Look up from the deep, the static

Gold Line, Chinatown; Winter 2019
Gold Line, Chinatown; Winter 2019

All you see is what was,

what is
apparently,
enough.

Lungs inhaling, people slipping
past a line.

Space collapsing on itself;
time churning, slipping, sulking.

Light pulsing,
passing,
placing,

itself

on a face it’s seen before, or a trillion of them

Only to leave them,
fading endlessly
into darkness.

Or what’s called darkness,
death, or a dead end. The abyss.

A dark point; or a point within itself.

A point not going anywhere,
Lying still in the middle of space.

A point trapped within itself, frozen,
suspended, sucked of all its time.

A point alive only when it’s named, but at no other time. No other point in time.

No other–
What’s the point

Getting larger and larger into emptiness.

Universe unfurling into a big empty nothing.

All forms of life fading, disintegrating from light, proceeding into the darkness

Fragmenting into space

outer,
empty,
dead
space.

Just space, taking space, creating space,
transforming

trans (taking)

gone.

space.

Lying on the ruins of a billion other dead ends just like it.

Nearly obliterated like them.

Nearly breathless, though still heaving.

still funneling consciousness into this

percolating information into this

transmitting noise into

this.

Pointlessness until here. Endless roads. Until now.

Breaking ground. Broken.

A howl throttling from eons away

The cells of a million dead bodies,

Spiraling through the blood of these hands,

Flourishing in these

Opened eyes:

A broken nation. Long lost tribe(s).

An ancient wisdom, still here with you:

How tomorrow we rise again.

Look up from the deep, the static

All of time and space,

The stars.

They’re still ours.

J.T.

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In Stillness

As I look out at the horizon, I see waves that were once familiar replaced by new ones. As much as I might want to find the old waves again, I can’t recover something taken by the tide. And yet, I saw something interesting the other day when I read that ‘water has a perfect memory’.

I’ve also read that more than half of the human body is made up of water, and this is fascinating. Every day somewhere there is a new discussion about whether our lives are held by our own hands, or in a destiny somewhere beyond our control, but perhaps it’s like water and the human body.

No matter what I might call water, my body knows that it needs water to live, to refresh itself, and to nourish other life. In turn, whether I view water as a resource given to me by the universe or as a gift from God, the simple and daily physical act of refilling my body with water is itself the purest form of honoring the life-force.

In this same sense, whether the world looks like a broken conglomerate of water and land, or whether it looks like a perfect sphere in the midst of a dark galaxy, the world is still just being, and sometimes being is just enough. I can’t change how the tide treats me, but I can flow with the tide, and this is where the magic lies.

It’s only when I let go that I find myself let in by the world which I struggle so much to understand. When I just walk into the water, my life reconnects with the originality of everything, and it is a brilliant waterfall through time and space. Everything is there.

Barnsdall Park

IMG_0363
It sure has been some time since I saw Los Feliz’s most coveted green space, but its breathtaking bark looks as young as ever.