LITMIR.BIZ

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simple. The antithesis is also true. We impact them as well.

      There is some corrective sameness about returning home that cools us down and eases our inner disconnection with our sense of self over time. But, we also bring our newness back into that oldness in a way that shapes it as well.

      It is odd like that. I get a real strong alchemical sense that our desires themselves somehow shape the way we perceive the places and spaces, the times and the eras of our being and having been in and among them. Like anything else in life, we have the choice to turn base lead into gold, if but we would so choose.

      * * *

      In common, less abstract terms, it matters where and when you grow up. It somehow impacts you. And, from a different place—perhaps further away in time and space—it really looks as if it has no impact. You have changed as you move further away in time and space. Both seem true.

      I think of the number of times that walking in the woods helped me calm and soothe my inner anguish and angst. It has always been a place of peace and awe for me. That feeling has built up enough over time so I may go to the woods anytime and it will help me settle and find my core. Always. This speaks to the amount of meaning I have allowed the wilds to have for me and the amount of meaning I have allowed my me to add to being in the wilds. It is reciprocal.

      And, perhaps that is what place and its corollary time really beg from us. A collaboration. Place and time impact us and we them. We are called and call them to interact with us and we them. Place (and therefore time) weave themselves into us and we them. This mingling and cohabitation allows for residues of each and the other to hunger and call for each other when they are together and even more so apart.

      The little pieces of hometown, or of bitter anguish from a hard life call to us like magnets. Always seeking to attract more of what we had so we may feel whole and at ease again. And too, we are sometimes pulled toward the opposite—a simple recoiling against the harshness of what we knew and have now come to call dark matter in our lives.

      Pushed and pulled by time and space, we will never find our meaning in who we have become unless we are able to determine if it is the time and space that calls us to them or pushes us away from them. Called because of the fondness; repelled because of the shame. But, called and repelled, none the less.

      So, I guess I am back at the place where I started more or less.

      Place (and therefore time) matters. It shapes us and impacts us and we it. Figuring out how it shapes and is shaped is what we spend our days learning about ourselves and our environs—whether we pay attention and understand it or not.

      We have a neo-cortex to help us sort through the complexity and the layered shading of these ideas and notions, using the dappled sense of meaning to survive beyond what we would have without a neo-cortex. It helps us hold similar and opposite things in contention at the same time—seeking a balance and synthesis.

      And then there is this. All of what I have said above operates for stages and states in our lives as well (sort of the inner versions of space and time).

      I like the sense of place that comes from identity. Let’s say: I am in a peaceful place right now—at this point in my life. This portion of the journey is settled and calm. My life is luxuriantly at rest. Then I hit a bump and end up in a situation that is agitating and unruly. I become restless and anxious.

      I can stand where I am at this point in my life—in a portion of life that is good, and experience a ripple on the surface of that place. I can hold opposites within.

      I love this part of life—the way an inner space can become a place from which to journey from. These notions are really place, but not necessarily a spot to set up a chair and hang out. We may live in these places or in and out of them, but they inhabit us and we them in the same way we do a cave or a Highland’s vista. And, time—particularly felt as duration in these instances—is clearly woven into the inner landscapes.

      “Over there” is about hope. “Over there” allows us to dream. “Right here” is what we’ve got. “Right here” is as it is now.

      Seeing those places in the hillside, or on the beach, or along the river brings possibility. They are far enough away that we can believe life would be different there—we would be different there. So, there is a lot of therapy bound up in far off and future spaces, places, and times. We have the distance to imagine difference.

      Bringing “that” and “this” together is our landscape. We knead these differences into our poems to reveal truth. We sprinkle our pile of words with “what is” and “what could be” so people can make sense of here and there. Place unfolds in meaning as words are given to describe its texture and depth. Without words we would be lost for understanding and design. We could not craft brave new worlds out of what we have in front of us—what we find pleasant.

      And so, it is not just the place of place that is vital and integral to human health, and growth, and homeostasis. It is the words we give to describe and assign meaning to place that also bear out much of the import of place and space.

      How we hold place and how we hope to mold space is tied up in our sense of here and there; of now and then. We define places in our lives and are defined by places in our lives. As with all the rest of life, place lives on the razor’s edge; somewhere betwixt and between the duality of oneness and the conjunction of opposing forces. Having full and rich meaning all its own; and only being what it is believed to be by each.

      How some thing in us reaches out through our whole; and, connects with all that is on the horizon is a determined search we set ourselves out on—all of our days. Often we do not know we are venturing. The mystery of that place and this, keep us ever pushing onward to find a resolution to some deeply hidden question that lurks in the recesses of our “me.” The question about identity. And, since identity is always happening in space and in time, it seeks to know the worth of them as well. Am I that? Is that me? Is there correlation? Does now, or then have sway on me?

      These are the genuine human tools that seek to aid us in finding consciousness and “I-ness” in our short journey on this dirt. These poems try a bit to figure all of this out. They are yours.

The Poems

      Among the Ivory and Lavender

      In the abundance of

      heavy fogged moisture

      lay the overwhelming smell

      of verbena and phlox.

      The very air

      scintillating and

      alive with the ivory

      and lavender hues

      hidden behind

      a floral aroma—

      a tapestry

      for the nose.

      The road winds through

      this place—these

      places—

      along the river towns

      of Pennsylvania—

      building up the

      storehouse of pleasantries

      from the onslaught of Spring.

      Spring,

      it creeps itself

      into this

      place slowly;

      moving ever on

      through the mountains’

      alluviations and

      foothills. Seeking

      to inhabit the

      higher places of the

      river valley.

      This plague of

      color and

      deviation

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