Danny James

Tag: dot

400: Without complaint

Strange, where can one year place you. Or rather, what winds you no longer permit access to your sails. You recover eventually, when softly serve the seas to your harbour home, past what tempest inflicts its bitter tutelage that they do not cease so much as change in form and verve. The survivors and the tellers of their accounts have these insights passed down many since the very first interruption, – how strong men disappear and all kingdoms become dust. That he who is not prepared for disaster has not yet approached the defining torment of his tenure. Not yet had his greatest efforts curtailed by the instant, his hopes dashed upon the rocks like glass, nor been thrust helpless and broken upon a distant shore to contemplate long and lone, the final fairness of fortune. These are the years a man needs to carve his character and rebuild his principles from which might he rise again to reach for the horizons that hold his home.

I would sit by my window each morning writing letters to my friend, enjoying the pleasing song of the Auroral birds and moments of first sunlight. Soft Spring afternoons walking beneath halls of bristling trees that celebrated along the back streets. Autumns quickening across the Eastern Coastline trails groaning against the cliffs. These were quiet days in Bondi, where my heart did not shudder to where I took it and a calm had prevailed there at long last. Finally had I forgotten myself and saw grow in the warm fading afternoon light, a healthy recognition and respect for my surroundings once more. I felt in and through me, careening every pore and corridor the dynamic current of a deep and satisfying attunement with existence. I saw but only better days ahead, and breathed in long and happy the atmosphere of the life I was living presently and nothing could have thrown my down.

Yet, I had allowed a clumsiness with blessings to defeat me. By not daring to think myself deserving, I found myself quite unprepared for fortunes favour much less the ramifications of abiding my own impossible moral code. I looked for complexity and escape, a trapdoor in the rainbow, a reason to leave, to strive, to discard what peace and guiltlessness had I gathered because I knew not how to no longer struggle. It can be fatiguing being amazed all the time and preferring instead the comfort of falling and familiarity in moments of forgetfulness, you lay down in submission and allow the tensions overlap. I stopped marvelling at the Nature of things and sought instead to turn my back on Nature Herself and leave Her wide-eyed, agape and utterly alone; cut Her off of Her sweet intent, and succour all that would aim to render Her ridden. So I did thus, closed the shades, put down my pen and thought myself right out of the Nirvana in my lap. I strayed, plain and simple. Wandered from all that was possible of life because I was afraid of just what potency of rational spontaneity I did possess, and I do none or myself justice attempting to calculate it now, by fertilizing those plains where none from which but utter desolation grows. Because in the end, nothing is quite as important as you might first think at the time of thinking it. I strayed. The mind its own mountains can make, and one who for none but hindrances seeks so shall create them. What does not endeavour to cast a light across the plains embraces the cold and restriction of the valley floor. I took an interval from the life that I had constructed up to then. I’d packed my books and walked away, stole into woodlands remote and bustling cities not my own. I sought to be silent and welcoming to the ulterior perspectives of poets, philosophers, the vagrants and the drifters all getting along in the ways they new best. To let the thoughts come that Naturally may, that all the rest no grave import might prove and lo, like most things one decides to warp no further with imagination, shall begin to suddenly into its appropriate proportions fade. It needed to become clear again what it was that I did value, and who; What would I withstand for whom I love, what hardship could I absorb to uphold those precepts that I treasure most, and, within the kernel of those reflections I found reasons instead of rules for which to save my place in life and not go sauntering off into the woods resigned. Reasons that would implore me thus to emerge from my hovel with a greater surge of energy and an outlook far grander than ever before, to immerse myself engaged and ready so completely into all the possible experiences that this world as we now know it has to offer, and to make the very most of it all.

Just as at this time last year, there are some fine times ahead that will for many more afterward linger like a last lance of sunlight across the fading meadows of memory. My dear sister and husband have extended an invitation to visit them over Christmas and finally to meet my nieces I have heard so much about. Their cheerful slice of paradise they’ve crafted for themselves resides in the Tropical North Of Queensland among the surrounds of the Atherton Tablelands. I expect hikes in the hills and through the rainforests in search of hidden freshwater streams. Un-hurried walks in the cool shade of dawn, then eggs, coffee and reading on the back patio. Warm evenings in the hammock watching the stars awaken one by one, as the barbecue hisses followed by a gathering of smiling faces, great company, conversation and merriment the much long into the night. There’ll be S, of course. Strong, sassy and quietly brilliant, laying by the fire of our campsite next to the creek that drapes its way among the dunes and wilds, on and on and evermore. S runs along sunsets like a portrait and her bronzed sinews glisten fantastically in the blood orange sun. A few strands of sand-coloured hair escape their bonds and hug her cheek and I’ll want nothing more than to kiss her supple lips and leave my rushing life in Sydney to stay with her on the blanket by the fire. Instead I’ll slowly walk home from visiting with her and it’s the fact that I cannot simply pack up and start over again that makes our time together among the most heart stirring and perfect. Because though everything is now in focus and determined does not presume that it will be entirely likeable and never mind. The evening sky will convulse a haze of violet and glowing tangerine swirls behind the high hills and a gentle breeze will complement the warmth. The Universe and whatever particles make up my soul will seem to be mingled, same and jovial. I’ll finally give way to a smile sincere and knowing that with all the bitter and the balm, the noise and the calm the Universe is just, and all will be well in the end as ever. I’ll be happy and content in this moment with everything to be grateful for and everything to look forward to and I’ll ride this state without complaint unto my home somewhere in the gold and purple sunset.

Cairns, Christmas 2014

Cairns, Christmas 2014

399: Startle the Heavens

We climbed with Olympian vigour and reserves of immortality, with speed tearing space and time. From our astral thread fell away the stars and comets attempting to overtake. We brushed an outer ceiling and dared the edges, fatiguing Nature and contesting the rules of our make, waging a war worth all the while on the human bargain. We scorched the lands and startled the heavens, bounding with such force that each stride caused the Earth to groan and shudder beneath us, staggering in its cosmic sling attempting to stabilize.
We plunged unrestrained into what depths required us; physically, intellectually, spiritually and wholly. Our smiling mouths filled with dust. Our brows bore the struggles mark; eyes, glazed the reward lust of a reaching gasp, a leap across the chasm of an everyday existence, a hard-fought climb to the spires of our contents; A final attempt at one moment of everlastingness. One waned of resource, does feed by the exert of it. To seek and strive extracts the essentialness of the situation at hand and on the road, you hollow out on and something else, something more glorious and spirit preserving replaces what is spent. The depletion seems to be on a parallel trajectory to what is built and the more difficult, perilous and costly the ascension, the firmer a resolve to overcome is driven up from the depths. When the only finitude recognised is what holds within. When close to the heart sits a hunger that will not be covered over or silenced but engages energies otherworldly in the full pursuit of its own exhaustion.

396: Mastery

Sometimes, you are lost. Strayed from yourself to some outer edge of a dark expressionless abyss where seem there the stars to contradict and misinform. Then, when once more you are by your own matter, by some small and deathless gleam guided back to strength and health, by what Galaxy presses back your bounds and goads from the depths a precious spark of mystery trace. Nature holds her breath, the Entire Universe stops to stare. The very stars, silent are marvelled by you.

382: Vargtimme

It seems plausible now that since even before you came into being have you been stamped with a role and those remarkable, burdensome qualities that all your lost years, drifting, aching over and denying could not remove. As though you are composite of various fragments of star matter and galactic debris dispersed, come together by recognition and ‘twined by choice of kinship and not chance or indolence, or some other traditional aversion of responsibility. Like the birth of a brand new Solar System, and you could not and never have, extinguished that fire in the blood that impels you so ferociously to build, and become the most effective and worthwhile self it is possible to become through consistency of focused and immovable effort. That knows value in acquisition and accumulation if it yields a righteous benefit in the wider domain. Is any one thing unrelated to another, directly or eventually?

And what is it then that charges you so heartily, to connect a whole so determined to split?

That there is so much to be done and you have not enough time to finish it all and will certainly not live long enough to witness the full effect of your service rendered, the protection and continuance of those things you hold most dear on all of Earth. Because no one thing is unrelated to another, and as the blood tides foretell, your smallest increment of action, even the merest whit of intent can expel a tremor across the oblivion for all time. In fact, you have precisely the allocated time as befits the drive and velocity of your Nature. With speed, such glorious ground devouring speed you pass unseen and have taken all before it is ever known you were. A ghost before Death, O lawless hurry, such is the expediency of your wisdom gathering. A thousand years drunk into a gaze, the centuries breathed in and diffuse. A walking tumult of wild ambivalent forces building in energy, surging and inexpressible, a furious humility gorging blind upon the metabolism of its own frightening power, nashing to pieces the self and surrounds, nothing spared but nothing left. And better a presence felt than known, you say. For what will they really know of a truth that does not first excite with sensation touching hot some unexplored avenue of the soul that flinches and relishes the ricochet and stirred up speculations, but is instead glossed with the mechanistic of mounting yesterdays. The mind, ravaged and weary, remembers too much. Wanting to trust in good and rise out of its own abyss, is slow agreeing to what the soul knows however ready to move on what it must. How none do believe in ghosts and yet still tremble at darkened corners with absurd apprehensions that cannot be dismantled by reason or logic. It is an endless string with various knots of degrees of distress over undone things, that threads every fibre and drop of your urgency racked organism. A deafening pulse. An anxious futility. An inborn desperation, unsatisfiable. An expanse of void and vast oceans of endless time about which you dart and deplete and frantically strike at walls imagined. It had been discussed how you hastened from the womb, fled as you flee now all environs of comfort and light, stillness and silence, beyond the pace of your own maturating, wherein your cells contemplated before it was ever contemplatable, what fireflies and other wonders in the shadows and hidden places may lurk that most fear. The good duty to which you would commit, the strength that was to be within your sphere to offer, and the holy chasm that ultimately would be you’re doing being done. You did not hit the ground running but leaped and let the fall advise. The things you approach are already memories, the present is a constant déjà vu, the past is too far to recall or hold significance.

It is Natural ordinance that grim spurns and explosive energies soonest tire. The patience needed to sustain is not yet and can never be known to you, for the very thirst of it only time informs, and for you there is no time. You will go wider and farther than any and will be barely any motion perceive and will arrive at the end just the same as you began, all of suddenly.
With speed and all ones might, or dust. Reign upon reign of dust, O slow world, stand not tall upon nothing and by nothing buried be, but for something fall and be depleted utterly. It will all be returned to dirt and myth at some point or other, and soon after, the very notion of it all, is gone as well. You cannot stand it.

Soul?

Soul you know well, you know not how to release without struggle what must go, or leaves things lie that best unperturbed. However, touch, that sweeter means of discourse between the better, most secret angels of our Nature, has a live and thrilling effect beyond the intellects pace or reach of understanding. A detached openness immeasurably heightens a primal sensitivity to the woven stories and immediacy of ones surroundings. Our nerves violently, delightedly bristle at a whispers echo, a brush can rupture the Universe and obliterate the history on which we stand. Shadows blind. Skin reflects and winds scream. Warm words inflict like ice and leave burns you carry to new lifetimes. Pupils dilate and dart to capture the dazzling scene and read the moments magnitude. Images peal open as flowers and colours vivify the spirit, coursing, colliding blessing and illuminating through and out of you again. Impressions form and blend views and expressions, reversing and returning in toppled over enmeshments of sublime realisations. It unfolds connections and relation of disparates and opposites, – dependency within individual elements and outcomes, timelessness and unseparableness – sparks bursting alive and intimate, soaring and sincere, threading bonds of affection and meaning through all things. To be simply overwhelmed would be mercy for this is existentially suffocating and excruciating exquisite all at once. The splitting commixture of how in love with living one can be, and how fleeting the act of being and experiencing actually is, expands the loving to a new stratum of torment. Every now hurts for it is already a memory that will devastate for a longer period than which it was enjoyed. How fortunate to know ones debt, and how much better to not care? Though you tried, you are of age where wandering is no longer your default, being irreversibly re-wired with purpose and set to the task, your deep gifts rage unstoppable, and whether you know, you are hurdling to your perfecting so very loved, the planets groan your going. Stars go out by their own tears, the comets are beside themselves, dispersing separate and off-curve to break up and die alone.

The sun… The poor sun looks lower, sadder. Lonely even; it’s lost much of its glow now.

377: Look homeward, angel

That you are capable of miraculousness, does not make you miracle: we aim, consistently and devastatingly lower, than the stars indicated in us.

346: Clashing of aims and atoms

To the mind grateful and content, what is ordinary far exceeds the sensational in radiance and sincerity. The smallest things can catalyse the pivot towards a circuitry of events, a clashing of aims and atoms exciting monumental and irreparable change, flung out across the stars by a mere blink, a breath, and just being.

Grass in Patagonia somewhere, 2013 - 2014

Grass in Patagonia somewhere, 2013 – 2014

297

But not fixed.

296

Be firm when it hits.

295: Fragments

All things in fragments occur. And there is still time, so constantly ready yourself for that you would receive. Nothing that is coming to you is sudden, but winding around from an outer region of everlasting.

291: The dash between dates

A far-off, long approaching animate spark. A flame, a dot suspended in eternity dissolved by midnight oblivion and not extinguished.