{"id":14733,"date":"2013-10-18T12:14:35","date_gmt":"2013-10-18T16:14:35","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=14733"},"modified":"2017-05-09T10:36:41","modified_gmt":"2017-05-09T14:36:41","slug":"momentary-pastures","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2013\/10\/momentary-pastures\/","title":{"rendered":"Momentary Pastures"},"content":{"rendered":"<div class=\"intrinsic-container intrinsic-container-16x9\"><iframe loading=\"lazy\" src=\"\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/kSOSALwg1mQ?rel=0\" width=\"601\" height=\"338\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen=\"allowfullscreen\"><\/iframe><\/div>\n<p class=\"smalltext\"><em>[Video: if anyone&#8217;s having a moment right now, it&#8217;s Welsh folk singer\/songwriter\/harpist <a title=\"Georgia Ruth's site\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\" href=\"http:\/\/georgiaruth.co.uk\/\" target=\"_blank\">Georgia Ruth<\/a>,<br \/>\nwho just won the <a title=\"Welsh Music Prize site\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\" href=\"http:\/\/welshmusicprize.com\/\" target=\"_blank\">Welsh Music Prize<\/a> for her debut album &#8212; which, like this opening track, is also<br \/>\ncalled <\/em>Week of Pines<em>. Regular readers of RAMH will understand that one of the things which appealed to<br \/>\nme about the album was its mix of English- and Welsh-language songs.]<\/em><\/p>\n<p>From\u00a0<a title=\"whiskey river: Lauren Oliver, on living for a second (and forever)\" href=\"http:\/\/whiskeyriver.blogspot.com\/2013\/10\/sometimes-i-feel-like-if-you-just-watch.html\"><em>whiskey river<\/em><\/a>:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p>Sometimes I feel like if you just watch things, just sit still and let the world exist in front of you &#8212; sometimes I swear that just for a second time freezes and the world pauses in its tilt. Just for a second. And if you somehow found a way to live in that second, then you would live forever.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Lauren Oliver [<a title=\"Google Books: 'Delirium: The Special Edition,' by Lauren Oliver\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\" href=\"http:\/\/books.google.com\/books?id=OoiCDWbYnPUC&amp;pg=PA153#v=onepage&amp;q&amp;f=false\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n<p>&#8230;<a title=\"whiskey river: 'Fall Song,' by Mary Oliver\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\" href=\"http:\/\/whiskeyriver.blogspot.com\/2013\/10\/fall-song-another-year-gone-leaving.html\" target=\"_blank\">and<\/a>:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><strong>Fall Song<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Another year gone, leaving everywhere<br \/>\nits rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,<\/p>\n<p>the uneaten fruits crumbling damply<br \/>\nin the shadows, unmattering back<\/p>\n<p>from the particular island<br \/>\nof this summer, this NOW, that now is nowhere<\/p>\n<p>except underfoot, moldering<br \/>\nin that black subterranean castle<\/p>\n<p>of unobservable mysteries &#8212; roots and sealed seeds<br \/>\nand the wanderings of water. This<\/p>\n<p>I try to remember when time&#8217;s measure<br \/>\npainfully chafes, for instance when autumn<\/p>\n<p>flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing<br \/>\nto stay &#8212; how everything lives, shifting<\/p>\n<p>from one bright vision to another, forever<br \/>\nin these momentary pastures.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Mary Oliver [<em><a title=\"'Fall Song,' by Mary Oliver (according to litera.co.uk)\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\" href=\"http:\/\/www.litera.co.uk\/fall_song_by_mary_oliver\/\" target=\"_blank\">source<\/a>\u00a0<\/em>(and elsewhere)])<\/p>\n<p><!--more--><\/p>\n<p>Not from <em>whiskey river<\/em>:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><strong>Happiness<\/strong><\/p>\n<p class=\"epigraph\">For Barbara Green<\/p>\n<p><em>Happiness<\/em>. I am not used<br \/>\nto this. (There is always<br \/>\nsomething wrong.)<br \/>\nLook at it<br \/>\nthe bright early tree.<br \/>\n(I am trying to find out<br \/>\nhow you fell.)<br \/>\nThe leaves have already turned.<br \/>\n(I want you to see<br \/>\nthis, how they<br \/>\nglow outside the glass.)<br \/>\nMorning light strikes<br \/>\ndifferently. For so<br \/>\nmany years I hardly<br \/>\nhad time to know such<br \/>\nmoments. They struck me<br \/>\nwith such intensity<br \/>\nI would have said<br \/>\nbattered me open.<br \/>\nI never understood<br \/>\nthey were mine.<br \/>\nI was panicked.<br \/>\n<em>Unhappiness<\/em> caught up with me<br \/>\nall the time.<br \/>\nDid you know<br \/>\nthe speed of light never alters<br \/>\neven when you go faster<br \/>\nit will be<br \/>\nstill that much faster<br \/>\nthan you?<br \/>\n(I am thinking that in your fall<br \/>\nsomething momentous occurred.)<br \/>\nWhat I see as beautiful<br \/>\nI want you to see too.<br \/>\nNext door, the workmen are hammering.<br \/>\nVery soon we&#8217;ll go to lunch.<br \/>\nFor some reason this moves me to tears.<br \/>\nHow life is.<br \/>\n(One does not have to explain<br \/>\nwhat occurs. One only need say<br \/>\nit has meaning.)<br \/>\nYears ago, when I was young<br \/>\nI traveled to Italy, took in<br \/>\nthe great sights. I was in awe, yet<br \/>\nI did not understand<br \/>\nseeing Masaccio&#8217;s frescoes<br \/>\nfading like shadows into the walls,<br \/>\nthis would be the only time<br \/>\nnor that<br \/>\nI would never forget.<br \/>\nThose muted shades are<br \/>\nstill with me, as possession<br \/>\nand longing, and the view too<br \/>\nof the square before that church<br \/>\nthe air, newly spring,<br \/>\nthat day, all of it.<br \/>\nLife, I have finally begun to realize,<br \/>\nis real.<br \/>\n(All this time you recover<br \/>\nfrom falling<br \/>\nwill sink indelibly into mind.)<br \/>\nThe leaves<br \/>\nmay fall before you are able<br \/>\nto see them. Science<br \/>\nhas recently learned<br \/>\nthe line<br \/>\nof existence is soft<br \/>\nand stretches out like a field<br \/>\nwind and light shaping the grass<br \/>\nenergy<br \/>\nof sight giving consciousness<br \/>\nforce. In the meantime<br \/>\nwe live out our lives.<br \/>\n(This morning we talked for so long<br \/>\neverything became lucid.<br \/>\nHow can I say what I see?)<br \/>\nAt each turning<br \/>\nperfection eludes me.<br \/>\nOne moment is not like another.<br \/>\nLast spring<br \/>\nthe house next door caught fire.<br \/>\nThere was the smell of gas.<br \/>\nWe thought<br \/>\nboth houses would go.<br \/>\nI vanished up the hill,<br \/>\nwent to the house of a friend<br \/>\nwhere we listened for flames<br \/>\nand to that aria from Italian<br \/>\nopera, was it the one of love,<br \/>\nor jealousy, or grief?<br \/>\nMy house was untouched.<br \/>\nNow the one next door is painted,<br \/>\nfixed. In place of<br \/>\nperfection, the empty hands<br \/>\nI turned out to the world<br \/>\nare filled.<br \/>\nWith what? A letter<br \/>\nhalf written, the notes<br \/>\nI make on this page,<br \/>\nthis new feeling about my shoulders<br \/>\nof age, that sad child&#8217;s story<br \/>\nyou told me this morning,<br \/>\nthe workmen&#8217;s tools sounding<br \/>\nand stopping. What? As time<br \/>\nmoves through me, does it also<br \/>\nmove through you?<br \/>\nI keep remembering what you said,<br \/>\nways you have of seeing (and that<br \/>\nlight must have curved with<br \/>\nyou fall.) This<br \/>\nis the paradox of vision:<br \/>\nSharp perception softens<br \/>\nour existence in the world.<\/p>\n<p><span style=\"margin-left: 5em;\"><em>1986<\/em><\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Susan Griffin [<a title=\"Amazon.com: 'Bending Home: Selected Poems 1967-1998,' by Susan Griffin\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\" href=\"http:\/\/www.amazon.com\/Bending-Home-Selected-Poems-1967-1998\/dp\/1556590873\/\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n<p>&#8230;and:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p>It is said that at the moment when the person Gautama became Shakyamuni Buddha (the moment of his realization under the <em>bodhi<\/em> tree), all of its leaves began to fall to the great earth. It must have been a thunderous sight. Maybe some leaves had already fallen and some still held on while he sat there, but it is said that when he attained realization, all of the leaves fell off&#8230;<\/p>\n<p>Our usual way is to say, &#8220;God, I&#8217;m falling apart. My arm, my thumb don&#8217;t work as well as they used to, and sometimes my knee.&#8221; But these signs of falling apart are actually wholesome signs, and it is at great cost that we avoid what nature is repeatedly teaching. Every season there&#8217;s a <span class=\"explannote\" title=\"Wikipedia: 'the Law that 'upholds, supports or maintains the regulatory order of the universe''\">Dharma<\/span> within a Dharma. We don&#8217;t have to wait for spring because there is also an eternal spring. There is an eternal fall. Our seasons are eternal, and they are right here in our fingertips, right here within ourselves. So really it is always a time for thanks and giving, for appreciation of our lives.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Jakusho Kwong [<a title=\"Google Books: 'No Beginning, No End: The Intimate Heart of Zen,' by Jakusho Kwong\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\" href=\"http:\/\/books.google.com\/books?id=A79TGvFnLDwC&amp;pg=PA82#v=onepage&amp;q&amp;f=false\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>[Video: if anyone&#8217;s having a moment right now, it&#8217;s Welsh folk singer\/songwriter\/harpist Georgia Ruth, who just won the Welsh Music Prize for her debut album &#8212; which, like this opening track, is also called Week of Pines. Regular readers of RAMH will understand that one of the things which appealed to me about the album [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","h5ap_radio_sources":[],"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"activitypub_content_warning":"","activitypub_content_visibility":"","activitypub_max_image_attachments":3,"activitypub_interaction_policy_quote":"anyone","activitypub_status":"","footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[247,1393,74,5,251],"tags":[399,595,2929,3640,3641,3642,3643],"class_list":{"0":"post-14733","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-ruminations","7":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","8":"category-music","9":"category-06_writing","10":"category-poetry-writing_cat","11":"tag-wales","12":"tag-mary-oliver","13":"tag-zen","14":"tag-georgia-ruth","15":"tag-lauren-oliver","16":"tag-susan-griffin","17":"tag-jakusho-kwong","18":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-3PD","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14733","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=14733"}],"version-history":[{"count":11,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14733\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":19293,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14733\/revisions\/19293"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=14733"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=14733"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=14733"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}