{"id":18160,"date":"2016-06-17T08:54:19","date_gmt":"2016-06-17T12:54:19","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=18160"},"modified":"2016-06-18T08:55:36","modified_gmt":"2016-06-18T12:55:36","slug":"present-but-unaccounted-for","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2016\/06\/present-but-unaccounted-for\/","title":{"rendered":"Present But Unaccounted For"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"'Absence,'<\/a><\/p>\n

[Image: “Absence,” by Derrick Tyson on Flickr<\/a>. (Used here under a Creative Commons license.)]<\/em><\/p>\n

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

Sometimes I get mail for people who lived in my home before I did, and sometimes my own body seems like a home through which successive people have passed like tenants, leaving behind memories, habits, scars, skills, and other souvenirs.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Rebecca Solnit [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

We are not idealized wild things.<\/p>\n

We are imperfect mortal beings, aware of that mortality even as we push it away, failed by our very complication, so wired that when we mourn our losses we also mourn, for better or for worse, ourselves. As we were. As we are no longer. As we will one day not be at all.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Joan Didion [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

Standing Alone<\/strong><\/p>\n

Empty skies. And beyond, one hawk.
\nBetween river banks, two white gulls
\nDrift and flutter. Fit for an easy kill,
\nTo and fro, they follow contentment.<\/p>\n

Dew shrouds grasses. Spiderwebs are still
\nNot gathered in. The purpose driving
\nHeaven become human now, I stand where
\nUncounted sorrows begin beginning alone.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Tu Fu [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

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

Night<\/strong><\/p>\n

1<\/p>\n

A crescent moon lulls in clear night.
\nHalf abandoned to sleep, lampwicks char.
\nDeer wander, uneasy among howling peaks,
\nAnd falling leaves startle cicadas.<\/p>\n

For a moment, I remember the east coast,
\nMince treats, a boat out in falling snow…
\nTribal songs rifle the stars. Here,
\nAt the edge of heaven, I inhabit my absence.<\/p>\n

2<\/p>\n

Flutes mourn on the city wall. Dusk:
\nThe last birds cross our village graveyard.
\nAnd after decades of battle, their war-tax
\nTaken, people return in deepening night.<\/p>\n

Trees darken again cliffs. Leaves fall.
\nThe river of stars faintly skirting beyond
\nBorderlands, I gaze at a tilting Dipper,
\nA thin moon—and magpies finish with flight.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Tu Fu [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

Awakening,\u00a0 or\u00a0\u00a0 enlightenment,\u00a0\u00a0 or\u00a0\u00a0 liberation\u00a0 is\u00a0\u00a0 nothing,\u00a0 absolutely\u00a0\u00a0 nothing\u00a0 other\u00a0 than apperceiving profoundly, deeply, intuitively that what we are — that-which-is-here-now<\/em> — is the absolute absence of whatever is imaginable or cognizable; which is the same as the absolute presence of the unknowable potentiality.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

…and:<\/p>\n

Psalm: First, Forgive the Silence<\/strong><\/p>\n

First forgive the silence
\nThat answers prayer,<\/span>
\nThen forgive the prayer
\nThat stains the silence.<\/span><\/p>\n

Excuse the absence
\nThat feels like presence,<\/span>
\nThen excuse the feeling
\nThat insists on presence.<\/span><\/p>\n

Pardon the delay
\nOf revelation,<\/span>
\nThen ask pardon for revealing
\nYour impatience.<\/span><\/p>\n

Forgive God
\nFor being only a word,<\/span>
\nThen ask God to forgive
\nThe betrayal of language.<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Mark Jarman [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

[Image: “Absence,” by Derrick Tyson on Flickr. (Used here under a Creative Commons license.)] From whiskey river: Sometimes I get mail for people who lived in my home before I did, and sometimes my own body seems like a home through which successive people have passed like tenants, leaving behind memories, habits, scars, skills, and […]<\/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":"Rebecca Solnit, Joan Didion, Ferris Bueller, et al.: 'Present But Unaccounted For'","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[247,1393,53,250,5,36,251,4159],"tags":[1514,3373,3884,4290,4331,4332,4333,4334],"class_list":{"0":"post-18160","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-ruminations","7":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","8":"category-movies-media","9":"category-art","10":"category-06_writing","11":"category-reading","12":"category-poetry-writing_cat","13":"category-essays","14":"tag-joan-didion","15":"tag-absence","16":"tag-rebecca-solnit","17":"tag-mark-jarman","18":"tag-tu-fu","19":"tag-nisargatta","20":"tag-ferris-bueller","21":"tag-presence","22":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-4IU","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18160","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=18160"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18160\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":18166,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18160\/revisions\/18166"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=18160"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=18160"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=18160"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}