Danny James

Tag: night

488: Sally in the Sun

The realisation had barely settled upon the consciousness when my face had been brought home into Sally’s hands. As she whispered my name and drew close, I caught in the instant, the glimmer of long obstructed joyousness in her eyes. Suddenly, with space enough to run, and a great gasp of the soul free in the world at last.

We stood there awhile, utterly delighted and engrossed with each other, amid the crowd before the coal-face of Friday night service dissolving. They’ve occurred before in glimpses, perfect these gaps of Nature, and you’ve figured since you couldn’t be granted many more miracles similar.

We talked at the centre of a hurricane with the sun smiling perfectly overhead at the mouth. Actualized and fully engaged with the moment, we felt the surge of a vast and thrilling current, brimming to the surface yet remained all the while at ease in the deep and holy intoxication that overlapped our traumas.
”I didn’t want to interrupt,” She said genuine, unblinking and ablaze. I wished as soon as it left her lips that she had, and I would have immediately let my responsibilities crumble for the encounter.
I couldn’t help but consider, as Sally spoke how that if she were not already spoken for, her hands were a perfect fit for mine; her waist, impossibly alluring and I could see us laughing at many good times gone by as we lay next to each other on a sunlit hillside overlooking the Steel City, some years ahead of tonight. Just as I had finished imagining these things Sally had motioned with a sideways glance and rather quickly, that she was in fact here with her fianc√© and his family celebrating, something that I couldn’t quite translate through appreciating the rapture of her returning smile. Sally was always so infectiously easygoing and buoyant about the future and yet I was detecting somewhere here with her, moments of stuttered thought and a gazing solemnity with but a whit of an unresolved irritation.

We parted with proprieties and cautious glances and that, I estimated was unfortunately to be the necessary end. Stricken is the heart under spell of the imagination.

391: Patagonia part 6

I’d not have noticed were it not for Amy calling from the back of the bus, as though we were the only passengers and it wasn’t as late as it was – how the moon was following us along our way, dancing atop of the Andes in the night with no care for what might think the stars of its escapades, that long calm ride out of blissful nowhere and into the future. Or that I could enjoy the company of softness unabashed leaning in to conversation and my soul immediately like we’d known each other forever and little by little, falling and willing, I’ve never known Christmas mornings quite as wonderful as that descent. Such wanton curiosity and tender openness after a few hours acquaintance, within which time our lives had been searched and laid bare for discovering, and it’d been decided as I stared past her doting and into the night at the leaping moon coming to my conclusions only then and feeling every blink of her eyes; that I was her angel, and she really believed it to be so, in the most honestly reflected way with all of her uninhibited heart. And although falling went opposed to everything strong I’d ever known and put up, I knew then at last; that my purpose after all was simply to love with all that I had.

Somewhere in Chile, 2013

Somewhere in Chile, 2013

385: Sally in the Winter

I was discovering the advantages and obstacles of increased perception. From posting my meditations high above instead of among the boulevards of twisted metal and scrap industry dreams of the old coughing steel-city. A town that flirts with change like single romantics who give twice as little as consume, and so edge forward in a lonely aching ever-standstill. I can mark back to the long beginning of a great confusion of my making here. As mice and gulls would, by virtue of differing experiences of the same broken suburbia and beyond, entertain dissimilar impressions thereof. I had now a wider measure of insight to inform my decision-making, as well the sobering gravity of a lost illiteracy and a rain of new extravagance could nobody entirely drink.

Save the glassy reflection of headlights on busy wet roads, August nights as I recall, until Winters twilight offered no surprise or bother to the routine of living and my uncontemplated place in life. Gone are those days could never I have fathomed I’d miss, before that intersection of youth and a convinced-of adulthood where the Earths rolling seems to be gathering momentum and increasingly necessary thus are the sunrises you do not heed. When it’s decided that you’ve seen plenty and are utterly bored, but are not of experience enough to realise that this boredom is perhaps the peace of mind you will never again know, and bears an ignorance that once lit soon will burn habitually for years many more. So get on with it then.

The restaurant is in the peak of Friday night flurry, and I am where I most enjoy anything, sunk in the thickest of it. Up to my chin in the dilating depths of joyful letting go, wading and melting seamlessly shoulder to shoulder with whom has needs I must foresee, and craft around them quietly the next ease before the realisation steals upon them they were ever discomforts mark. An environment manager; a scene setting, helmsman of an evenings spectacle of sensory impressions. Outside, the rain drifts across like snow and pretty as it is, I have succeeded not if it withdraws them instead but dial it I must, the pitch and tone of wonderment enough to complement and not entirely distract from the reality which for them I am sewing as I envision it suits any instant in the ongoing connection thereof. A fantastical experience of perfectly woven sensation and meaning. Memory making and humdrum forgetting, – a spin and whirl of hours in an instant drawn, because outside of here will come soon enough and I am keeping the gates of this realm, against which fall away for a few hours all of your otherworldly misgivings, where may you sit unscathed to entertain the simple pleasures of free conversation and marry that with fine soundings and perfect relations. The underbelly network of this warped exposure is a melee of strings, smoke and mirrors stressed, beguiling, bending, and at any moment, threatened to fall apart. To heighten the tension it is turnover time and section heads here must hold as much professional repose-fullness as ever you’ll find to gracefully precisely deceive and flatter, as well tighten the hinges that keep us all together strained which buckling, might see this ship of fools topple over with a gasp and spilling out into the night and cold water over which we are situated. And I am there among it all, hidden in plain sight as intended, keeping order and overseeing the processing of my section unseen and imperturbable, all the while unescaped of her piercing eyes fixed on my every move. The watcher watched, I was done for; fated prey of her sweetest yearnings stewing patiently beneath the noise, and I wasn’t at all to know.

298: The good life

Ah strain, it piles over. To triumph or perish. Live forever, in high spirits and digging always your way up, or lay down in the sand and be dust.

Do you not know, we’re in paradise?

It seems the blinking stars would only swallow the cries you never make, and so you forget while everything is sailing along calmly diligently. Until the day arrives that you discover at last you are standing at a chasm of your own making, and it asks with a bellow that dashes about the valleys and is gone, ‘who are you?’

It sounds remarkably like your voice but you’d swear you’d never made a sound.

249: Be upright and steadfast

Be upright and steadfast. Go silently with purpose refined and follow your logical premonitions. Round the advantage. Distill your actions to the finest necessary. Say what isn’t improved unsaid, and in your goings, leave a thing as you find it or better for the encounter. Meet your enemies without conceit and overcome them with gentility. Give to the all, and against the rush of everlasting night, thrash hard.

235: All shall be well

Out lying lantern, ye concocted light that steadied once uncertain nights. I have recovered to myself by brave and conscious tensity, – acuity of unmeasured penetrative strength, which, with what small allotment thereof I have explored, settles the outline of all things into a clarity, of fine enough detail to my way now make, the pitch and depths of dark in which resides any no matter. What resolution have I discovered! That I need not now, nor, in truth ever thy penurious aid. But so much the better now I see, and thou art my eyes at night nevermore, but a lonesome, looking star fixed upon the distant black, that shine though you still, attracts a moments bitter wonderment and contributes nothing further that I cannot myself signify or do without. Farewell.

danny james blog oh man

146: Unfolding

The many heart whelming wonderments on grand and open display on Earth, and the countless thrilling prospects for life that, by courageous pursuit gifts curiosity, most terribly can not all be heeded. Not in the one tiny lightning span of furiously and incrementally dying star-matter, ye speck of darting ideas and burning unanswerable yearning, – all the age of the cats-eye cosmos in which you drift reproachingly dispossessed is meager. And with this impermanence of everything except desires capacity, rides a horridness and beatitude of the matters marble finality, in swirls of knotted letting go, and inconsolable affections.
It was under a glaze of April stars a bright man once said in passing, ”you do not need to know it all, but you need to know that it exists,” and with his cryptic wistful knowledge of a liquid future, folded into the arms of Autumn night forever. And standing there at the forests mouth fixed on the abyss of living shadows for what seemed an unverifiable lastingness, trying to anything from nothing decide when suddenly it fell to my senses to interpret a grave impossible error realised. All that ecstasy of hope and youthful nonchalance became an unconvincing foothold on a berg, and peering out from the precipice, was a stare that resembled the cold recognition of an unquestionable period in loom. Clean of its laughter, gloom and growth, the entire globes face shall be wiped, – all myth, ambition, strife and persevering preciousness overlapped, and a new transience for a time will flourish with the same world-old obvious riddles that have been only now to you unveiled and will as ever ensue. Against this, have you no recourse. Fortune abides no finery of preference upon whom perceives the tenure either an absurd string of predestined miracles, or an accidental monotony of spilled instances and interactions. These things that ne’er may be considered save by who withdraws from the spinning to contemplate the sentiments of his sentient fraction of forever. While for some, fettered up in some distracting drudgery or other the glimpse will not occur. The portals, will simply close unnoticed and with them gone that chance particular for a vision different if at least not better. But you, bursting, all exulting traveller, for whom the sheerness and extent of eternal synergy is unbearably inaccessible; how dreadfully fatal to admit that could anything be for nought on a lumbering sphere, wading mute with its meaninglessness across a pool of black infinity. So you’ve applied your fantastic and rhythmless imagination to making do, – with its vastness of irrational potency, the source of both your cleanest and most contagious of rejoices, and severest despairing. Well sir, after the crash and fallout, and gravity of presupposed pointlessness, some of us kept on wondering; and so we keep wandering, so as not to have missed a single worthwhile thing.

116: The wood, the hills, the valley

Awake at no hour atypical, but of an acute proceedings in effect I became increasingly aware. Sensitivities at fresh mornings issue, seemed quickened above a common reflex. A quiescent surcharge had overnight mingled the blood, and bade some stirring semblance of rapture, begin its corrective undulations surge deep and wide the full cellular tapestry in floods of perfect beatitude.
I knew at once the cause of the energies; whence the outflow poured and to what lofty secret-less realm would the arcane hum trace, blaring agonised and fine. I lifted my profane look to those all-seeing high keepers of the woodland sierras, standing ominous and intended, whose crowns brush sky and hands hold up, inviting me to share the divinest of airs among them in their very domain.
I went to the mountains and met there, such health preserving relations, and pleasing qualities gathered as arouse and dignify my natural state. Stayed I there until, I’d determined going, it was too dark and hazardous to do so, and when that tension strayed, I was soon content amid the fell of evenings wild.
I shall think that I will never in my life live down the pitch of rare and splendid fortune, that sits within this blithely slice of Earth; that stands every fibre of my nature at the mere allusion, attentive and rampant, – straining to express or abandon.

113: The striking architecture of this mornings atmosphere

Whosoever finds themselves before the striking architecture of this mornings atmosphere no doubt has begun the day enriched forever. A colossal fleet of silver billows troop across the sky in magnificent silence, its ocean not yet fell its full solution of blue, gives pass for a serene and blessed journey. The last star of yesternight joins the crescent moon in a tapered farewell, while the suns entrance is made, grand and steady. The nearer it climbs increases a shade of magenta glow over the brumous beasts that pass, who seem none to notice, their backs are a-burning. Of what one may imagine the gateway to Eternity may resemble, if the common mind could conjure such majesties that a heart cannot stand the overwhelm, surely this is nigh. Now the phenomena ebbs into a natural state of whispered allure, and for how long I stared I do not know, I have lost some time here. Yet moved as I was to tears and mystery and photographs, I stirred for none, but let the splendid while fade and startling vision come gently to passing without mean intervention, and so infinitely and truly immortalised the experience, within the din of human memory.

101: The pavement

They spread themselves o’er the sun-gladdened pavement consoled for the rare effect, and how nice, I thought, to be unstifled of anything at all, and mightily wished would it last that all my souls journeys or recesses were so unshod as my weary soles presently. Perhaps, but for the binding, no soothing completes, or prevails relief. That some constraint is significant if we are to appreciate consent of our wild hearts release, and enjoy a true and profound liberty. It occurred to me then, turning my absorptions above the boulevard, to what little sky remains unobscured; past those glass peaks that cloak the day under shade and thwart nights embrace with synthetic stars: long how it has been since my toes have at all felt a gentle meadows kiss, or a cold streams truth, that being detained have I succumbed to concretes treason. Have we too hardened become, unfeeling like to the bitumen?