What's missing -- feels like there's something missing --
The capacity is there -- the job's not stressful but
I somehow fail at the ignition stage - all this
fuel just sitting around -- un-utilized potential
How do I light that fire? Set it ablaze
in a daze caught up in the haze of comfort
I need to challenge myself, raising tides lift
all boats, but they also drown
livestock
cows, horses, and goats, seeking refuge in hills
that once covered in grass now fill up like
lifeboats.
Doctors in white coats
say "Keep your spirits up" -- hope floats.
Two weeks ago, I went down to San Luis Obispo, California for a five day
Jupyter team meeting with about twenty five others. This
was the first such meeting since my return after being away for two
years, and I enjoyed meeting some of the "newer" faces,
as well as catching up with old friends.
It was both a productive and an emotionally challenging week, as the project
proceeds along at breakneck pace on some fronts yet continues to
face growing pains which come from having to scale in the human
dimension.
On Wednesday, November 9th, 2016, we spent a good chunk of the day at a nearby beach:
chatting, decompressing, and luckily I brought my journal with me and was able
to capture the poem you will find below. I intended to read it at a local open mic the same evening, but by the time I got there with a handful of fellow Jovyans for support, all of the slots were taken. On Friday, the last day of our meeting, I got the opportunity to read it to most of the larger group. Here's a recording of that reading, courtesy of
Matthias Bussonnier
(thanks, Matthias!).
November 9th, 2016
The lovely thing about the ocean is
that it
is
tireless
It never stops
incessant pendulum of salty foamy slush
Periodic and chaotic
raw, serene
Marine grandmother clock
crashing against both pier
and rock
Statuesque encampment of abandonment
recoiling with force
and blasting forth again
No end in sight
a train forever riding forth
and back
along a line
refined yet undefined
the spirit with
which it keeps time
in timeless unity of the moon's alignment
I. walk. forth.
Forth forward by the force
of obsolete contrition
the vision of a life forgotten
Excuses not
made real with sand, wet and compressed
beneath my heel and toes, yet reeling from
the blinding glimmer of our Sol
reflected by the glaze of distant hazy surf
upon whose shoulders foam amoebas roam
It's gone.
Tone deaf and muted by
anticipation
each coming wave
breaks up the pregnant pause
And here I am, barefoot in slacks and tie
experiencing sensations
of loss, rebirth and seldom
kelp bulbs popping in my soul.
Standing impatient, platform teeming, almost noon
Robo voices read off final destinations
But one commuter's already at his
He reached for life's third rail
There is no why in the abyss
There's only closing credit hiss
The soundtrack's gone, he didn't miss
Reaching for life's third rail
We ride on, now, relieved and moving forward
Each our own lives roll forth, for now
But now is gone, for one among us
Who reached for life's third rail
We rock, to-fro, and reach each station
Weight shifting onto forward foot
Flesh, bone ground up in violent elation
And bloody rags, hours ago a well worn suit
I ride the escalator up and pensive
About what did and not occur today
Commuter glut, flow restricted
A crooked kink in public transport hose resolved.
I walk in monologue
through Berkeley's Hills
Feet pressing into sidewalk firmly
I eat the pensive mood
solitude brings
And bite into the juiciness of
self-reflection
I write, first time in years,
free verse impromptu
Taking few dozen steps
between each pair of lines
I yearn, on tip-toes
stretching high, to be expressive
A mode of being longtime
self-denied
I'm walking home - from job
I'll soon be leaving
To find myself believing once
again
That which I do defines
me not and feeling
That which I am is
good. enough. a lot.