{"id":16585,"date":"2015-04-03T11:34:24","date_gmt":"2015-04-03T15:34:24","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=16585"},"modified":"2015-04-03T11:34:24","modified_gmt":"2015-04-03T15:34:24","slug":"revelatory-satisfactions","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2015\/04\/revelatory-satisfactions\/","title":{"rendered":"Revelatory Satisfactions"},"content":{"rendered":"

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

[Image: This is apparently not — as I’d thought — an observatory in Chile<\/a>. <\/em>Any of them. Rather, it’s atop Mauna Kea, in <\/em>Hawaii. (More info here<\/a>.) Duh. Photo by user Alan L, on Flickr<\/a>; used here under a Creative Commons License. (Click image to enlarge.)]<\/em><\/p>\n

From whiskey river<\/em><\/a> (italicized lines):<\/p>\n

Such Singing in the Wild Branches <\/strong><\/p>\n

It was spring
\nand finally I heard him
\namong the first leaves—
\nthen I saw him clutching the limb<\/p>\n

in an island of shade
\nwith his red-brown feathers
\nall trim and neat for the new year.
\nFirst, I stood still<\/em><\/p>\n

and thought of nothing.<\/em>
\n Then I began to listen.<\/em>
\n Then I was filled with gladness—<\/em>
\n and that’s when it happened,<\/em><\/p>\n

when I seemed to float,<\/em>
\n to be, myself, a wing or a tree—<\/em>
\n and I began to understand<\/em>
\n what the bird was saying,<\/em><\/p>\n

and the sands in the glass
\nstopped
\nfor a pure white moment
\nwhile gravity sprinkled upward<\/p>\n

like rain, rising,
\nand in fact
\nit became difficult to tell just what it was that was singing—
\nit was the thrush for sure, but it seemed<\/p>\n

not a single thrush, but himself, and all his brothers,
\nand also the trees around them,
\nas well as the gliding, long-tailed clouds
\nin the perfectly blue sky—all, all of them<\/p>\n

were singing.
\nAnd, of course, yes, so it seemed,
\nso was I.
\nSuch soft and solemn and perfect music doesn’t last<\/em><\/p>\n

for more than a few moments.<\/em>
\n It’s one of those magical places wise people<\/em>
\n like to talk about.<\/em>
\n One of the things they say about it, that is true,<\/em><\/p>\n

is that, once you’ve been there,<\/em>
\n you’re there forever.<\/em>
\n Listen, everyone has a chance.<\/em>
\n Is it spring, is it morning?<\/em><\/p>\n

Are there trees near you,<\/em>
\n and does your own soul need comforting?<\/em>
\n Quick, then—open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song<\/em>
\n may already be drifting away.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Mary Oliver [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

There are times in your life when, despite the steel weight of your memories and the sadness that seems to lie at your feet like a shadow, you suddenly and strangely feel perfectly okay.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Kevin Brockmeier [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

Magic<\/strong><\/p>\n

We were talking about magic
\nas we drove along a crowded
\nSunday highway<\/p>\n

when the whirl of wings
\nmade me turn
\nand a flock of geese
\nflew over our car
\nso low I could see
\ntheir feet tucked under them.<\/p>\n

For a moment the rustle
\nof their presence over our heads
\nobscured everything<\/p>\n

and as they disappeared
\nyou said,
\n“I see what you mean.”<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Jenifer (“Sudie”) Nostrand [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

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

The Day You Looked Upon Me As A Stranger<\/strong><\/p>\n

I had left you at the gate to buy a newspaper
\nand on my way back stopped at a bank of monitors
\nto check the status of our flight to London.<\/p>\n

That was when you noticed a middle-aged man
\nin a brown jacket and the green short-brimmed cap
\nI’d bought for the trip. It wasn’t until I turned<\/p>\n

and walked toward you that you saw him as me.
\nWhat a nice-looking man, you told me you\u2019d thought—
\nmaybe European, with that unusual cap…<\/p>\n

somebody, you said, you might want to meet.
\nWe both laughed. And it aroused my vanity
\nthat you had been attracted to me afresh,<\/p>\n

with no baggage. A kind of affirmation.
\nBut doubt seeped into that crevice of time
\nwhen you had looked upon me as a stranger,<\/p>\n

and I wondered if you’d pictured him
\nas someone more intriguing than I could be
\nafter decades of marriage, all my foibles known.<\/p>\n

Did you have one of those under-the-radar daydreams
\nof meeting him, hitting it off, and getting
\non a plane together? In those few moments,<\/p>\n

did you imagine a whole life with him?
\nAnd were you disappointed, or glad, to find
\nit was only the life you already had?<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Jeffrey Harrison [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

“I’ve a set of instructions at home which open up great realms for the improvement of technical writing. They begin, ‘Assembly of Japanese bicycle require great peace of mind.'”<\/p>\n

This produces more laughter, but Sylvia and Gennie and the sculptor give sharp looks of recognition.<\/p>\n

“That’s a good<\/em> instruction,” the sculptor says. Gennie nods too.<\/p>\n

“That’s kind of why I saved it,” I say.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Robert M. Pirsig [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

A Portrait of a Dog as an Older Guy<\/strong><\/p>\n

When his owner died in 2000 and a new family
\nmoved into their Moscow apartment,
\nhe went to live with mongrels in the park.
\nIn summer there was plenty of food, kids
\noften left behind sandwiches, hotdogs and other stuff.
\nHe didn\u2019t have a big appetite,
\nstill missing his old guy.
\nHe too was old, the ladies no longer excited him,
\nand he didn\u2019t burn calories chasing them around.
\nThen winter came and the little folk abandoned the park.
\nThe idea of eating from the trash occurred to him
\nbut the minute he started rummaging in the
\noverturned garbage container, a voice
\nin his head said: “No, Rex!”
\nThe remnants of a good upbringing lower
\nour natural survival skills.<\/p>\n

I met him again in the early spring of 2001.
\nHe looked terrific. Turning gray became him.
\nHis dark shepherd eyes were perfectly bright,
\nlike those of a puppy.
\nI asked him how he sustained himself
\nin this new free-market situation
\nwhen even the human species suffered from malnutrition.
\nIn response he told me his story;
\nhow at first he thought that life without his man
\nwasn\u2019t worth it, how those
\nwho petted him when he was a pet
\nthen turned away from him, and how one night
\nhe had a revelation.<\/p>\n

His man came to him in his sleep,
\ntapped him on his skinny neck and said:
\n“Let\u2019s go shopping!” So the next morning he took the subway
\nand went to the street market
\nwhere they used to go together every Sunday and where
\nvendors recognized him and fed him
\nto his heart\u2019s content.
\n“Perhaps you should move closer to that area?”
\nI ventured.—“No, I\u2019ll stay here,” he sighed,
\n“oldies shouldn\u2019t change their topography. That\u2019s
\nwhat my man said.”
\nIndeed, he sounded like one himself.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Katia Kapovich [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[Image: This is apparently not — as I’d thought — an observatory in Chile. Any of them. Rather, it’s atop Mauna Kea, in Hawaii. (More info here.) Duh. Photo by user Alan L, on Flickr; used here under a Creative Commons License. (Click image to enlarge.)] From whiskey river (italicized lines): Such Singing in the […]<\/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":[247,1393,95,5,251,372],"tags":[595,1344,2390,3446,4011,4012,4013,4014,4015,4016],"class_list":{"0":"post-16585","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-ruminations","7":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","8":"category-science-medicine","9":"category-06_writing","10":"category-poetry-writing_cat","11":"category-style-and-craft","12":"tag-mary-oliver","13":"tag-surprise","14":"tag-astronomy","15":"tag-robert-m-pirsig","16":"tag-kevin-brockmeier","17":"tag-jenifer-nostrand","18":"tag-sudie-nostrand","19":"tag-jeffrey-harrison","20":"tag-katia-kapovich","21":"tag-satisfaction","22":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-4jv","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16585","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=16585"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16585\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":16592,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16585\/revisions\/16592"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=16585"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=16585"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=16585"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}