the hijab throws the cell phone into the depths of her leather purse ... She turns ... Her dress sways ...

I extend the rubber tip to the sidewalk and watch the traffic passing by on Franklin Avenue ... The wind bites through the fabric of my shirt.

To find
Your way
Outside the car
You must push
The door ajar
To myself

(josjr 2011 0720)