(Click highlighted texts)
Last Thursday morning the 26th of March I got pied as part of a going away tradition in the place I used to work at. Its a strange concept, getting used to not working. I have lots to do here to get ready and I have to begin today. After breakfast.
I don't know how the pie-ing tradition came into being. Other stores in the chain do not celebrate leaving the job in such a way, and in the store I was working only the night crew department does. And if you've been there a while and then leave you get pied at some point in you last night.
Don't trust anyone that night.
keep on truckin'
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
For My Steps Alone
(click on highlighted text for photographs.)
This has been my last winter on the hill here and I am enjoying the annual return of spring in a way I could not enjoy it before because I am leaving. I plan to return here to this place that has been home to me since 12/26/1973. But I doubt it will ever be home to me again. When I return I will come for the memories: they will teach me the truth of the present.
The song of the red winged black bird is a defining marker of the change of seasons. 'Purple-dee' they sing at sunrise. My ex told me the words of their song.
The following has happened in the last few days. The warm weather has coaxed entities from the soil. The blossom below is a flower from a root that my ex wife decades ago, planted with her hands and which we enjoyed together for a time. That experience has passed with the continuing seasons. I still enjoy the flowers without her.
I found these in the yard. daffodils and tulips. They still have something to say.
The crocus blossoms were barely there yesterday. (click to enlarge them)
They arrive every year right on schedule when the winter goes through its changes.
What do you make of that?
I've given up the idea that the natural world represents a stupid, mindless, machine like process working to an inevitable result as the knowledge of western science has lead us to believe. I am certain there is a creative intelligence motivating this planet and the rest of what is. I call it God. I refuse to define it. I refuse to play politics with the notion or make a religion out of it.
Check this out.
Meditate on this.
Text and video of sunrise along with still photographs Copyright 2009 by David H. Roche
This has been my last winter on the hill here and I am enjoying the annual return of spring in a way I could not enjoy it before because I am leaving. I plan to return here to this place that has been home to me since 12/26/1973. But I doubt it will ever be home to me again. When I return I will come for the memories: they will teach me the truth of the present.
The song of the red winged black bird is a defining marker of the change of seasons. 'Purple-dee' they sing at sunrise. My ex told me the words of their song.
The following has happened in the last few days. The warm weather has coaxed entities from the soil. The blossom below is a flower from a root that my ex wife decades ago, planted with her hands and which we enjoyed together for a time. That experience has passed with the continuing seasons. I still enjoy the flowers without her.
I found these in the yard. daffodils and tulips. They still have something to say.
The crocus blossoms were barely there yesterday. (click to enlarge them)
They arrive every year right on schedule when the winter goes through its changes.
What do you make of that?
I've given up the idea that the natural world represents a stupid, mindless, machine like process working to an inevitable result as the knowledge of western science has lead us to believe. I am certain there is a creative intelligence motivating this planet and the rest of what is. I call it God. I refuse to define it. I refuse to play politics with the notion or make a religion out of it.
Check this out.
Meditate on this.
Text and video of sunrise along with still photographs Copyright 2009 by David H. Roche
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About Me
- The Shaman
- A practitioner of the art of living with the intent of learning how to die without fear.