Delighting in the slow progression of the quick seasons here in Alaska. Taking time to enjoy the company of my dogs and work on appreciating what is good in life. Warm tea, a cozy cabin, the companionship of some of the most beautifully unconditionally loving creatures on earth, and doing what I can to make them happy and nurture their joy. It feels good to take care of them. What could be better?
(Balsam Poplar, Poplar balsamafera)
glorious seeingthe winds and rain were warm todayI joyfully soaked myself through three timesjust couldn’t stay out of it,I whooped when the waves sprayed mesomething so awesome should not be experiencedbehind walls that keep the stinging hard rain from the skinthat hold back the wild winds from whipping the hair around the facethe brims of my caps all dripped dark before I returned each timewhen I hold my flat belly, I wonder what it would feel liketo have life moving and growing therewould he really have come and changed everything so much?my friends tell me Nothe narcissist can’t love that wayhe could never find a mate in any type of intellectual equalthough he may want to believe that he canthe narcissist is more comfortable with empty words and flat emotionshe always seeks to find that perfect sociopaththe narcissist needs the emotionless flatterer,the smooth tongue of the cold, selfish heartI have no need for ass kissers and big raw empty egosI have no need for flat emotions and constricted posturingI can’t relate to those who can’t feelbut I can show them how it feels to feelthey don’t see their sad disadvantage…that they rob themselves of joythey don’t see the real advantage lies dormant and abandoned within themselves,naked and emptied, gasping for that first breathhow can anyone be so full of sniping viperous wordsall meant for those they perceive to hateyet all pointed directly at themselves,tearing open their hearts and minds for all to seehow can anyone hate half and love half?how can anyone be so divided?why bathe others in ignorant monkey-minded waste products,foolishness and wasting the days away?until the coat of days is goneand then they must cover themselveswith these fallen leavesand hide in fear and shame in the gardenfrom that perfect voicestrangely, every layer of meaning makes perfect senseeverything they say in trivialityhas more import than they knowthe conscious mind doesn’t know where they arebut they answer correctly when asked, whether they see this or notso I dance in the charnal groundswith a necklace of skulls around my neckto remove their burdensmaybe they can feel somethingso fearfully real and so terribly wonderful
so vulnerable like a floweropening up in loveso they can close their pecking beaksand silence their raucous squawks of derisionand drink this ecstatic joy of simple union.I want them to be happyto love one another…to be what they need to beand find what they need to findit’s okay if I don’t get what I want.I love them all the same.they’re still perfect to meeach has its function and its placeit’s all right here after alljust a matter of seeing, gloriously seeing–Caroline Kroll
winter is ready
just simple peace
and a love that ate away all wanting and selfhood a long time ago
a love that eats thoughts, and leaves mind
a love that eats fruit, knows the leaves
and leaves bones
that flesh is always there
hung up to age,
every night it startles me as I walk outside
the night world is an ecstatic place
where we remove those burdens of the world
one demon at a time,
killing, subduing, and evolving
in the charnal grounds
all fresh and dripping now
the winepress is ready
with the new rain
and cold, so cold
I am ready for another dark blue winter
alone with my dogs
high on shelter, low on food
high on fuel, low on strife
The fall colors are out now and a bunch of the bright golden leaves have already blown off of the trees. These pictures are from the day before yesterday. The paper birches and the quaking aspens are colorful in the autumn here. So, yes, it’s officially fall in Lake Clark National Park, on the West Side of the Cook Inlet.
being gonetomorrow I shall bring you here to this small copse
to show you the tree bones
and the small bright leaves that cling
l find it comforting to know that you are not here
that you will never be here with me
to see these lands that I mademaybe I should have named itsomething other than paradiseso many people are afraid of deaththey don’t want to die in life and loveand see this small breath of joythat opens and opens intogates and gatespeople fear being gone
gate gate paragate parasamgate bodhi svaha
Pink forget-me-nots started to bloom again, and that was a joyful little surprise. I have a brown thumb these days because there were some problems with the well, and am without a good source of water for this summer, so wild plants do best here lately. It’s very hard to get a good picture of these, as they wash out and appear white in pictures for some reason.
The wind blew over 100 miles per hour today and tossed a lot of things around the yard. It blew the beach chairs up from the beach 50 feet just in time for the tide to come up over where they used to sit.
winter comesIt’s autumn now,and those promises of love never to be forgottenare mostly lost like the leaves on the treesspread out, arrayed in a mosaic on the wet groundso we gather up the pieces that he left behindcast the bread upon the waters so that we will find it after this coat of daysyes many, and feed the multitudesthe clouds left behind with spring’s angry, empty words,arrows all aimed at his own heartto kill before he could die in loveaimed at himself, to destroy his own fountainaimed to take on the horrors of the worldand carry them like an angry rashhe tore open his own breastshowed me the malignant monsters he kept insidethere the depth of his fear and pain, his anger and poisonous thoughtsall revealedthen ran awaybefore I could excise thembefore I could even take out my kartrikawhat can anyone dobut watch leaves fall on another autumn and listen to the wind and rain?
I didn’t want him to gobut we never understood each otherhis words had many meanings,some good some badI had too many answers for every layer of meaningtoo many questionsI don’t want anything anymorelet’s see what is left there to work withwho can let their hearts break, and break again, and just break open?who can pour molten love through the cracked shell?who can shed their little realities and rectify that craven emptiness that asks for fillingwith a real emptiness that is suchness and joy?I didn’t think it was so rarified an experience when I started this.–Caroline Kroll
This afternoon the winds created a storm surge that carved an embankment at the top of the beach, pushing the already high tides up into the grass. The dogs rebuked the sea with barks at first, but then they decided that they really loved the waves. It was fun.