Hi Erin, Thanks for visiting my blog and posting. I apologize for not being as proactive in my comments as you, even though I follow your posts regularly. Your combination of photography and poetry is so far beyond me that I often feel like I am writing a technical journal! On that point. The Mohawks had lived on the land, in the Valley for more than thousand years. It was the French and English that saw the strategic value. It is a geographic connection between you and me.
dan, it's incredibly sad that a part of being man is recognizing strategic benefit in such an incredible setting, and yet as soon as there are culturally at least two groups, this is what happens, isn't it? as to commenting - it doesn't work that way, dan:) comment only when and if you are moved to. i'm learning that this is the best way to approach blogging.be well and the best on your new project.xoerin
This is observation, absorption. The second part of the statement ... is it all? If someone isn't listening, does it matter?Of course, it does, or why else must we go out to it, it, in and of itself sublime? And yet ... it seems to be our listening that matters.Or not.The water lily says both "come hither" and "be at rest." There is so so much to learn from it. "I am here if you come, but I am complete even if you do not."
i laugh out loud at your or not. it only matters to us. but we are the ones who wrote this poem. the world writes its own poem. i don't know that man even exists inside of it. perhaps only beside it.(referring to the world as such in the photograph) to be this present, ruth, to observe this much, to be this absorbed, it is a cleansing. what is it a cleansing of? ego. maybe even, ironically, consciousness itself. don't you know those times of absolute absorption when you forget your body, forget your mind, while looking through the lens? what happens then? a kind of transcendence. only the natural world exists (and again this is ironic as we are present doing the work of seeing it!), only the world we pivot around with our cameras, the world beyond words. xoerin
"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))