This page will hold all the past journal entries that first appear on the home page of the Wracklineblog. Each will have the date on which they appeared on the blog, as well as the original date on which I made the entry in the journals.
Blog date: 11/16/2017 Journal Entry: 11/10/2017
I was waiting outside of the dressing room (while my wife was trying on clothes). The saleslady, who I would guess to
be in her 50s, passed by me, saying “I remember you two from other visits”. She touched my arm with two outstretched fingers -
just a simple little contact as she glided by - and I caught a glimpse of her slender fingers with tendons stretched under soft flesh.
Perhaps the background music playing was quiet for once, and I found myself deeply moved by this simple act, gently imagining how the bare bones of the hand would look after the passage of time and flesh. Old men do this, sometimes, being a bit more aware of mortality and time's passage.
My vision failed a bit as the force of the thoughts continued to move me. “You should take note of all those little touches, boy”, I sermonized to myself. “They should be acknowledged, if only in a small way, for this is how we give Life to each other during our days on Earth.” (Usually, if I have enough warning, I will clasp my hand over the hand which touches me – flesh upon flesh – but the saleslady crossed me up – she was too quick for me.)
The words continued: “This is how we support each other, one Compassion touching the other Compassion, and these are the things that somehow abide, drifting over the Earth and among the stars, beyond the time of the flesh on the bones.”
It is the spirit that quickens John 6:63
The "Teepee Dreams" tea and the music
Blog date: 11/20/2017 Journal Entry: 11/23/2008
I am sitting in my chair listening to Deuter’s exquisite music just before going to bed. But there is a nagging desire for some
“Teepee Dreams” tea, which put me in a trance the night before. (Author's Note: "Teepee Dreams" tea was available back
then, and contained chamomile, valerian, and other calming herbs. It was similiar to Celestial Seasonings "Sleepytime
“Don’t want to become dependent on it”, I said to myself.
“I’m just about ready go to bed”.
But the cells are insistent. They demand the tea – “No” won’t do for an answer – for they apparently wish to float again, to have another waking dream.
So I go brew a mug of the tea and sit back down to take in the tea and the music. The music drips from the ceiling in little tinkling drops that are felt as well as heard. I am reminded of T.S. Eliot’s words, “You are the music while the music lasts”.
Surely I am sitting not in my chair but by the shore of a quiet winter lake and each note from the various instruments is as a wave lapping on the shore, each wave a word spoken by a vastly articulate existence. The cells float out over the waves and into the sky toward the stars, where they mingle with the Quiet One.
More floating (this time after a Michelob “Bourbon Cask” beer)
Blog date: 11/20/2017 Journal Entry: 12/13/2008
Time stops while the music is playing.
There was time before the music, with the passing of events – I heated dinner, ate the dinner, put up the dishes, got my beer and turned on the computer. All these events can only go in one direction – I can’t unwash the dishes or reconstitute the food in its original form (it is already becoming “me”), and it is this forward direction that is time. The quiet ticking of the bedroom clock only goes along for the ride.
But as I sit in the chair, and as the music drips from the ceiling and dissolves the day’s thoughts and concerns – time-related concerns about what was done and what will be done – the shoulders drop, the cells float again and I become the music, and the clock stops ticking.
So there was the time before the music and there was the time after the music, but while the music plays, time stops.
Wind over the Water and in the Trees
Blog date: 12/1/2017 Journal Entry: 1/5/1975
The wind wanders over the earth and meets the water and sifts itself through the trees in its travels. There are no
strangers to the wind - all are its friends.
The wind spins the water and weaves the leaves, and both the sea and the leaves reply to the wind in the same language, so that the wind over the waves and the wind in the trees is the same sound.
He who hears the wind know this. He who walks in the forest hears the sea, and he who stands on the shores of seas hears the leaves in the trees. For he is no stranger to either, having memories from earlier lives in the water and in the forests.
The Seasons, Earth, Air, and the Tree
Blog date: 12/1/2017 Journal Entry: 3/1975
There are not 4 seasons. There are only 2: the season of the Earth and the season of the Air.
The season of Earth is Spring and Summer. During this time the Earth is predominant. It is alive and you can hear its riotous life out in the fields - the raucous insect party buzz.
During the season of Air, the air is alive, blowing cold over the land, sometimes covering it with a soft white blanket - as if in apology. Air is the quiet season.
Air, during its season, removes the leaves from the trees and gently gives them to Earth, later to become its food. During the season of Earth, the leaves on the trees give the air the gases it needs.
So the mediator between Earth and Air, then, is the Tree.
And in the Winter you can see the trees for what they are - blood vessels of the air.
We are of Earth and Air. The part of us that is of the air thinks, dreams, and occasionally soars. But the part of us that is of the earth understands...
Copyright © 2017 J.A.