{"id":8294,"date":"2011-09-09T11:31:28","date_gmt":"2011-09-09T15:31:28","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=8294"},"modified":"2020-05-20T09:46:45","modified_gmt":"2020-05-20T13:46:45","slug":"something-in-the-air","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2011\/09\/something-in-the-air\/","title":{"rendered":"Something in the Air"},"content":{"rendered":"

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

[Image: at left, all the Earth’s water collected into a single ball, about 865 miles in diameter; at right, all the Earth’s atmosphere in a single ball, about 1240 miles in diameter, assuming sea-level pressure. (<\/em>source<\/a>)]<\/em><\/p>\n

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

One final paragraph of advice: Do not burn yourself out. Be as I am — a reluctant enthusiast… a part time crusader, a half-hearted fanatic. Save the other half of yourselves and your lives for pleasure and adventure. It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it is still there. So get out there and mess around with your friends, ramble out yonder and explore the forests, encounter the grizz, climb the mountains. Run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for a while and contemplate the precious stillness, that lovely, mysterious and awesome space. Enjoy yourselves, keep your brain in your head and your head firmly attached to your body, the body active and alive, and I promise you this much: I promise you this one sweet victory over our enemies, over those deskbound people with their hearts in a safe deposit box and their eyes hypnotized by desk calculators. I promise you this: you will outlive the bastards.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

All beings are encompassed within one all-encompassing great energy: So I understood from the coolness of this morning’s passing breeze.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

There is something to be learned from a rainstorm. When meeting with a sudden shower, you try not to get wet and run quickly along the road. But doing such things as passing under the eaves of houses, you still get wet. When you are resolved from the beginning, you will not be perplexed, though you will still get the same soaking. This understanding extends to everything.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

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

Green Pear Tree in September<\/strong><\/p>\n

On a hill overlooking the Rock River
\nmy father’s pear tree shimmers,
\nin perfect peace,
\ncovered with hundreds of ripe pears
\nwith pert tops, plump bottoms,
\nand long curved leaves.
\nUntil the green-haloed tree
\nrose up and sang hello,
\nI had forgotten…
\nHe planted it twelve years ago,
\nwhen he was seventy-three,
\nso that in September
\nhe could stroll down
\nwith the sound of the crickets
\nrising and falling around him,
\nand stand, naked to the waist,
\nslightly bent, sucking juice
\nfrom a ripe pear.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

…and:<\/p>\n

An uncanny fog that morning lay all along the route across the northern New Jersey marshes to New York City. It was an impossibly comprehensive fog, a fog to embarrass any meteorologist who might have predicted mere everyday fog; a fog to gauze a landscape somewhere else in the world, at some other time, but not here and at this point in history, which required mountainous grey entities to be angular and solid and above all man-made; a fog that roiled across the marsh grass beneath the elevated roadbed of the Amtrak rails, roiled further across the Hudson and collided with a similar fog spreading into Manhattan from the East River, piling up in a thick granite bedrock of fog from which the upper stories of skyscrapers protruded like stalagmites; a fog grey as the name of a familiar object suddenly lost to forgetfulness, impenetrable as an experience never even imagined, much less prepared for. Even as Larry watched from the window of the train, the fog seemed to mount higher and higher as though reaching up with a sword-swallower’s grey lips to gulp the uppermost tips of the city. Then with a roar and a flash of darkness it all disappeared as the train plunged into the tunnel beneath the river.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(JES, Seems to Fit<\/em>)<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

Astronomy Lesson<\/strong><\/p>\n

The two boys lean out on the railing
\nof the front porch, looking up.
\nBehind them they can hear their mother
\nin one room watching “Name That Tune,”
\ntheir father in another watching
\na Walter Cronkite Special, the TVs
\nturned up high and higher till they
\neach can\u2019t hear the other\u2019s show.
\nThe older boy is saying that no matter
\nhow many stars you counted there were
\nalways more stars beyond them
\nand beyond the stars black space
\ngoing on forever in all directions,
\nso that even if you flew up
\nmillions and millions of years
\nyou’d be no closer to the end
\nof it than they were now
\nhere on the porch on Tuesday night
\nin the middle of summer.
\nThe younger boy can think somehow
\nonly of his mother’s closet,
\nhow he likes to crawl in back
\nbehind the heavy drapery
\nof shirts, nightgowns and dresses,
\ninto the sheer black where
\nno matter how close he holds
\nhis hand up to his face
\nthere’s no hand ever, no
\nface to hold it to.<\/p>\n

A woman from another street
\nis calling to her stray cat or dog,
\nclapping and whistling it in,
\nand farther away deep in the city
\nsirens now and again
\nveer in and out of hearing.<\/p>\n

The boys edge closer, shoulder
\nto shoulder now, sad Ptolemies,
\nthe older looking up, the younger
\nas he thinks back straight ahead
\ninto the black leaves of the maple
\nwhere the street lights flicker
\nlike another watery skein of stars.
\n“Name That Tune” and Walter Cronkite
\nstruggle like rough water
\nto rise above each other.
\nAnd the woman now comes walking
\nin a nightgown down the middle
\nof the street, clapping and
\nwhistling, while the older boy
\ngoes on about what light years
\nare, and solar winds, black holes,
\nand how the sun is cooling
\nand what will happen to
\nthem all when it is cold.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

\"\"<\/a>In the picture at right, Russian-born, Israeli-raised, Canadian chanteuse Sophie Milman<\/a> lounges back-to-back with herself (click that photo for a larger version). In the song below (from 2007’s Make Someone Happy<\/em>), she regards the space between two people and finds it not at all empty:<\/p>\n\n

Lyrics:<\/p>\n

Something in the Air Between Us<\/strong>
\n(by Marc Jordan; performance by Sophie Milman)<\/em><\/p>\n

Sand and stars
\nThe secret life of planet Mars
\nSomewhere I can feel the sun
\nThere’s something in the air between us<\/p>\n

Let it rain
\nNothing ever stays the same
\nYour tears are falling in my dreams
\nThere’s something in the air between us<\/p>\n

I’ve been soaring like a cloud
\nI call your name out loud
\nIn taxis and in towns
\nAnd I have walked upon the beach
\nA rainbow within reach
\nThe borderlines of love are gone<\/p>\n

Drive me home
\nThe night is burning gypsy red
\nI hear your voice inside my head
\nThere’s something in the air between us<\/p>\n

In my room
\nThe algebra of loving you
\nIs measured out in coffee spoons
\nThere’s something in the air between us<\/p>\n

And when the night plays your guitar
\nI want to be with you
\nNo matter where you are
\nAnd when the cars and lights go by
\nI’ll shine there in your eyes
\nUntil the moon and stars collide<\/p>\n

And when the night plays your guitar
\nI want to be with you
\nNo matter where you are
\nAnd when the cars and lights go by
\nI’ll shine there in your eyes
\nUntil the moon and stars collide<\/p>\n

Something in the air between us
\nSomething in the air between us
\nSomething in the air between us…<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[Image: at left, all the Earth’s water collected into a single ball, about 865 miles in diameter; at right, all the Earth’s atmosphere in a single ball, about 1240 miles in diameter, assuming sea-level pressure. (source)] From whiskey river: One final paragraph of advice: Do not burn yourself out. Be as I am — a […]<\/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":[247,1393,95,405,74,251,515],"tags":[2512,2570,2571,2572,2573,2574],"class_list":{"0":"post-8294","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-nature","10":"category-music","11":"category-poetry-writing_cat","12":"category-grail","13":"tag-edward-abbey","14":"tag-mumon-ekai","15":"tag-yamamoto-tsunetomo","16":"tag-freya-manfred","17":"tag-alan-shapiro","18":"tag-sophie-milman","19":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-29M","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8294","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=8294"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8294\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":22753,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8294\/revisions\/22753"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8294"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8294"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8294"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}