poem

Day 1832, down stream.

Daily picture, Poetry

Full of energy I streamed down to a sea, driven by a need to go.

Halfway my journey, a cold eastern wind sung and gripped me, it took away the light and open sky, a barrier was composed, and a part of me conducted and stayed behind.

That part of me is for always lost, and will collapse the further I move away.

Some of it will follow me, eventually, but I will never know, when I will meet it again.

Day 1768, no future.

Daily picture, Poetry

For some reason, most of us like to look forwards. Obsessed by the end, we have a hard time taking our eyes of it, as if death is some kind of mystery, that can only be understood, when seen from up close.

This obsession for our future, the unknown that we want to be known, is taking away our attention of what we, at least partially, know. We have a past, were we rushed over in such a hurry, that we have more than enough to explore once we look back.

History in general, and our own more specific, are lying in a bed of facts. What I mean with that is: there is a past, and all the things, alive and dead had at all time a specific place in space. Napoleon was a man who moved around, his exact physical presence, where he was at what time, is no longer known, but he existed. We also know that he did things, he shaped the future of his time. So there is no debate over that he existed, but there is still debate over what his role was in our history.

Our own history tells a similar story. We also have a factual history, where we were at what moment, and besides that fact, a lot of other things happened in your life. But what exactly happened is in constant movement. You might think that that breakup in 1998 played out like you remembered, but do you know that for sure. You have your side of the story, your ex there’s, and the friend you went to and cried about it will probably tell an other story. Three stories, and for some strange reason they are all true.

There is no impartial observer in life, one that knows all the facts. Our history, is our truth, just realize that your version of your history it is in a constant flux. Just the fact that we slowly loose our memory should be proof enough, age polishes our history, it makes it nice and shiny, but you also slowly remove the surface and substance.

We are often afraid of the future, but just look back, and see how many mountains and hills you already climbed successfully. We only have a past to shape, there is literally no future (we can shape).

Today’s inspiration comes from Day 1505.

Ripples in life

predicts a rhythm

that you will see

as a cover

against bad weather

Day 1763, dis like.

Daily picture, Poetry

I have been reading around 800 of my old poems by now. A lot of them make no sense to me without the picture that it belongs to. The one I chose for today is from Day 1576.

Two flowers behind

the window in front of them

while rain and sun play

This one I personally like, even without the picture and meaning. The knowledge that what you like at the moment of creation might be disliked a few moments, hours, day’s, weeks or months later is…sobering. With my writing I have little pretensions, I can’t really judge it so this makes it easier to accept that I might dislike it the next day. I still have a lot to learn and as soon as the money allows it I will hire some online teacher that can give me some pointers.

With my picture taking it is similar, the difference is that I don’t dislike my old pictures, they are just out of fashion. What I mean with that is that I go thru phases, I have periods that I like saturated colors, and other times more muted or black and white. This changes all the time and I always love the faze I am in.

With photography I also don’t mind what others might think of it, with my poetry I would mind. But like photography, poetry is also subjective. There are some rules in photography, but a good photographer can brake those rules and still make it look good. I guess that’s also possible in poetry, but I am still in a phase that I enjoy the process, smile about my own ingenuity, and don’t understand what I was righting about three weeks later.

In the pictures below you can see that i like to get close to the things that are interesting, and hardly ever get seen.

Day 1761, roots.

Day's pictures, Poetry

I moved to a new house, city, or country on average every two, to three years I think. I don’t know why, I can always point to a reason, but if you do it so regular, you might as well assume that it’s just in my character. I am easy satisfied, but after a while, I will still pretend to be satisfied, but jump at the first chance to close the door behind me.

Some people like to find out where their little quirks come from. Where the first seed is sown, a little bit to far from the center. There have been made some attempts, by professionals, as well as the not so, to find the origin and, if necessary, a cure. I later found out, or concluded for my self, that all that doctors can do is to postpone the inevitable, and if they are good they, will help you dealing with that fact.

It is really easy to start digging in your past for the root of it all. The problem is that if you find a root, you tend to see where that one is going, all the while forgetting that an average tree has more than one root. All the roots are important for a tree to stand tall, and some of them might be rotten, butt even the roots that are rotten might keep you upright, when the wind is coming from that specific direction.

The poem for today is from Day 1425

Don’t stare

to long

at the door

~

it might

slowly

disappear

in the wall

I don’t have this problem, some might say that that’s the problem with me. For me it’s the norm, and I always wonder how people can live in the same place, with the same job, for years and years. In my world, there is something “wrong” with them, maybe they just stare to long at opportunities, wondering if they want to, or dare.

Day 1758, same old.

Day's pictures, Poetry

Fifteen years ago I moved to Norway, and though I easily adept wherever you drop me, I have no problems with living here, for all these years. There are a few things that I miss, Norway is more paternalistic, Holland is more liberal. I don’t drink much alcohol but you can not buy it here after eight o’clock, and hard liquor is only available I a few stores. They probable have their reasons but as a grownup man I want to decide myself if and when I buy my alcohol. It’s just an example, but it shows a mentality.

The thing is, when I am in Holland visiting family, and eating the food I missed, or doing other things I can’t do in Norway, the pleasure is there when I finally have the chance, but it also feels that it was only yesterday that I did these things. It’s the same with family, you know them so well that 1 or 2 years away can’t erase the years you spend together. Time is a strange thing, it feels like life is put on pause in Holland when I hop in a plane back to Norway, and it gets unpaused when I am back in Holland.

Maybe it has something to do with me and how I stand in life, the memories of all the things I have done in the past are often enough for me, these memories are a good substitute for any cravings I have. My girlfriend sometimes misses things more than I do, she wanted to live in a city again, for example. One of my arguments against it was that I have lived in cities. I have had that experience, she did to. If we would go back we would just pick up where we where before, and it would not feel refreshing, and new.

If you want to go back to a place where you where before, reality will start where the mundane life you had there, was paused when you left, and not at the “idealized idea” of what life was back then. We live close to a city again, and though I don’t really mind, I drive again over the same roads I have driven over for many years, years ago.

The inspiration for today cam from Day 1403.

There

are many islands

I

will never see

~

but

I have been

on one

so

I know

how it feels