{"id":11486,"date":"2012-07-20T11:24:45","date_gmt":"2012-07-20T15:24:45","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=11486"},"modified":"2012-07-20T11:35:25","modified_gmt":"2012-07-20T15:35:25","slug":"not-exactly-what-you-had-in-mind","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2012\/07\/not-exactly-what-you-had-in-mind\/","title":{"rendered":"Not Exactly What You Had in Mind"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

[Image: promotional photo for\u00a0<\/em>Later the Same Evening<\/a>, a one-act opera about five paintings by Edward Hopper. In this photograph,\u00a0<\/em>Hotel Room\u00a0(also shown below) is the third painting from the left.]<\/em><\/p>\n

From\u00a0whiskey river<\/em><\/a>:<\/p>\n

Dark Pines Under Water<\/strong><\/p>\n

This land like a mirror turns you inward
\nAnd you become a forest in a furtive lake;
\nThe dark pines of your mind reach downward,
\nYou dream in the green of your time,
\nYour memory is a row of sinking pines.<\/p>\n

Explorer, you tell yourself this is not what you came for
\nAlthough it is good here, and green;
\nYou had meant to move with a kind of largeness,
\nYou had planned a heavy grace, an anguished dream.<\/p>\n

But the dark pines of your mind dip deeper
\nAnd you are sinking, sinking, sleeper
\nIn an elementary world;
\nThere is something down there and you want it told.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Gwendolyn MacEwen [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

Thomas Merton wrote, “there is always a temptation to diddle around in the contemplative life, making itsy-bitsy statues.” There is always an enormous temptation in all of life to diddle around making itsy-bitsy friends and meals and journeys for itsy-bitsy years on end. It is so self-conscious, so apparently moral, simply to step aside from the gaps where the creeks and winds pour down, saying, I never merited this grace, quite rightly, and then to sulk along the rest of your days on the edge of rage. I won’t have it. The world is wilder than that in all directions, more dangerous and bitter, more extravagant and bright. We are making hay when we should be making whoopee; we are raising tomatoes when we should be raising Cain, or Lazarus…<\/p>\n

Go up into the gaps. If you can find them; they shift and vanish too. Stalk the gaps. Squeak into a gap in the soil, turn, and unlock — more than a maple — a universe. This is how you spend this afternoon, and tomorrow morning, and tomorrow afternoon. Spend<\/em> the afternoon. You can\u2019t take it with you.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Annie Dillard [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

I never liked jazz music because jazz music doesn’t resolve. But I was outside the Baghdad Theatre one night when I saw a man playing the saxophone. I stood there for fifteen minutes and he never opened his eyes.<\/p>\n

After that I liked jazz music.<\/p>\n

Sometimes you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself. It is as if they are showing you the way.<\/p>\n

I used to not like God because God didn’t resolve. But that was before any of this happened.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Donald Miller [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Not from\u00a0whiskey river<\/em>:<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>Edward Hopper Study: Hotel Room<\/strong><\/p>\n

While the man is away
\ntelling his wife
\nabout the red-corseted woman,
\nthe woman waits
\non the queen-sized bed.
\nYou’d expect her quiet
\nin the fist of a copper
\nstatue. Half her face,
\na shade of golden meringue,
\nthe other half, the dark
\nof cattails. Her mouth even—
\ntoo straight, as if she doubted
\nher made decision, the way
\nwomen do. In her hands,
\na yellow letter creased,
\nlike her hunched back.
\nHer dress limp on a green chair.
\nIn front, a man’s satchel
\nand briefcase. On a dresser,
\na hat with a ceylon
\nfeather. That is all
\nthe artist left us with,
\nknowing we would turn
\nthe woman’s stone into ours,
\na thirst for the self
\nin everything—even
\nin the sweet chinks
\nof mandarin.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Victoria Chang [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

Porcupine at Dusk<\/strong><\/p>\n

Out of the bunch grass
\nout of the cheat grass<\/span><\/span>
\na bunch of grass waddles<\/span>
\nmy way.<\/span><\/p>\n

Quill-tips bleached by winter four
\ninches down: crown of glory dark<\/span>
\nat the roots: a halo<\/span>
\ncatching the sun’s<\/span>
\nfinal song:<\/span><\/p>\n

No way could such steady
\noblivion possibly live<\/span>
\nup to legend, whatever<\/span>
\nfear I might have had<\/span>
\nis gone, but still I stop<\/span><\/p>\n

Short on my after-dinner walk, no
\ncollision course if I<\/span>
\ncan help it, thinking<\/span>
\nat first it’s the wind,<\/span>
\nnudging a path out of the field<\/span><\/p>\n

Or one of a covey of tumbleweed
\nlost like those today on the freeway,<\/span>
\nracing ahead of my car that whole long drive<\/span>
\nhere to the banks of the Snake, to friends<\/span>
\nso close they know<\/span>
\nwhen to leave me alone.<\/span><\/p>\n

As though I were nowhere around, the porcupine
\nshuffles the edge of the road,<\/span>
\nin five minutes crosses<\/span>
\na distance I could have covered<\/span>
\nin less than one<\/span><\/p>\n

And disappears at last into cattails
\nand rushes, sunset, a vespers<\/span>
\nof waterbirds, leaving me<\/span>
\nstill unwilling to move.<\/span><\/p>\n

I am a sucker for scenes like this.
\nThe slowest beauty can rush me.<\/span>
\nAnd here I am,<\/span>
\nall of my defenses down.<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Ingrid Wendt [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

It’s my belief that sanity lies in realizing that reality is not exactly what we had in mind.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Roy Blount, Jr. [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

As we do more and more of our shopping online and via<\/em> more old-fashioned mail order channels, like catalogues, some of the thrill has gone out of impulse buying. There’s the unavoidable lag time, y’know, between buying<\/em> whatever and enjoying<\/em> it. Buyer’s remorse has evolved into an entire neurosis, stretching out over upcoming days instead of confined to the few minutes of guilt after we step from the the store. Retailers and parcel-shipping services are doing what they can to acknowledge the drawbacks, and fix them. Next-day shipping, right? (And now, I hear, Amazon plans to open local distribution centers: on selected goods you’ll be able to get\u00a0same<\/em>-day delivery.)<\/p>\n

But really, we could just avoid the whole problem if we simply already had what we wanted, before being forced<\/del>\u00a0deciding to buy it…<\/p>\n