Danny James

Tag: reflection

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

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.

378

We fear far better than we comprehend our might.

358

A man needs an evening walk with his reflections. Where the world returns to him his thoughts, refined and cleansed.

342: Torrent

Why is it then, that you think and do the things that you do? Consider the outcomes but too, weigh the process and go back to the beginning of your provocation, and study the source of it. What experiences past have led to your present reactions, and would threaten still to ruin your growth and future?

321

It has been a strangely pleasant Winter this year with very little of the usual Polar qualities experienced as in earlier Seasons. As though not content with her reputation for cold has Nature adopted a more affable temperament. And from a light rail bound for Newcastle, enjoying the features of an afternoon entify into evening, and a city incrementally disappear under backcountry, I caught the pierce of a mans reflection illuminated in the window by carriage lights against a background night. Had he a look of a course wondering. A tournament was occurring behind the eyes, to which he committed his durance. He was avoiding people, and grew uncomfortable as they near for it perturbed his wrestle for balance though there seemed no malice in his attitude, as much as he liked the distance so as to maintain for them a strained compassion, while he was rather struggling with his own awkwardness, and working hard to bury an habitual belligerence. I too should like to be like that Winter that can change myself to the contrast of what has of my Nature become. How some would be perfectly what they seem and alone, rather than revealed and loved.

Danny James blog Train

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.

165

How now, soon tomorrow becomes. Too quickly arrives and is done.