Showing posts with label seacraft. Show all posts
Showing posts with label seacraft. Show all posts

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Moby-Dick :: Chapter 6 :: The Street

Mister Ishmael ~

The sweet odor of a bustling seaside town. A look in both directions; to the northeast lie the docks, seacrafts of every class, whalers among them, and sea catch; to the southwest the same. Behind, the commotion of New Bedford rises along the lanes. Mine eyes a bustling for focus, for here no one walks on one side or the other of separation, and all must walk at some point, searching out the haul of the day or a trade in time with what doth float ashore. All can be seen here, with an owl's swivel of the head, the horizons are immense.

I have wondered about the opposite of this recently, how an empty street signals an empty life. Where few people walk because there is plenty and adequate access; no need to be out - not even a dawg. Still the very poor have always walked everywhere there is to go, while the wealthy will find another way. And the wealthiest of all rarely go out, but rather enclose themselves unto themselves, and fear what is outside. I wonder about the enclosed life. The life shaped by only familiar things set around in a very particular order and dusted on a very particular day.

Yet, like Ledyard and Buddha, some have forsaken their comfortable life to seek another, one with more adventure and experiences. When traveling there is found a zestful excitement for life in the differences and extremes of other places. Twenty-first century planned travel tours often means the 'looking at of things' which are deemed valuable or worthy, hoards guided quickly by with no time relish any relishable thing and little gained substantial substance. But is not the value of worth being more in what you need when you need it? Rather than in what others want you to see and pay them to view? To have an exciting tale to tell, have others hear the tale, possibly have all the world read the tale, and then pass that tale onto offspring - that is value - that is experience - the lesson secured.

And yet the view out to sea, across the harbors and inner waterways, over the ocean, beyond the blue, is the grandest of all. Maybe it is the blue itself that calls like the snow-capped apex of a mountain or the vast dry-sand nothingness of a desert. It is the going, the journey, the travel. Should Paulo alchemize a young boy any more than Don and Dante transform and define the worlds. Is not the journey experience the ultimate practice for the development of intuition? Practiced everyday, in every decision, with every encounter, intuition develops well, "practice makes permanent"*. Yes indeed, intuition can be developed/taught through practice, listening inwardly and choosing well. Like a silent breakfast, a good thoughtful walk will sort out your mind. Practice walking meditation of time and space. Even good Thomas spoke of the within and without. "He who walks with wise men is wise, but he who walks with the divine I is the wisest of all."* A good practice is good practice. The experience journey of the without develops the cool intuition of the within. Grapple a few beefsteaks towards yourself, and note to self, anything done coolly is done genteelly.

Looking outward now Mister Ishmael, I long for color, experience, walking and difference here in my life. Not the usual and mundane, the soul-crushing same, as safe as the grave experience.

Trust Your Journey (tm)
~ ijil Rainbow Hawk Giver

* original quote by ijil RHG

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Moby-Dick :: Chapter 2 :: The Carpet-Bag

Mister Ishmael ~

Surely, you know the value of having a safe place to lay your head at night, or at the end of the day, or even for a nap. A safe and quiet place, where you can not even hear the crickets' chirp, where slumber and dream time are encouraged to come as assuredly as the rising sun. This place need not be fancy, as you well pointed out, or even all that clean, but the respite that comes when a proper spot can be secured to hold the small bones of those weary of walking, moving, and doing - that bed that cradles the cranium, shelters the skin, moulds the mind like no schoolroom, no apprentice shop, no stoic under a tree can. Nay, the gods themselves send Hermes with dreams to a well-supported head, the nightmares too, for the peace-doves and the ankhs, the zombies and werewolves, mere symbols which have endured and withstood time come unhindered by conscious thought, which is often best, to warn us, encourage us, guide us, and to give us pause to ponder. Is that what you meant? That we too should miss the boat, maybe on purpose, so the sea-side stay can last through the weekend or longer?

With a warm Starbucks blowing in my hand and points of light overhead maybe I will ~ maybe I will donne my red silken night wrap, sit by the cooling coals keeping my toes safe, read some Sapphio, Robert or Joseph, finish planning my trip to Carthage, Santorini and Cyprus, or if I am feeling really wight, dive into contemplation of my fortune & copestone, and just make it so.

Trust Your Journey (tm)
 ~ ijil Rainbow Hawk Giver


note to self: 
  • check the worthliness of my water craft. 
  • pick up photos at store and get more batteries.
  • see if Mister Temple can come by for a spot of White Lotus tea and crackers at the Five Trees Inn this afternoon.