Intelliginsidia

News flash

You cannot read minds

Yah so?

So why are you trying?

When it comes to matters intuitive

You sir, are an idiot

A highly intelligent idiot

So live with it.

And live with the simple facts

People are going to be mad at you

Cause you don’t and won’t get it

And you are going to get frustrated

Cause you don’t and won’t get it

Yet.

Yet you will. 

One day the pieces will all align

And the picture will become readily clear

Life is abstract.

You know how you love abstract paintings

How you just seem to get them

You get them because you can see the whole piece

All of it is there

This is what you face with humanity

That so obvious to others

So foreign and abstract to you

Yet when the painting is complete

There it is.

Pure joy in the invention

Complete discourse with the creator

It becomes possible

You are the creator

They are the creator

And together the great and wondrous is possible

Be perturbed

Do not be thwarted

You sir, are intelligent

And yes you are an idiot

Succor

Come dear friend

Sleep with me

Find solace in our breath

Temporary though it may be

Protected in each other

Safety as we hold hands

Like otters we never float apart

Be pleased we can trust

In touch we find newness

In breath and reaction

And we can be in solitude

Protected side by side

Humanity and truth

Warmth in age

Man and Man

Woman and Woman

Woman and Man

Spouses espoused

Friends adopted to family

We are as such

In peace in anger

In solitude in magnitude

Pause all

For our real matters

Unpause

& Continue

Veracity

Feel no regret

For being ever real

The false has no place

In this heart

Only children can live

In love and in trust

You have proved

The heart of the child

The honest and true

And I love

In you

Looking Passed

She sits in her chair

Wheeled to this spot to wait

Enforced patience

Patient or not

Her alabaster skin is beautiful

Pale and translucent

This tall woman needs no make-up

Her shoulder length blond hair

Beautifully brushed long and straight

Her rigid body strapped to her chair

Slightly angled pillows wedged beneath her side

Bright purple and red

In contrast to her simple brown coat

Her mouth held open

A forever scream state

Tongue moving to hold her dignity

No sound to ever return to this world again

There is a twinkle in her eye

A celebration of the activity around her

The children playing near her feet

The exhausted happy look of a new mother

A new father, and a new life

The sadness of the bereaved

Loss real, love swelled

And a husband returns

He kisses her fully and passionately

She is still his, he is still hers

The love in their eyes

Only for each other

Crossing all barriers, all challenges

They will endure

To the last

As life is passed

Recoup

That man, he is long gone

And I am all that is left

But you know something

I’m free now

The burdens

These issues

The salvage attempts

To raise the rusty old hulk

All have been abandoned

All that is left

Is the shell from which

Renewal will take hold.

Canterbury Tales

ii

Jake has lived in this building since 1977.  From his seventh floor apartment he rules lonely over his domain.  He will leave the place very hour or so, take the elevator to the ground floor, walk to the window, and if the weather suits him will wander out to Wellington and circle back around to his beloved Roslyn.  Jake moved here after his wife passed.

In 1951 Jake played for the Edmonton Eskimos.  I have never been clear which position he played but he is a small man.  When we encounter each other he always asks the same thing, “did you ever play professional football”, a nod to my size and strength.  He takes a look at my legs and tells me it was such a waste I did not, “with legs like that you would have plowed through any line in the league.”  In his day perhaps, but with the behemoths playing today I wouldn’t be so sure.

From an apartment balcony below someone is playing the sax.  It is very cool outside.  One can feel the autumn creeping into the days and the frost into our nights.  But it is bright and sunny.  Our musician’s rendition of Summertime, sultry slow and bluesy, is apropos.  I sit in my bedroom, the window open, soaking in the sound.  I am a little glad for the music, and a little sad for the passing of a truly wonderful summer.

And mostly I am grateful for my future, my new start, from this place.

Ben

This day was a no good one.  The men and women of this world were destined to push my buttons.  I woke up irritated and stayed that way much of it.  It started with the highway trip.  A normally mundane affair that should have taken at worst an hour was extended by forty minutes by construction.  How dare they?  Did they not know I had an appointment to keep?  Nobody bothered to advise me of these delays.  Somebody was going to hear of this, the gall.

And those highway men and women who control the traveler’s world with their red STOP reversed with yellow SLOW signs.  Who do they think they are being all cheery and wonderful day with me.  I am presently frustrated and also irritated because you and your kind neglected to advise me, your travelling public, you were going to hold me up and make me late this day.  And how dare you deign to just walk over and talk to me, trapping me in my car, strapped to this road, boxed in by you, your gravel trucks, you signs, and corn fields.

Sod off and leave me alone.  I am frustrated and irritated.

And while you do so tell those trucks and all that heavy equipment to stop raising dust.  I just had my car detailed.  Geez.

Late, irritated, frustrated, tired, and dusty.  This is not a good day.  I arrive at my appointment and the man I am meeting with is all so cliché rurally cheerful and it all so feels trite.  But I am on a mission and he is my means to my end.  But he is proud of his work and he insists on telling me of every feature, of all the love he has poured into his craft, and I am just annoyed wanting to be left alone so I can personally assess his wares for myself free to ask questions should I consent to ask them.

And I leave this store after being late, and still irritated, frustrated, tired, dusty, and annoyed.

I have travelled all this way and I have never been here with time on my hands and really one shouldn’t get on a highway feeling irritated, frustrated, tired, and annoyed.  I wander this town.  A museum beckons me, an interesting way to pass some time and learn of this place.  But of course some volunteer who so loves this place has donned an ethnic  costume worn by farmers when this land was first settled and said costume has not been washed since it was first sewed back in 1850 and he insists on sticking close to me every step of my time in the museum imploring me to touch this and that and regaling me with his knowledge all the while spreading his olfactory assaulting scent to my nose and clothes.  I stop his dissertation by condescendingly pointing out errors requiring correction in his display of music and instruments and he dutifully sets about correcting the exhibit. 

I pull my condescending, irritated, frustrated, tired, dusty, annoyed, stinky self to a display of school books written in the language of my childhood.  As I leaf through the story books, puzzling out the words, and teasing out the story, my malodorous friend returns rendering me incapable of thought and causes me to flee the museum marginally wiser but exasperated and bothered.

My mid day shall be taken at a turn of the century lunch counter lovingly placed in an antique store.  As the cook-proprietor prepares my simple fare I wander the store touching the history and marvel at the lives of people who touched and loved these objects before me.  I know these things, I have seen these things, and I appreciate their simplicity and beauty.  Of course overly cheerful well studied daughter of the cook- proprietor must take me a simpleton as she insists on pursuing me with the tenacity of a plaid panted, white shoed, white belted, hair slicked, used car salesman endeavoring to keep me informed of each piece I touch and attempting to regale me of the unique singular history of the wares.  My stomach knots and I settle into an antique restaurant booth waiting for my simple sandwich in an exasperated funk.

The tuna salad made with home made mayonnaise on home baked bread washed by a Coke fills the void in my belly and I carry on.

It is time for my stomach knotted, funk driven, condescending, irritated, frustrated, tired, dusty, annoyed, stinky, exasperated, bothered self to leave this town and I exit stage east.  I drive fast down the highway enjoying tunes from my radio and the cool air whipping through my open windows.

And there I see it.  A pile of blonde fur set in the middle of the highway.  Of course it is positioned in a way I am going to have to slow down and now, added to all my other woes, I am just plain pissed-off.  As I pass by the assumed dead animal, now obviously a dog, I see it move.  I pull to the edge of the road.

And there he is.  A massive blond head, the beautiful fur and colour of a golden retriever, huge paws, a monster wagging tale, and the most beautiful brown eyes so full of gratitude that I would just stop to say hi.  As I come toward him he attempts to stand.  His front leg is obviously shattered.  He has no collar so I lift him (he is very heavy), carry him to my car, and place upon a large pillow on the front seat.  And we drive together, his head in my hand, back to the town of my day’s angst, to find assistance.

The town has a dog pound and they inspect the unlucky fellow for ear tags and tattoos.  None, he is a genuine bona fide stray.  The pound agrees to keep him.  And I ask if they will fix his leg.  They inform me no, they will hold him for 5 days, and if he is not claimed he will be euthanized.  They also hold little hope he will be claimed because he is a puppy.  This fact surprises me.  Evidently my retriever find is in fact a cross breed, is only 5 months old, weighs 70 pounds, and will grow to about 120.

My heart is broken as I try to sort out a way of taking this lad home to the city with me.  The pound folk tell me of a rescue centre down the highway and with a quick phone call describing the situation they agree to take the boy, no issues, no problems. 

Ben, as they named him, took immediately to the menagerie of stray dogs and one nervous cat located on the farm, and they immediately bonded to him.  He showed love and friendship and compassion to me that day.

Ben melted my hardened heart.  Gone was my stomach knotted, funk driven, condescending, irritated, frustrated, tired, dusty, annoyed, stinky, exasperated, bothered self.  Reborn was a man full of compassion, feeling of love, craving of friendship, wishing Ben were coming home with him.

Ben changed me that day, in just a few short hours.  The wonder of an animal, this dog grounded my mood and drew me in to the way humanity is supposed to work.  My apologies to all I was in contact that day.  My thanks to my friend, Ben.

Flood

Thirty-six years

Pent up pain joy tears

Building growing swelling

From mute to attentive revealing

You changed before me my flesh my blood

You changed from girl to woman born in blood

Your reveal my awareness coming out

The man I was long lost my doubt

Suddenly become a father anew

Your change signals my renew

Saline flood swells my tears

Emotions break levy years

Thank God for you my dear

Thank God for this simple tear

"I am arriving at that circle where one works on oneself as a gift to other people so that one doesn't create more suffering. I help people as I work on myself and I work on myself to help people."

~ Ram Dass

with thanks and appreciation to friend Darlene.

Musterbation Can-Can

You must get a wife

You must get a large house

You must get a degree

You must get that six-figure job

You must have 2.1 kids

You must have a 2-car garage

You must have that Europe holiday

You must have an SUV

You must also own a car

You must send you kids to private school

You must eat at the finest restaurants

You must play golf

You must love professional sports

You must belong to exclusive clubs

You must have sex 1.2 times per week

You must attend the opera

You must be politically active

You must pay into charities

You must believe in God

You must go to Church

You must drink too much

You must have a huge debt

You must have a stressed heart

You must die early!

You can reassess your life

You can be an artist

You can cry

You can laugh

You can sing to friends

You can dance

You can eat sensibly

You can exercise smartly

You can take relaxing vacations

You can smell the flowers

You can play with children

You can play with animals

You can read

You can read poetry

You can love a wonderful woman

You can make love with feeling

You can listen with heart and soul

You can enjoy the moonlit night

You can love a sunny warm day

You can love winters white way

You can work for charities

You can listen to birds

You can live simply

You can live long and joyfully!

Ink

Nortons Day of Discovery (part iv)

A single drop into cool cold water

A second drop for the raw alter

This ink does pollute this soul

A spiral cloud turns clarity to coal

It spread its tentacles to touch all

Those places linked to that emotional

The heart I know it will shut down

Should not I fight inks battleground

I shall do this open to core my essence

The battle I will take to inks black presence

Add this water cool cold refreshing

Dilute this enemy to my loves blessing

Success it measures wave on wave

These poignant feelings expressive laid

This wash foundation defeats the dark

Cleanse cool cold water wash me stark

Evgeniya Righini-Brand

sWept

Norton’s Day of Discovery (part ii)

It came with such intensity.  A demon had been defeated, a lifetime of darkness and despair suddenly was laid bare.  The puzzle of the label could be solved.

It came with such intensity.  This mind was suddenly clear.  The pain caused by years of cloudy ink suddenly dissipated by clear cool waters.  Craved connection to humanity unexpectedly and easily granted.

It came with such intensity.  A warmth starting as if fused and shot from this belly exploded in this heart sweeping through this body.  Filling every recess of soul with warmth and with light and with connections.

It came with such intensity.  A release felt so little in this lifetime.  The body uncontrolled, wracked by cleansing waves of weeping.  A wonderful dirge of release.  A simple song so difficult for the label to perform.

It came with such intensity.  Again when shared and again when shared and again when written.  This elusive physical gift, paroled from deep in this soul, bringing consciousness, connection, elation, ecstasy... 

It came with such intensity.  A prayer answered.  A blessing received.

I Talked With You Today

Norton’s Day of Discovery (part i)

Friend I know I talked with you today…

… of business and of progress, of customers and change, of coffee and of Palestine, of family and love, of homeless people and newspapers.  I talked with you today… may you feel joy, may you feel safe, may you feel happiness, may you feel an absence of pain.

Friend of troubled soul I talked with you today…

… of your art and of your boys, of drugs and alcohol abuse, of body cast and cast of body, of dust and cleaning and cleansing, of honor and self loathing.  I talked with you today… may you feel joy, may you feel safe, may you feel happiness, may you feel an absence of pain.

Friend who troubles my soul I talked with you today…

… of abuse and hatred and forgiveness lost, of love both absent and false, of lies and of mistruth, of cigarettes and drinking, of absence and relief.  I talked with you today… may you experience joy, may you feel safe, may you find happiness, may you find relief from your pain.

Friend who touches my soul I spent time with you today and we talked…

… of the moon and of dragonflies, of the flower and the scents, of your house your place of life, of belly buttons and of drinks, of howling and good friendship, of emotions and connections.  I spent time with you and I talked with you today… may you feel joy, may you feel safe, may you find happiness, may you feel an absence of pain.

Friend I talked with you today…

… of black ink in clear waters, of darkness and of pain, of love and caring from wondrous friends and family, of joy in new discovery, of connection and wept emotion.  I talked with you today… may I feel joy, may I feel safe, may I find happiness, may I feel an absence of pain.

their there

He woke suddenly without reason.  Something reasoned him to consciousness.  He took stock.  White walls waiting for artistry life, simple furniture.  Window opened, fresh air flowing freely in the dark.  Birds were singing, a jungle of music of every type and nature.  The bed disheveled, he had slept restlessly.  The red light of the bedside clock red 3:38.  It was unusually quiet.  The bedroom door was closed.  The bedroom door is never closed.  And he remembered, she was there.  Her creativity, her sensitivity focused at night, when the soul noise of humanity slumbers and her mind can gain space.  She would close the door so as to shut his presence, so as to find her solace.  He understands and he will not disturb.

He woke suddenly with reason, from a deep slumber.  It is quiet, the flow of air from his open window empty of night sounds, of wildlife, even of insects.  His bed empty and unslept next to him, his reminder.  He has no bedside clock, only devices with clocks built into them.  The bedroom door is open, it has never been closed.  The time is indeed 3:38.  Her presence is out there, his dream brought her near.  Exploring her essence he finds nothing distraught.  His comfort complete his sleep he repeats. 

One day, her presence will be present and real, whoever she be.

She be...

These Peas

Arranged, a pattern of geese in formation, together they remain amongst the sauces and meat and squash and pasta.  These we will not sacrifice to our sustenance.  These will remain sweet and green to compose naturally to provide for future generations of insects and plants and food and animal.  These peas, this sacrifice, these peas, for future. 

tears for tears

attacked without warning it tears into the skull swelling the brain expanding the mind this searing pain repetitious.  the tears pour forth as thoughts of suicide do battle with the stronger will to thrive and make a difference.  this pain beating the man to submission rendering his strength and will a shaking shambles.  a shell of himself to build again.  day after day like clockwork it battles to empty this mind of the emotion and feeling learned.  hopes of love switched off scoured clean by a force intent on minding mind to simple reason.  feelings content a future desired purged from soul.  this mind fights for supremacy to overcome inertia for sake of connection, for sake of companionship, for sake of higher power.  forsake a path straight to an undulating road experienced to soul and souls connected.  these tears the price to combat the tears these wired connections struggle to hold… grow forth.

On Angels Wings

Greta was tall, nearly six feet, and slender.  At 60 years she held herself with poise and grace.  A beautiful self assured woman who one could not help feel affinity with.  Herbert was equally tall, equally slender, with a twinkle in his eye, and love in his heart.  When these two looked at each other all you saw, all you could sense was contented happiness. 

Greta and Herbert, they loved each other.

Greta was dying.

And soon evidently, so she said.  These two had prepared for the inevitable and there was peace and grace in their hearts. 

Greta and Herbert had faith.  They had faith in the peace Greta was going to find in her release from the ravage of her disease.  They had faith Herbert had the strength to carry on in life, to continue to be the stalwart of their family.  They had faith that once again they would be joined together. 

Greta had no regrets in her life.  Greta had only one wish left.  Greta wished to sing one more time with her choir.  Hers is a large choir, forty voices.  Her hospice room small.  This evening she was going to sing with them, to be one in voice, to exalt her faith, the very fiber of her soul, one more time.  With her Herbert, with her friends.

This choir is punctual.  Complete with piano they assemble, crowded into the hall and her room.  Greta standing, dressed in her choir robes, at her place, harmonious and happy.

Hummmmmm, the sections they measured themselves.  And they sang!  The roof was lifted from the building.  The sick and dying, their families, all moving to the hall to join in the beauty of song and blessing.  Harmony layered upon harmony they sang with verve, they sang with purpose.  Glorious tunes to God and Jesus.  All that is fair and wonderful in church coming to that single point in time.

God joined this choir that evening and stood with Greta holding her, giving her strength.  Angels carried voice to the halls and the heavens.  A glow of harmony, of accord came over us all. 

The choir sang On Angels Wings.  Greta’s strength gave way after one verse.  Herbert lifted her and carried her to the bed.  He covered her to keep her warm.  And while her choir sang her Herbert held her hand, stroked her hair, told her of his love for her.

Greta, enveloped by the angelic voices of her friends, whispered back, “I love you Herbert”.  And Greta passed.

My Twenty Five in no particular order...

1. Coca Cola, in a tall thick glass, 5 ice cubes, cold.
2. Coffee, black, bitter, and strong.
3. Grandchildren: Gods blessing that life must carry on with unconditional love and free will.
4. Work driven by personal intrinsic motivation.
5. Lemons.
6. Children, my children, to love and be loved for all our days together.
7. Travel, new and interesting places, new and interesting people, culture.
8. Cathedrals, of all religions, architecture of faith, monuments
9. Chocolate layer cake, raspberry centre, chocolate butter icing.
10. Cold milk!!!
11. Water: to swim, to float, to marvel, to drink.
12. Prairie thunder storms
13. Spring snows
14. The scents of fall
15. A woman to adore: my best friend, a partner, a confidant, a supporter, a critic, a protector, a lover.  Till death do us part.
16. Winter
17. Dry Red Wines
18. Poetry
19. Internet: an organism to join us all to motivate us to better.
20. A healthy earth
21. Stories
22. Love
23. Hot Showers
24. Mountains
25. My healthy strength

My Angels Gift

Why did you choose me?

I don’t want this.

Why did you choose me?

I didn’t want this.

Walk with me please, it hurts beyond belief

Walk with me please, parental trust my grief

Walk with me please, protect my wards and me

Walk with me please, I have failed, save me

Why is this mind trapped inside this soul?

Expression incapable, my purpose, my role

Essence is lacked the feelings be dormant

Wait growth to explode an angel my moment

Why did you choose me?

I don’t want this.

Why did you choose me?

I didn’t want this.

Walk with me please, friendship elusive

Walk with me please, alone it's conclusive

Walk with me please, life’s partner I crave

Walk with me please, this search I’m a slave

I can see it so clearly that what needs done

Childhood friendship loyalty, cruel fun

The logic informs the role play to delude

Those unaware, affliction of mind is renewed

Why did you choose me?

I don’t want this.

Why did you choose me?

I didn’t want this.

Walk with me please, my heart first ache

Walk with me please, first kiss we did take

Walk with me please, our souls moment mingle

Walk with me please, we part spirit again single

You exposed me to life, emotion, sensation

You tore it from soul sealed memory relation

I have not forgot, this thing it so powerful

Again I will gain it, minds crypt will open full

Why did you choose me?

I don’t want this.

Why did you choose me?

I didn’t want this.

Walk with me please, with thee do I wed

Walk with me please, a mistake I am dread

Walk with me please, why lead me this path

Walk with me please, my life feels of death

Be responsible you do it, right thing that you must

Expected of me, get a job prove your trust

The world has plans, your role it is chosen

What of my plans my dreams shattered explosion

Why did you choose me?

I don’t want this.

Why did you choose me?

I didn’t want this.

Walk with me please, this father I will be

Walk with me please, why would you chose me

Walk with me please, confusion fear abound

Walk with me please, tiny lives sculpture’s sound

The soul of my daughter her path lies with God

The soul of my daughter hewn by hands she does build

The soul of my son a life to lead active

The soul of my son dreams path not be passive

Why did you choose me?

I did not ask for this.

Why did you choose me?

I do than you alone for this.

Walk with me please, first cycle renews

Walk with me please, lifeless soul temporary is new

Walk with me please, why can’t I always feel so

Walk with me please, cruel joke seals me low

Responsible man of noblise oblige

Commitment was kept, now imminent release

Soul sealed low needs freedom to fly

Exposure to pain, to grief, break rely

Why did you choose me?

I don’t want this.

Why did you choose me?

I didn’t want this.

Walk with me please, do you disapprove

Walk with me please, can you feel me renew

Walk with me please, suppress me no more

Walk with me please, my prayer, open this door

Life’s art overwhelms my role insecure

Life’s love is shown me, will this truly endure

Suspicious am I this logical mind

Retreats all too often to comfort to find

Why did you choose me?

I don’t want this.

Why did you choose me?

I didn’t want this.

Walk with me please, my dark now has light

Walk with me please, this power seems so right

Walk with me please, I fear for the others

Walk with me please, who have freed me this power

Delineate our features face to face we do bear

Penciled expression closed features, simple and rare

Water the colours flow outside our outlines

Co-mingle they settle new feature defines

Why did you choose me?

I don’t want this.

Why did you choose me?

I didn’t want this.

Walk with me please, my light has confused

Walk with me please, rights wrong has renewed

Walk with me please, this logic it has suffered me

Walk with me please, this sensitive why suffers she

New colours comingled need space they need breath

Our colours comingled they are birth from souls death

Respect you do know me your sensitive mystery

Rejuvenation ebb then flow, blessing does christen me

Why did you choose me?

I don’t want this.

Why did you choose me?

I didn’t want this.

Walk with me please, angel in tune with this new spirit

Walk with me please, your gift will return do not fear it

Walk with me please, colours will wash renewed over and over

Walk with me please, erase lines one essence new power

Life’s path has taken a journey this far

From different place minds pattern joined a new star

Erupts to the cosmos new souls life’s respect

Logic and reason, sensitive and emotion, do connect

Why did you choose me?  This was all so very hard

Why did you choose me?  The path to this place so awkward

Why did you choose me?  This occupation, so much remains

Why did you choose me?  Dark has new glow, light a new stain

Why did you choose me?

I don’t want this.  So I fought.

Why did you choose me?

I didn’t want this.  So I thought.

Why did you choose me?

I am grateful am honoured

Why did you choose me?

Existence, vivacity, verve, a new energy