The Rumor Mill

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If someone told you something in a dream,

did you hear it from them?

It wasn’t the beating of my eardrums,

but the wind-chimes in my mind,

that really shook me.

As clearly as I heard that phrase,

Just like when I’m  awake,

I can’t quite place

a name to a face.

Some times my mind,

plays tricks on me,

some times,

it speaks outright lies.

To pursue,

embedded memories,

is not worth the energy.

Perusing,

confusing illusions,

only leads you back,

to the directory.

Et Cetera, et cetera

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Please,

Spare me the details,

Your verbosity,

Will only derail,

The course of the story.

Your memory will fail,

Halfway through the tale,

And it will all be gone with the wind.

In it’s place: an awkward laugh,

A mystified grumble,

Or even a comment about how old you’re getting.

You’ll wonder why your memory lapsed,

Though this is mere curiosity,

As you free-fall down the rabbit hole,

Stroking your chin,

At terminal velocity.

Eyes to the heavens,

You’ll see,

The entrance to the chasm,

Shrink,

Until,

It becomes a twinkling,

North Star,

Imposter.

DECLASSIFIED: Hydraulic Jump

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You can read the original poem Hydraulic Jump here.

Water’s strength, in Taoist terms,comes from its ability to yield.

Just as Rome was not built in a day, the Grand Canyon was carved in increments by the flow of the Colorado River.

Gravity, erosion and time can cleave mountains, though it can take an ample amount of that last ingredient.

The through-line? It’s automatic. Insofar as the Colorado River is left largely to its own devices.

And what looks static in the course of a day, a year or a lifetime is actually constantly changing with the topography of its surroundings.

With no mind to straighten their courses, rivers end up as magnificent squiggles, rending valleys and mountains alike.

When a river flows downward (usually in the case of waterfalls) the friction can cause a small portion of the stream to flow in the opposite direction of the current.

This is the eponymous hydraulic jump.

And in that vein, sometimes order can look a whole lot like entropy.

From different perspectives, rivers can take on many different forms.

But at the end of the day, life moves with the squiggles, and is in no rush to adjust.

When you recognize things as they are, then change comes easily– imperceptibly, even.

Remember?

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Holding a stack of Polaroids in my hand,

“I was there,

I was there,”

I said counting and recounting.

My thumb stuck to their glossy surfaces,

I turned them over to find the dates scribbled in black sharpie,

“April 10th, 1997– Hannah’s birthday,”

Curly, unruly hair and a missing front tooth,

And a little frosting on the tip of her nose,

And her brow.

She  was laughing,

We all were,

Now I am.

The next picture,

All of us,

Surrounding,

A dented cake,

Seen from a bird’s eye view,

In a fisheye lens.

The next picture,

Blowing out nine candles,

Her face amber through the dim light,

While we stood nearby,

In the shade,

My face was buried in my hands,

Now it is again,

The stack falls to the floor,

Spreading the moments all about,

I look toward the hall,

I hope the door opens,

And you’ll be back again,

Someday.