Observations (in the raw)
I started training this week for this year's Bolder Boulder. It's a 10k held in Boulder, Colorado every Memorial Day. It will be my tenth. Did my first in 1998. I walked it, then, but still it was a very big deal. And yes, I've missed a few in the years in between. Last year I ran it and I asked myself if it was my last, but here I am again this year, training. There will come a day, I assume, when I can't run anymore, but I'm not there yet. Still, I find myself battling with what being 61 should look like. This battle creeps into my art, as well. I tell myself, I should already be there. Even though, I'm not sure where there is. Besides, is there really a there? Isn't it really only here that we should be concerned with?
Another bird hit the window this morning. I watched him die. My wife heard of a friend who passed from breast cancer this week. So much death everywhere you look. I'm reading a book called Many Alarm Clocks, by Sy Safransky, the editor and publisher of The Sun magazine. He touches a lot on the subject of death, of impermanance, but he also talks of life in a reassuring way. We're all in the same boat. Even if we can't truly understand it, it's how it all works.
One morning this week, I finished Yoga just as the sun rose. It was a glorious moment.
Pat Greenwell is an artist. A painter and sometimes poet, he has been searching the New Mexico desert for a couple of years now, looking for lost possibilities and probable intentions.
"...mostly stream-of-consciousness stuff, you know...