Frozen No.

 I am alive while the ice caps still exist.

It is likely that if I were writing this in ten years, the situation would be quite different.

But we have chosen to sit and watch as the climate change event that will define the future states of this world roll ahead unabated by human action.

As I look out from the mountain heights here in the cordillera of Guanancaste, I can see the coast. The edges of the land where it meets the vastness of the sea, the Gulf of Nicoya, the southern Costa Rican coast are a mere 70 kilometers away as the uraca flies.

I can imagine today what my eyes will likely behold in the coming decade. It will be shocking.The rising oceans will reclaim this thin strip of isthmus bit by bit. I will watch as the coastline changes, as the sea water comes further inland, as the already scarce drinking water at lower elevations becomes saline and unusable and I will notice the population density increase as these domestic refugees seek a new life further up slope. They will need water, housing and work. 

Water we are blessed with. The montane aquifers hold a great quantity of water, the cloud forests and alpine forests seep with moisture, creeks and rivers issue forth waterfalls, rapids and natural springs. It is fascinating to think that all this water we have comes from the monsoon rains of the wet season and that the earth stores the water away, safe, pure and deliciously life supporting just waiting for us to tap it. It is still more fascinating, though in another vein, that I will live to possibly drink glacial meltwater. The sound of tropical rain will be the tears of disappeared icecaps. Icebergs will be visible on the open seas in quantity. Up North, the land will bounce up and back from the cold lockdown of millenia. The unleashing of arctic waters will turn drier northern areas into verdant zones and all the wildlife that lived in former frozen habitats will go extinct.

The water we will drink will be brought to us, not in soft showers and sprinkles. The hydrologic cycle will ramp up. The volumes of water that will fall from the skies will make Noah our ideal man. I wonder how we will feel drinking the waters that we melted so we could drive to the corner store to buy soda and softdrinks...

I would like to stop it, but the arctic expanses are ruled by our refusal to take this change seriously. Our vast frozen no.

Lang-wich

 Words, these things I am using to communicate to you...You...whatever that can mean.

Meaning is in the word, or is the meaning in the thing in which the word participates?

Esoteric philological concerns only cause us to lose sight of what matters in words.

What matters is the idea that the word encodes. The cat is black.

The politician is corrupt. The night is cold. I am writing words to express my ideas.

The matter is also tied up with the definition of a word. It is not the description of the being that is defined. It is the concept of the being as we define it, as we choose to categorize and characterize it. A being is not the word we use to describe it. But once named , even nothingness cannot escape.

The use of words is treacherous, perilous and perfidious. If we cannot remember that the word is our chosen way of engaging the being under consideration, then that being will disappear in the word, the name, the label we define it with. The being will disappear and be replaced by what we say of it, about it.

Clouding comprehension of perceptual awareness, words erect an artificial to describe the actual. The actual is then controlled, we dare think, and so we are masters of reality. But language is a false equivalence. Reality is slippery, mucotic and slimey as a hagfish. Our words are like gloves, but even they cannot hold fast to reality.

If we wish to rediscover the world in it's being, the words will have to be put back where they belong. Hermeneutics use words to grasp at the divine,  the folly of defining a thing by referring to it's name, "God", defining being by saying that it is only what it evidently is beyond, and therefore, is not...this is the limit of any language.

The limit is the extent of our understanding. Our mind, our episteme, the ways of acquiring knowledge are dependent on nomenclature. But what is there before the word? How does the world interact with us before we can name it? How can a body know how to live before it has made it's first verbal utterance?

Eachday & Everyday

 With gratitude, optimism becomes sustainable.

Engage the sanctity of service. 

Commanding Earl Grey

 Leave me alone. Words that should never be spoken.

It is a form of madness to pretend to isolation.

The world is all that is and that is all you feel as well. 

How does one escape oneself if not by madness?

But even then, disenfranchised from reason

I cannot be removed from what I feel, unless

a lethal act is my choice. 

Suicidal loonies inside us have to make arguments,

present some form of manifesto,a structure

even dilapidated,  a man made ruin is architecure...

Declare the madness, act it out, yet you escape nowhere

you and I lost in the mist we make to shroud our desire to

not be responsible for what we feel, yet we feel what we are

and denial is not a luxury afforded even to the mad.

Leave me to be me, 

no lonelier than I am when in the company

of a mad hatter at tea.

Epitaffy

 Dyed/died-in-the-wool

No man for all seasons

irregular brick through thin and thick  

His tireling jaded sea of red, seeing red

madding(contrast to true-blue Loyal, faithful; steadfast, staunch, unwavering) fools 

"I am constant as the northern star 

true-fixed and resting quality  

There is no fellow in the firmament could deceive you better"  

Confirmed inveterate liar; complete, thorough, unmitigated, out-and-out

hard-and-fast disaster... Ironclad, binding, strict, rigid, unbending

 This is no man, no man for any season except one of pain, deception, intrigue and chaos...

false=red, inconstant, dim and unknowing, a clan of liars

Fear is the stone that drags them down

Above the cool blue waters no longer part

but close as one surface, drowning out the din

inconstant, traitorous, demanding...failing. 

The ocean never gives up it's dead.

 

Constancy

                                                                         Continuous

 

                                                                          awareness

of my life

as me.

I am told it is called

the soul.

Inside us all, (except for animals?

But aren't we animals?)

it connects us

I am told

to God'

Universal Mind

Substance

All  -

 still my strongest feeling

is of being alone.

Mysteriously me,  

you're uniquely you

them thwarting they

(unnoticed us

wishing we)

obviously other

than the problem

I can be 

for myself.

In doubt

no soul

just my identity

definitely not a cow

or a bumblebee

or the tree on which I hang

myself out to dry.

If what I feel is real -

as real as one can reasonably expect

in a universe of uncertainty -

then why tie me to divinity?

When experience of my nature 

is full proof of my being

and being is all we are

then why play at shadows

why erect "altar egos"

in fantasy realms

where naive wishes

become desire pernicious

to live for forever

because I fear

to be now?

Myday

 

Fridays always feel like Saturdays.

 
I also have found that Thursdays 

so resemble Friday that 

Wednesday,

the middle of the week, 

even numbers on both sides, 

if days are numbers...

doesn't seem like such a bump.

Then, the third number is Tuesday?

Twosday? If it's only the second day of the week, 

then it is only a day old, nearly fresh

and ought be full of promise...

Like Monday, so regular and solid, mundane

We can spend our day Monday-in'

with so much to look forward to

and so little to hold us back

from Sunday, the weekend's end

the day after Saturday...

and still it feels more like Friday.

I could just make my own calendar

and not be confused by the 7 sisters

I'd never forget what day it is

as it would always be Myday.