Saturday, May 23, 2009
I begin my expedition by discarding my real life presence; I am no longer looking after my staff, my dad, my adult kids, my pets, or my house. I am no longer having nightmares about my recently deceased mother. It is on the tracks that I come to terms with debilitating and chronic feelings of futility and inferiority. It is here that I regain energy to fight spiralling and misdirected distrust of people with whom I love. This is a place for escape and recoup: A place to meditate, envision, strategize, release, breath, explore, connect.
I love the sound of the whistle when it blows. I love the scraping of tracks when I am in the train. I don’t even have to go anywhere special. I carry a child’s excitement of getting on a train. The act of looking out the window in silence at the landscape that swooshes by and the space and time this travelling allows me to reflect, makes train travel one of my favoured private cerebral spaces.
Walking along the tracks can be as therapeutic.
Worlds of otherthingsapartfromselfabsorbedme.
Through their pages I was able to tentatively (like any humble neophyte) identify the type of snail that inhabit my little pocket of grand universe. There are possibly two types. The most obvious is the dark banded snail called Cepaea nemoralis ( aka the grove snail). I am thinking though unsure, that the white lipped (respectively) called the Cepaea hortensis also lives amongst the tracks. Both are edible but in all honesty, ever since I lived in BC, in close proximity to the amazing banana slug, I have lost my appetite for such things . . .
Special soundtrack courtesy of Ry
Marchantia are rich in their own right. Liverworts have been around for about 475,000,000 years! They are part of a miniature world, a universe really, and I am in complete marvel of them. From their modular compartmentalized epidermis (that helps heal from local trauma), to their little gemma cups (see the little bowls on their body, aka thallus?) and the gemmae discs that flush out with the rain to replicate themselves anew. I am thunderstruck by the antheridiophore and archegoniophore- the male (shorter flower like) and female (taller palm tree/unbrella) reproductive structures.
Trains, snails, and marchantia! How lucky I am to bear witness to these.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
No matter if there is not really an I, that I don’t really exist, even while not existing I can still close my eyes and look at the patterns on my eyelids. Nobody can stop me from seeing things from within. Not even your I. Sure, sponges come from the sea but the I too, lives in sponge and this sponge lives inside of me.
Monday, April 20, 2009
This is what I thought of as I stared at the dead bird.
Two weeks ago, my sister found a baby rat scurrying behind my parent’s fridge. A rat! We thought in horror, must get it out! I brought my young cat over to take care of matters. I caught glimpse of the rat and it’s trail the other day and realized it was just a mouse. Relief set in for everyone: After all, it was just a mouse.
Just over an hour ago the phone rings. I am informed that the cat found the mouse and is parading it up and down the hallway with its squirming body in its mouth. From Finch to sparrow to rat to mouse, it’s all about value, isn't it.
- ► 2011 (15)
- ▼ 2009 (16)