lost & found about finding and loosing connections

(the drag of days -drafted on MLK day and reflecting back to 12.28.07)

I am living in an overwhelmed state of being with ‘must be done’ defined by an external locus of control.

This blog was undertaken, in part, to determine if I have the desire and capacity to engage in discovery and discourse? To put another way, Do I have the ability to independently think and reason and if so, does it or can it matter to achieving fulfillment in life? I am attracted to, and want to, understand and contribute to the ideals of an ‘open society’. But am I failing at this for so it seems? Or is it that failing is a fatal flaw in the construct of community engagement and consensus? How can global and local citizenship and arts and ideas and family matters and living healthy be made unworkable in the day today?

I have been distracted in very brief moments by the presentations of Ayaan Hirsiali and Irshad Manji, both impressive young women (CSPAN2). The presentations made me want time in my life to read Infidels and the Trouble with Islam, respectively, and to feel worthy of discourse with such nimble and noble minds. I was hearing that a missing skill set of our time is debate, decent, revise, reform.

I was in immediate agreement and pleased to hear the roots of Islam connected to inspire-innovate-create. But the telephone rang and my Diversity Day (MLK) was interrupted/derailed by an external locus of control.

Other distractions that got into my random scribble, the theme American Angels. A local Peter Gardella (Hamden, CT) with the theme of useful spirits in a material world ironically tied to a purchase I made during the holidays to support my imagination and a local artist. It is a large sun made of waste wood from Angel wings for other art pieces. I refer to it as a deconstructed Angel.

Forwarded an email string on puzzling (and art that inspired: This individual's compelling distraction found a place in the world of advertising. Magical, alluring, and uncanny. My reaction was to understand the pictures in the string and be informed about their roots. I always seem to want context even after being compelled to different zones by art.

Instinct, the nature of humanness, or peculiar to a personality type: too much to explore now as my day is being stolen by the day job once again. Connecting to that moment go here: Literally Finger Painting way cool in the moment of contact ---this link gives you more info about the artist and it is easier to send along to others...http://guidodaniele.com/

In a world that feels like this, haiku moments

I saw you tell her
She told him and he told me
My truth was not yours

Time displaces truth
Tumbling down the rabbit hole
I am far too late

Moments shine, brilliant
Teams play well together, share
dandelion dust

I asked for a few minutes of his time to help me capture the idea of miscommunication and the potential of teamwork in haiku...and he asks back

In your voice? And do you mean like the telephone game?

Moments later I am rewarded as I have been so many time with word touch. I can not claim to be a poet but I did birth one. Blessings.

Memory Lane - Immediacy of Now

I was asked, do you remember “Loving You” with the phenomenal high pitched C’s and chirping birds by Minnie Ripperton? And was informed that she also recorded “Walk Down Memory Lane” and died much, much too early in life at 31. The memories recalled which had prompted this inquiry were about spontaneity and discovery and traveling less traveled roads. I did not remember the Ripperton song because the music of that period of my life was controlled by others but I was prompted to its discovery now. And it was immediately special.

Memory and its failures and pleasures was part of the rational for this blog. That very same day the quote 'the fierce urgency of now' was captured in scribble. And the week included distractions of the hear via NPR like happiness research. The biggest distractions however, are the community committments....back to them I go.

the error of our ways, my daily bread

Today this email tag-line quote caught my attention because it spoke truth to me "From error to error one discovers the entire truth" — Sigmund Freud. The quote is in the world on several lists of notable quotes.

I am reminded that as a child I hoped to be quoted in Reader's Digest when I grew up. I have not scratched this notion off my life list. Such an honor represented wisdom and fame, today it represents a list that I value because of its accessibility.

These days I wish that my typos were less predictable and that the communist plot to make us all alike idea, inspired by the standardization of communication represented by the typewriter, never entered my 10 year old mind. I never learned to type and it is required of me daily. So I fumble and err along this path of life touching a keypad that is almost as foreign to me today as it was in mandatory typing class circa 1970. Hands and eyes do not coordinate and the mind is always full speed ahead so as never to be caught up.

My day job is full of root cause analysis of errors; and errors have been steadily informing my work because errors force me to see alternate views in data, process, behavior. So the error to error concept about the discovery of truth feels real. I valued its appearance in my day. Some days I just wish there were less errors to contend with. Other days I appreciate the skill sets of doctors, pilots, engineers, all the more because soft jobs can more safely survive if not error-free.

Some days I believe strongly that poems can not have errors? Those days are fewer and I claim less the error free moments in art. In art error reveals differently, right. Or is that a spin on errors begetting truth? Can a body politic learn lessons from errors in history or is error a perspective and therefore a version of truth? I believe that errors have nine lives much the same way my cat has 99 lives. Now that is an error the cat can live with until 100. I think poems attract me because no one can say with certainty if there is an error in a poem. Sometimes poems become quotable. So back to the quote, is its value conferred by the number of lists it has succeeded to reside within or the kindled at the root of its original inspiration and again each time it is read. Quotes definitely out spawn poems. Do error out spawn truth?

Well I have errors to recover from so blogging off now is my truth.