Slip

And then it hits me
the buzz
the slide
the slick waves that grease my vision
neon smeared across the windows
pale ghosts in the rain
dressed in suggestion
moving through my fingers
smiles fading like smoke
knife heels on concrete
buildings leaning in
animal spirits crowded and leering
breath like dry ice
though there's a stubborn ember
somewhere deep
remnants of an old Norse flame
which will be the last thing to go

New Story in Shadows & Light Anthology - out on Amazon

My short story "Glad Hand" appears in Shadows & Light Anthology, out now.

Here is the Amazon link, available in Kindle and print versions.

https://www.amazon.com/Shadows-Light-Anthology-September-2016/dp/1537374419/ref=pd_rhf_pe_p_img_1?ie=UTF8&psc=1&refRID=6PF4ECZ05ZS90A0R9BSF

Last Days of Light

The weekend before Labor Day weekend, I went to Philbrick Park in Penfield. I haven't hiked as much as usual this summer, so with time running short, I went to a place close by.

I hiked it last December with a woman whom I would date for a couple of months. She'd brought her dog to the park for walks before it passed away. I'd always thought it was a small park with few trails at best, but for its location, it's a great place to explore. Also, I wanted to see it in full summer bloom, in contrast to the heavy, bereft silence of a late fall day.

A river runs through it, or more accurately, a creek.  Irondequoit Creek, which follows a winding path from Lake Ontario. I set out along the trail beside the waterway, its song keeping me company as I strolled. People sat along the banks, one couple having a cookout on a big concrete block, another young man sitting cross-legged while his radio played music. I thought of why we needed to constantly haul the things of our lives into nature, as if the beauty and subtle magic on display weren't enough for our jaded senses. I walked deeper into the woods, determined to leave behind any vestiges of modern life.

That's difficult to do around here. I'd have to go farther south to really get away from it all. I was continually drawn to little sidepaths to the creek bank, to listen to the burbling water and feel its calm spirit wash over me. At one of the points, I found a small turtle sunning itself. I moved down slowly to sit next to it. I expected it to leap back into the water, but it remained as I sat. We absorbed the silvery sound and the cooler breeze that sometimes emerged from the shade.

Later, with the heat rising through the afternoon, I couldn't resist taking my shoes off and walking into the stream. The creek bed was mostly rocky, but there spots of soft silt that produced grainy clouds as I stepped through them. I looked downstream and saw a long, sinuous shadow moving up the opposite bank and disappearing behind a tree. I thought it was a squirrel at first, and then thought it didn't move like any squirrel I'd ever seen before. Just a few seconds after it disappeared, it moved out from behind the tree and a few steps in my direction. It lifted its head and eyed me curiously. It was then I realized I was being checked out by an otter.

I had no idea there were otters in the area. A little research revealed that there had been an effort to reintroduce them into western New York back in 2000. I was seeing one of the descendants of those efforts. The otter's tail is thicker than a squirrel's, more rope-like. I noticed its broader head as it regarded me; its movements were less darting and spasmodic, more of a happy lope. It wasn't long before it was satisfied and it retreated back behind the tree where it probably has a den.

The trail was not as deserted as I was hoping. A few hikers came through as I tried to get some decent pics. I got a nice close-up of what looks like some kind of pitcher plant, but I haven't been able to identify it. This was a small victory. The cheap camera that I have is usually not good with close-ups.

Now we're into September and the heat lingers. It's been an extraordinary summer, very reminiscent of those I knew back in New Castle, Delaware, though it was never as dry as it has been here. The heat has helped heal some pains I had been feeling since the winter. I guess it's to be expected when you hit your 50s. I just hope they don't return when the cold weather does.

The woman I'd hiked with before flaked out and decided she wasn't over her ex. This happened to coincide with my birthday. People are unreliable, but I can always count on nature to take me in and ease my anxieties for a while. I read the news every day, and there is a lot of fuel for fear in it. It's better to read the skies, listen to the waters, touch the cool, rough, skin of the stones, or taste the air after a storm. They all have stories to tell, too.

"Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.

I am haunted by waters."

-A River Runs Through It, by Norman Maclean

New Short Story in Shadows & Light Anthology

Here's a link to the Shadows & Light anthology, containing my short story, "Glad Hand."

Please give it a look, and if you do buy an issue, thank you!

Shadows & Light on createspace

Amazon and Kindle links will follow later in the week!

Visiting The North Coast

Fled to the shore of Lake Ontario today to escape the heat.

It ended up being much cooler than yesterday. I sat on a concrete wall on the shore and let the waves wash up on my feet. Started out with my shoes on, but they quickly came off. The lake water is warm now. After a couple of dips, the water felt warmer than the air.

It was a throwback method of dealing with the high temperatures. I turned on my air conditioning for the first time this year, and was disappointed to find it useless. As it ran for over an hour, the thermometer number only slowly increased. I shut it down and resorted to my grandparents' favored strategy for cooling down. A stiff wind barreled in from the northeast and made the water choppy. I looked at the ruffled surface and the impervious rocks and thought about how, in six months' time, it will all be encased in ice.



























A raft of wood ducks fed in a stream that flowed from the lake. The water was dark and smelled brackish, but the ducks were really enjoying some kind of food in it, to the point where the feeding got competitive. For them it was a great day, with plenty to eat and no harsh weather to endure. Once again, I envied them their freedom.

The Inner Sage Speaks

"You realize that this is all an illusion, don't you?"

This is what I've been hearing in my head lately--a few times now. Mostly it comes during pleasant moments, like it did tonight as I was walking outside, the setting sun warming my back.

Maybe it's that inner sage we all have, but rarely listen to. He's trying to protect me from attachment, I think. It's easy to loathe samsara when things are going poorly, much more difficult when we find ourselves in wonderful circumstances, happy and contented. Where we are at these times is the true test of our practice. Whenever I hear the words, I find a feeling of expectation, as if I'm just beyond piercing the veil. I can almost taste it. The taste of one taste.

Many might find this pessimistic, but I am comforted by it. It means there may be hope for me yet. Time grows shorter with every year, and I know that I have to keep practicing as much as possible. Death is a time of great opportunity. It only comes once in a lifetime. One has to be ready.

May your voices help you along the way as well.

A Summer Reading List

The solstice has come and gone, and the bulk of my favorite season lies ahead. These are the books I plan on reading over the course of the summer. Since I read at least a few books at once, it may go into early fall.


Sacred Wilderness by Susan Power

Power is a Native writer who wrote The Grass Dancer, and received the PEN/Hemingway award for best new writer back in the early 90s. This novel concerns a group of women who gather together to help heal a friend. I found The Grass Dancer to be a deeply lyrical work on Native life, and expect no less from this new story, published in 2014.

Psychiatric Tales by Darryl Cunningham

This is a graphic novel that contains 11 tales of mental illness, as observed by the writer/artist during his time working in mental institutions in England. The final story concerns his own personal battle. The art is simply constructed in black and white tones, honing the edge of already harsh and vivid subject matter. I find it interesting to read how others deal with such challenging circumstances, and this promises to hold nothing back. Published in 2011.





Indian Country by Peter Matthiessen


The author was one of the cofounders of the Paris Review, and known for such famous works as The Snow Leopard and At Play In The Fields Of The Lord. The is nonfiction dealing with several instances in history where white culture encroached on Native lands, and the horror that resulted from it. Matthiessen is a transcendent writer when it comes to describing nature, and I'm sure it will make a sharp contrast with the events he will cover.

Sleepless Nights by Elizabeth Hardwick


First published back in the late 70s, this was recently dusted off and reprinted by the New York Review of Books fiction imprint. It's a short, partly autobiographical novel in the vein of Renata Adler's Speedboat, where there isn't really a solid narrative line. It consists of a succession of prose snapshots, evoking a time and place and scraps of conversation overheard or engaged in. I'm nearly finished with Speedboat and enjoyed the freeform swing of the story as a detailed picture is slowly constructed of the life of a New York journalist. From the samples I've read, Hardwick can boast of a similar talent.



As It Is, Vol. 2 by Tulku Urgyen Rinpoche

The companion volume to a series of talks that Rinpoche gave back in the 90s. He springs from the Great Perfection, or Dzogchen, tradition in Tibetan Buddhism, but the talks are very clearly presented and can be understood by anyone. Vol. 1, which I read a couple years ago, really got to the heart of practice, and I'm looking forward to continuing reading Rinpoche's teachings on how to integrate practice with daily life.

Five Buddhist Teachings I Recommend for the Curious

I've been a practicing Buddhist for close to the last 20 years now.

The journey began with a rough period in my life. In order to learn how to to deal with it, I sought help in books. I paid frequent visits to the nearest Borders bookstore, at first reading about relaxation and meditation techniques. My reading on meditation led to more reading on Buddhism, which puts great emphasis on meditation as part of the practice.

Over the years, I've read many valuable teachings on the practice. Here are five books I would recommend to anyone seeking to know more about Buddhism.


The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying

Sogyal Rinpoche's work is a modern classic. The title riffs on the more famous and older work, The Tibetan Book of the Dead, which is more of a study on what happens after death in the bardos. This book deals with an entire life (and death) as a practitioner. It is written in simple language, and is meant to be consumed by those who are new to the belief. I've read it twice, and it renews my resolve to practice each time. For a good, comprehensive introduction, I would offer this book.

The Words of My Perfect Teacher

This is an older Tibetan classic, dating back to the 1800s, by the revered teacher Patrul Rinpoche. Several years after I started practicing, I was facing another difficult time. A number of events had coincided and I was dealing with high stress levels and difficulty sleeping. This book manifested in my life like many great teachers do, and it turned out to be just what I needed at the time. It begins with the preliminaries, and contains multiple reminders about the difficulties of samsara (a sanskrit term for the ordinary life most of us live). The tone is gentle, but firm, and, in its way, encouraging. Reading it gave me a great deal of comfort during this period. After some time, the difficulties passed and I moved on. I came out of it though with my practice strengthened, and a better appreciation of the opportunity that our life presents to engage in it.

The Zen Teaching of Bodhidharma

An ancient classic by the founder of Zen Buddhism, this text by Bodhidharma, the Indian sage who brought Buddhism to China (also, according to the story, tea and kung-fu) is much like it's subject--austere and no-nonsense. It's said that Bodhidharma meditated in a cave for nine years, and in order to stay awake while meditating, he cut off his eyelids. Many images depict him with bulging eyes as a result of this. The austerity of Zen is not for everyone, and can be hard for western audiences to take in, but I think it is a potent antidote to our rampant materialism and ego gratification. Bodhidharma very clearly lays out the path here. The first Buddhist books I read were Zen books, and they jolted me out of a waking dream that I have made every effort not to fall back into since.

Heart Advice from a Mahamudra Master

This book relates to my own practice, that of Mahamudra, a Tibetan form that I found to be very much like Zen in one of its forms. It's very simple and direct, and involves working with the mind that we have in the moment. This can be tough for a beginner, so I wouldn't recommend diving into it right away, but it is very rewarding once a good basis has been established. Gendun Rinpoche, the author of this powerful, simple teaching, passed into parinirvana back in the 90s, but I wish I could've heard his teachings in person. We're fortunate he had the foresight to put his lifelong experience with practice into written form.




Zurchungpa's Testament

Zurchungpa's Eighty Chapters of Personal Advice, written a thousand years ago, as explained by Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche, based on Shechen Gyaltsap Rinpoche's notes. Again, it courses through the entire path, from the preliminaries to the higher mind practices. After reading this teaching, I found my understanding took another great leap ahead, and it was as if another layer of dust had been wiped away from my mind. I don't pretend to be even close to enlightenment yet, but this text will surely give you an ample glimpse and help you on your journey. I've read a few of Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche's books and feel a great auspicious connection with him.

Walk Before You Run

Went all out today on my run...ran the full distance at the full pace. First time I've done that since January. I strained a hip flexor back in February, shoveling out from the monstrous snowstorm we had. I couldn't walk right for a week. It's been a long road back to normalcy.

I started running again, only to have to stop after a week because it didn't feel right. It was obvious my hip was not ready. It isn't easy for me to not run. I've been doing it since I was 14, and it's become a compulsive habit. I tried to be content with walking for another couple weeks. Then I began to jog, very slowly. It was as if I was learning all over again--and I was, really. I'd lost my wind, any fitness that I had, due to the inactivity. Some of the early jogs would be followed by mild soreness and tenderness. As plodding as they were, maybe I was still pushing it too hard. But I persisted. I took a hot bath and rested, getting ready for the next attempt.

I guess I've been lucky in that I've never had to deal with many injuries. There were the two strained calves, eight years apart, the first of which healed very quickly. Now that I'm older, I should be more careful. I have a lot of miles on these legs, and I want to keep running for as long as possible. Impatience won't serve me well. I can't imagine having to stop because I wasn't physically able to anymore. If that were to happen, I'd start looking frantically for an aerobic substitute.

No need to think about that yet. I read a post not long ago from a 57 year old runner who had to stop permanently due to a physical ailment. He sounded at sea, utterly lost now that his routine was no longer available to him. I could hear my own desperation in his. I'm not sure how I'd deal with it, but I hope he has found another way to recreate the endorphin rush that he used to take for granted.

The human body, while an instrument capable of real wonders, is, at last, a very delicate structure, hung on illusion.