Danny James

Tag: cloud

419: The passing of time, in the shade of stirring trees

How much blessing here, among this holy mountain expanse and crystal air. Surely could one remain here his days with no troubles gather, abolished of all trial and desire. O Nature, she draws me so soundly, my hopes are with the clouds these grateful days, I cannot resist their charm. I’d enjoy to watch them sail on forever and nothing more. Grant me this one request skies; a heart that is placid, free and attuned, for now and all the time that is remaining to me.

393

”Sometimes I want to take in everything at once, and leave the confines of my singular existence. To not be so contained within myself. I’d like to leave my isolated mind and body and dissolve into the air. To stop interacting and fighting energy and integrate myself into energy itself. My mind would spill over and the contents would disperse themselves into the atmosphere. It wouldn’t be able to reel anymore; it would simply become enfolded in the life vibrating all over the universe. I want to be so fluid that I can experience the vitality and emotions of whoever I encounter, anywhere in the world at any point in time. I want to be a speck on a timeline running infinitely in both directions, skipping back and forth across it.”

danny james blog sky cloud thing

392: For you are mortal

A calm and foreboding undertow, building to its urgency rather beautifully as like the golden bloom of a setting sun. All the promise of doom is threaded yet with a most polite and peaceable reassuring, that even the end can be met well. Though not all things will reveal instantly their intentions true, the surface hesitates you, and the depths unclear; you must anyway cross this river.
Obeying the press of primal loom, take gladly the trails nigh the crescendos curve and ride with joy the sorrowful rhythms of reminisce. The haunting hymns of gaiety gone by and a loved ones laughter past. Turn your look with an optimism to the rainbow arc flung further than it can reach intact. But that moment in the middle, how it shines. Bold and spectacular. Nothing more glorious, nothing held back. Reach for yours the same. Spend yourself.

Surry Hills, Sydney 2014

Surry Hills, Sydney 2014

315: Distance

Stamina, heart? This is reasoning past reasonable gravity. In this realm my strength is none. My Sun, my saviour, my giving grace; turning away from thee, is but looking ahead for thee.

Coogee, 2011

Coogee, 2011

300: Reason

Be content. If you can still wish upon thee a rain of blessings, which you do. Enjoy what is free and unimpeded. Warm sunshine and a cool breeze. Flowers by the road. The grass beneath your feet and a white clouds lull. The might of Reason. Be satisfied.

252

He paid for his perception, and earned his silence; well knows the struggle of all who would rise to their yesterdays. Courage now is day by day, and strains he his meditations above the clouds that mantle his mood, which spread to his exquisite rapier glare. To none nor himself would kneel. Vision deep and clear, burning unchecked along the passage of his exhalation, absorbed in the quietude of release.

245: Submerse

If you chance reside near the ocean, a shimmering freshwater basin perhaps, or some sparkling sky-blue inlet stream brushed with the green-apple tips of Willow that whisper in the Springtime breeze, and stir with timid charm the clear and delicious waters passing underneath through which the pebble floor and all animation of life therein is visible, into the shade of an Arcadian dale. Bubbling liquid of the purest dreamable state drawn and descended of lofty snow-laced spires which address the very cloud-scape grounds call angels home. Well, have you then at your grace, wanderer, a fount of the finest available natural sustenance known, and necessary wealth, of which you too are mostly comprised, sufficient in one gratifying instant of submersion to dissolve your cares and quicken the spirits there back to ambrosial health and exquisite humour. The holy sinking sensation of being one and relation to Nature, suddenly home and alive again.

234: Little plane in the sky

Wherefore are you going, little plain in the sky?
What yonder doth thy ambition reside?

O man, that cannot things let lie,
And no brims passing before cloud delights.

Those hoping souls thy vessel confined,
What grief or love is put behind?

Towards great change perhaps some ye climb,
How braved uncertainty with must ride.

Mayst thou all the skies good-will imbibe,
And with none but peace thy journey collide.

littleplaneintheskydannyjamesblog

125: Patagonia

Dec 14 ’13 – There is a point in the auroral air, when, not arrived to full definition, cloud and sky are one hue dividing gradually, and the hinted at majesty unfolding pours steadily into the patient soul a satisfied resignation. Birds inform of the event by song, and flutter in the blue darkness from branch exuberantly to branch, becoming increasingly silhouette against the burgeoning light of Earths lantern approaching over the bend. The warmth of sun is felt far and wide before it spills over its gold and becomes a fixture in every eye. The clouds too declare it, now glowing pink as burning embers; with night thinning to extinction, – the magnificence inevitable. Commencing a pristine infinity, to enter upon, – an everything ahead of me. It is this in-preparation, I have recently discovered, that fulfils me to the zenith of amends, and when it settles it is time to board an escape pod, and ride the skies to Patagonia please.

120: Storyboard

Sunday came as Sundays do, with utile retrospectives of the week that was, breaking dawn over the yawning consciousness. These early ended days and seasonal moods seem no longer parallel with my evolved pursuits and may after all prove the last debris of habitual civilities being to a better advantage left as I go to the grove. It is not now enough that I can draw rational ends from what is done, but consider need how they may be useful if only in ways ahead. Just as Auroral warmth will, in the course of time sun the outermost blades of a dew-dampened glebe, it touches the curiosity sooner or later, of who linger long enough after young ire cools, that perhaps many more insights might be hidden in the forest bed that could rend the former outworn. The idea of setting in to meet a future self, more intelligent and virtuous, that you never could imagine much less decide on, becomes with accidental age an increasing prospect of interest. The flow of streams do not cease, and though the refractory trance of shimmering light gives good reason for satisfied reflection, the brooks on which they bend keep right on pouring into an unknown. You will appreciate then a favourable discomfort when can you dwell on renewal, and receive it well, knowing there is some knowledge to be gained from the mountains still, which, from their peaks impart more than will the valleys ever read, and can the mountains themselves even tell.

The areas I would explore, until today I’d stalled in visiting. Knowing well the enjoyment gathered there before, would be increased with new awareness added since, and compounded further by anticipations of forthcoming study. I went once more to the woods and felt instantly recognised and secure. By a warmly gesture of introduction, the entrance appeared fitted with a near ceremonious fanfare proceeding long back to the mark I ventured from, growing in a silent fervency not immediately obvious. Leaves rained down from above, every so often at first, tumbling in fine spun algorithms too sharp and delicate for the pace of human eye, then, in multitudes were flung unabated and cheerfully to enhance the charm of the trail.  Meadows bristled with tactile hush, – the very roots playfully inspected by low swerving gusts which without warning suddenly would surge up, bursting clear and jubilant from a gap in the grass, to rejoin the surface current. Much of the forest in concert swayed solemnly, but the diligent observer would have noted dotting the flanking elevations in crucial positions amid the chime, stood sentry Coniferae, ominously firm yet acknowledging in generous respects. As I passed through the thicket there intimated a mysterious parting of things on approach, that closed to my heel, swallowing before it fell, the very dust hurled by my arrival. It was as though an agreement had whispered over the lands, that I had consent to saunter unhindered and accepted, a brother lost to the years, and finally come home from his wilds.

Though all the day long, storm clouds had moaned the difficulty of holding verve, I found it trying nonetheless to suppose a more lenient setting than I’d found in the dandelion meadows where I lay a good hour. With none but the breeze for company and fits of chimeric spray escaped and washing the distant hilltops to delight my attentions, there is sufficient shelter and entertainment here no doubt, should the lid relenting begin to weep, and in doing so arrest the course of any traveller. There remained however, much of the valley to reach and while the thought of staying had qualified it’s charisma, worsening tempers in the sky did thrust a buried preference forward, impelling thus a need to gather at once my last looks and be on my way.
So into the great Maitai I pressed deeper, neither hurrying nor with delay, and with the constant threat of a downpour hanging where I went. I can tell you, that time in the meadow with my ear to the Earth, and feeling the heartbeat of Thunder throbbing all the way through, indeed was the finest hour of the day.

Setting off from the hostel to Nelson town in the early evening, to take my final walk of this December 8th, one event of disagreeable familiarity transpired as I approached the Collingwood bridge. No sooner had I marked a black portentousness in the summits, now buried in shroud of pending tumult, than it barked recognition and volleyed at once towards and upon me loosing an increasingly light-hearted cloudburst that suffered no malice to it, and within mere seconds tapered into a drizzle. How six years ago coming to that same bridge I met with a similar inexplicable wave that did rush to welcome me my first hour. Although I had not since been still, having lapped the Earth over many times, and numerous personal revolutions undergone to the fact I am almost somebody different entirely, it was here finally the fretting sky had caught up with me.

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Nelson, New Zealand 2013

Nelson, New Zealand 2013