Don’t just do something, sit there.
HAPPY EVERYDAY
There are monkeys in your head. Through your eyes the world sees these monkeys dancing. Through your eyes the world can hear the music they dance to. You may ask, “Why are there monkeys dancing in my head?” It’s a fair question at this point. The monkeys in your head are dancing because it’s fun in there. It’s a good head to be in, and the music has a nice beat. Why not look, listen, and dance?
-jobe
There’s only one rule I know of: you’ve got to be kind.
-Kurt Vonnegut
Does Zhen-Zhen the doggo want to go out, yes or no? I’m checking as it’s getting late. Old men like their sleep. Zhen-Zhen tells me yes with her eyes and a tail wag. Outside, looking up, infinite stars in the endless black sky.
-jobe
Start copying what you love. Copy copy copy copy. At the end of the copying you will find yourself.
Yohji Yamamoto
Stop judging everything, there is more to life than right and wrong. And stop arguing, are you so weak that you need to win all of the time? Relax, friend. Don’t just do something, sit there. Breathe and relax. Tomorrow is another day, and if it isn’t, if tomorrow doesn’t arrive for you, well, that’s alright, too. Try to remember, it isn’t your beliefs that make you a better person, it’s your behavior.
-jobe
A poem by Wendell Berry
The Peace Of Wild Things
When despair grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
–Wendell Berry
Coyote bones bleached white by the sun;
Someone has ceased to live in the moment.
-jobe
poetry links:
From “The Uncured World,” a poem by Elisabeth Frost
For You, a poem by Staceyann Chin
That Map of Bone and Opened Valves, a poem by Ilya Kaminsky
This is a depressing time of year for me. Baseball is over for the year and the Evil Holidays are straight ahead, coming at me like a tornado comes at a trailer park. And there’s no escape. I need a metaphorical storm shelter. Everyone I know adores the holidays. Not me; I’m not a christian, there is no Santa, and the pilgrims were not good for North America. Christmas is for shopping; how many news stories will there be on how the ‘retailers’ are doing? As I write this pithy paragraph it is October 31st. Candy Day. What do I celebrate? Reader, there is nothing wrong with ordinary days. Waking up with the sun and being thankful that I didn’t die in the night, another day of living for an old man. That’s my holiday: Everyday.
-jobe