ABOUT "42 Days"

     42 Days is a journal of reflection, growth and poetry, inspired over a period of 42 consecutive days, from May 5, 2008 to June 13, 2008. It's as much about inspiration and experience as it is about finding peace in nature. While spontaneously recorded each day, thsi collection eventually took on the theme of consciously removing yourself from the "rat race" and breathing in the moment.

I’ve been feeling connected … more awake and breathing deeper than I have been for some time.

Not sure exactly why that is.

But it’s one of those deals where it’s so interesting to be able to not only feel the air running through your veins and the nature around you breathing, but also realize it while it’s happening ...

5/3/08

I just got done watching the premier of “Radiohead - In Rainbows: In the Basement” on VH1. I hadn’t watched VH1 in years. But while I was watching this tonight, something happened. There was a shot during the last song that caused something to click and take on such a significant moment in time. It was like I was watching The old Pink Floyd documentary "Live at Pompeii." It was that kind of significance … what they were doing. What was happening. The creation and the energy and the “unlike anything else.” Something about it was so beautiful and masterful

I was inspired.

For some reason, I felt compelled to pick up a notebook and write poetry… but, like that different feeling I’ve been having lately, this was different. It was original. And for some reason, the number 42 popped into my head … and for whatever reason, I had already decided I’d write consecutively for 42 days … whatever came out at whatever time, once each day during that stretch of time.

And I’m feeling really good about it. Like there’s a purpose … and what a beautiful thing to have drive spontaneous prose – purpose. I’m just not exactly sure what that purpose is. And that’s kind of the beauty and adrenaline of the whole thing.

 

 

Green with iridescent motivation

Yellow flecks of darkness on soft circles

The lone street lamp

A shadow of the streaming paths above rooftops

Squares bending slightly through absurd geometry.

 

 

5/4/08

 

Took Maya on a short drive down some back roads not far from our house, but that seem like you enter a different world. We drove out there looking for horses but found a huge field nestled in a little valley that was crawling with black and brown cows. I put the car in park for about a half hour and we just sat there watching the cows. For some reason it felt awesome knowing that we were in such a spot that there was very little chance another car was going to come up behind us at any point. We were at complete ease, just observing and admiring beauty. Maya loved it whenever one of the cows would stop and stare at her from a distance. We drove a little further and found a small old dam with water pouring freely over it. That was cool, but watching those cows was an experience that was hard to beat. It would have been awesome if I had been by myself, but there was something extra with Maya being there with me, sharing the moment. That may sound strange, but it was beautiful watching other living things meander carelessly through the wild grasses and huge patches of yellow flowers from our spot on that dusty old country road. So peaceful and real.

 

 

Following the tiny thread

As everywhere disappears on either side

And the gentle beasts mix with quiet yellow explosions

Changing color beneath the stars

Toes in green spaghetti and scentless repetition.

 

 

5/5/08

 

Woke up this morning and before going to work let Dasha out the back door to do her business. She was taking a while so I stepped outside for a few minutes and the morning songs of birds seemed to be echoing in every direction. It was one of those moments when you realize too many people – myself included – miss too many of the little details. How many days has it been since I heard those beautiful songs in the sky in the morning? How many days go by without people once noticing the clouds moving above their heads? That kind of thing.

I really try to make a point to notice the details – and absorb them. Those are the kinds of things I live for, yet I forget them for periods of time just like anyone else. I was thinking there’s got to be some connection with eating right and exercising your body that bring you in tune with your surroundings. I just feel like I’ve been so much more connected to the beauty and the facets of life tat go on regardless of human activity or existence. I was running tonight and found myself staring at the patterns in the sky – the blue and the white and how they looked like these massive shelves separating from each other into eternity. I watched a couple of birds 3way up in the sky and admired some of the trees and line the perimeter of our neighborhood.

And I feel connected and inspired by family. Maya was a bit under the weather today and I spent the day at home with her, playing and hugging and just being each other. I love my family. There’s so much to worry about right now in the manufactured part of life, but it finds a way to disappear between laughter.

 

 

Absolute

As white finds blue in the Nebekenezer sky

Shelves sliding through songs of ignorance

Like raspberry faces on morning patios

When everything goes white

And birth is rediscovered

Through floating windows on purple chocolate air.

 

 

5/6/08

 

Right before I went to bed last night, I got an email from Tsuneo, one of my best friends and former college roommate who lives in Tokyo, Japan. It was great news because he and his wife had just had their first baby – a boy named Haruku. It was an incredible feeling getting that email. I remember how incredible it was when Maya was born … and how every day since has been so different from anything that came before her birth.

I’ve been feeling so excited and happy all day because I know what good parents Tsuneo and his wife will be. Maya makes me so happy. When I dropped her off at school today, I just watched her run down the hallway to her room and poke her head inside to see who was there. She looked so grown up for some reason. I mean, a little kid, but so far from the baby she used to be – and that was both sad and very exciting. Hard to explain unless you’ve experienced this as a parent before, I guess.

All kinds of things happening today. I spent the first half of the day in a skybox suite at the new minor league ballpark, watching a great game. Then I covered a long meeting for the paper and wrote my story, But all the while, I was thinking about Maya’s blonde curls. And when I got home, I cuddled up with her on the couch and we hugged each other. I love when she says, “I love you, Daddy.’”

Also spent a part of the day figuring out my plan for Mother’s Day for Tammy. I want to do something special for her and I think I figured out what.

 

 

Conversations of mountain boomers and hoop snakes

Flashing monitors and paneled walls

Lines on streets and windows down

Light off in the shadowed hallway of orange

Painted Chinese dreams

Tour buses moving through the blurred cityscape

With horizontal red on wood

Three perfect squares

And blonde curls on polka dot pillow

Breathing

Breathing

Breathing.

 

 

5/7/08

 

Tonight, I found myself staring out my back window at the top of a tall tree, sticking up over the rooftops. It kind of reminded me of that scene in “American Beauty” where the kid is sitting in front of the television watching home movies he shot of nothing more than a plastic shopping bag dancing around in the wind. It was that same feeling of peacefulness and simplicity. All of the inspiring, emotional, ups and downs that find us at some point of every single day … and then a moment like this – watching a tree sway ever so slightly and slowly in the shadows of the dark sky – can seem so meaningless on the surface yet provide such a reflective, artistic, deep experience.

 

 

Green straws

Swaying on cotton milkshakes

Through vertical windows

And vertical breeze

Becoming timeless movement

Everything gray and black

On a pallet of blue moonlight

Listening to life and the occasional owl.

 

 

 

5/8/08

 

Today was tiring for some reason … to the point where I found myself falling asleep on the couch even before Maya. I realized how hard it is to write every day. But right when I got a little frustrated because it seemed these 42 days were becoming a challenge rather than a flow of creativity, I started noticing the reflections and patterns and shapes right in front of me. And they were words. And that kind of thing motivates and inspires me more than almost anything. Looking around and finding art and composition and chaotically peaceful expression right there. It’s difficult to explain, but it’s kind of like watching that Radiohead ‘In the basement’ performance the other night. You know? There’s something about it beyond the music. It’s all arts kind of working together into one composition without lines.

 

 

Marble mirrors

Like eyes with aluminum ledges

Staring through chain link strainers

With pink breath, green hair and transparent watering cans.

 

 

 

5/9/08

 

Read a chapbook by Lee Ranaldo of Sonic Youth, based on a trip he and his photographer girlfriend made to a tiny village in Morocco in 1995. It was an incredible recount of his time spent playing music and just jamming in Morocco with a bunch of amazing old men who really appreciated and understood sound. They jammed together on an old porch in the dark of night. It was beautiful.

I read the thing cover to cover and now I’m sitting here thinking how wonderful a place that must be. I mean, William S. Burroughs was drawn to that place so much that his masterpiece “Naked Lunch” was primarily based there. Jazz abstraction master Ornette Coleman recorded music there with those same guys Lee was jamming with. I don’t even like the Rolling Stones, but even they had made their way to this tiny, otherwise virtually unknown village in the mountains of Morocco.

That’s why I love travel so much. You never know who is waiting around the next corner or what beautiful change in the landscape will play out in front of you. How the air will taste and how it will sound. It’s the places you never imagine going or having any desire to explore that tend to kick me hardest in the butt. I mean, it’s like you write some of these places off, but when you happen upon them on the way to somewhere else, they end up serving up more charm and wisdom than wherever it was you were headed in the first place.

 

 

Moroccan hills and warm vision

Fuzzy with tapestries and soul

Green flutes and darkened hallways

Courtyards with eyes for heaven

Smoky veins with visions of Ornette Coleman and the jazz kaleidoscope

Circles in layers of light and sound.

 

 

5/10/08

 

There’s something so amazing to me about powerful storms. Tammy gets scared when something big comes rolling in, the rain starts blowing sideways, the sky turns green and the tornado sirens go off. My friend Doug, who now lives in Arizona isn’t exposed to any of this anymore, so he thinks I’m crazy when I try to explain there’s something truly magnificent about a good storm.

Tonight, a good one blew through Northwest Arkansas. Located just over the border from Oklahoma and with Kansas not too incredibly far away, we tend to get the last of what blows through tornado alley, particularly during the spring. And tonight was one of those days, with the exception of the storm was picking up momentum and funnel clouds were dipping down toward the ground as they approached Northwest Arkansas, rather than the storm beginning to break up.

Now, a tornado siren is enough to get me concerned during the actual event, but I’m still one that tends to stay by the window, watching the mastery play itself out in the sky. Maybe it’s because the sky is such an incredible, ever-changing piece of creation. I don’t know.

Sure it’s a bit scary and I’m always getting a closet cleared out so I can get Tammy and Maya to a relatively safe place in case something actually does hit. But I find myself so impressed by the force of the winds, the changing composition in the sky, the color, smell and temperature changes. The low clouds and the way everything in the sky seems to be speeding in different directions. And then it all passes by and, within minutes, the sun is shining again and you could have a picnic in the back yard. It’s insane.

No storm will ever roll through exactly like that one again. Every time, it’s a little bit different … just like an abstract painting or those awesome moments when a musician goes off on an incredible tangent and goes with whatever happens to come to them at tat particular moment. You never get the same feeling or the same result twice. It’s always an original. There’s always beauty in the unpredictability along the way.

 

 

Sunlight interrupted by wet continents

Heat beating on the backside of magnificence

Throwing chaos across the stars

Life waving wildly

Anticipation from a yellow hole through black twisting dust

Clanking bells and dancing ice chips

As birds smell the world from the belly of swaying foliage

A musical from distance fingertips

Terrifying magnificence

Trailed by silent sunsets.

 

 

5/11/08

 

Happy Mother’s Day. Maya and I brought Tammy’s gifts to her in bed this morning. Wow, thinking back to when Tammy gave birth to Maya. I think about that moment often. Everything Tammy went through to bring our little Maya into the world – to make all the incredible experiences that have forever changed our lives and taught us about unconditional love and purity possible.

I flip through the thousands of photos we’ve taken of Maya and everything else becomes so unimportant. I watch her running around, kicking the soccer ball in the back yard. Leading Dasha around on the leash. Squatting down to pat Kiki on top of the head and give her a kiss.

 

 

Fingers, naked with mouths for the morning sun

Brown textured sponges with cotton straws and nectar

Voluntarily stretching the belly of the night.

 

 

5/12/08

 

Pretty windy out today, but that ended up- being an awesome thing. Tammy and I got out a pair of kites we’ve had saved for a windy day and got them up and flying for Maya. Maya helped me tug on the string of the kite I was flying, which was extended as far up into the sky as I had string for. But she seemed to have the most fun just standing in our driveway and watching the kites soar on top of the breeze. And I have to admit it was kind of a rush for me as well. Something about the thought of the air or breeze beneath something keeping it afloat, on top of the world, that’s so incredible. I have to try hang gliding sometime. I bet hanging up there on the air would pretty much bring on the same abstract feeling and experience I write about in my poetry – that weightless, unpredictable, peaceful feeling.

 

 

Patchwork, green and white

On breathing bellies

Milking dreamy sangria constellations.

 

 

5/13/08

 

Our friend Susan -- who lived near us in Minneapolis, moved to Northwest Arkansas shortly before we did and now lives back in Minneapolis – was in town visiting. She actually got in yesterday and will be staying with us the next two nights before heading back. Maya gets so excited whenever she hears Ms. Susan is coming over. And, for me, every time Susan comes over, I start thinking what it would be like to adopt a child.

Susan was born in Korea and was adopted by a family from the United States when she was an infant. She’s become a good friend of Tammy’s and ours – and really got Tammy and I thinking seriously about adopting. Susan has several brothers and sisters, all of whom were adopted from Korea and we’ve been so inspired by that.

We’ve been wanting to have another child – a sister for Maya. Both of us are set on having another girl, but we’d like to adopt, maybe from China or Korea or somewhere like that. But more than a year has ticked by since we moved to Arkansas and, with the housing market collapse, the state of the economy and all the foreclosures flooding the market, our house in Minnesota still hasn’t sold. It’s draining us and – above all – keeping us from even thinking about adopting just yet. We just couldn’t support another child until that house goes … and some days it seems like that may never happen.

I keep reminding myself there could be worse things in the world. In fact, there are. And we’re pretty fortunate, despite this minor but frustrating setback. But it does hurt every time Maya says with her innocent voice, “I want a baby sister.”

 

 

Language speaks surprises

And surprises find solutions

Like shadows behind abstract fences.

 

 

5/14/08

 

Today is one of those days I had no idea what I was going to write in this space. A little bit of everything happened, but nothing of tremendous significance. But when I laid down to sleep, I was thinking about how much I love living in Northwest Arkansas, so close to the Ozarks. I mean, I love the fact we have so much natural beauty surrounding us … we don’t even have to leave our own area of town to find some random, unpaved back road where cows or horses are wandering through fields of wild flowers, birds are singing, the rolling hills are on every side. Armadillos, coyote, owls, hawks, etc.

Within an hour, I can be sitting on top of a small mountain, looking out over what seems to be all of Northwest Arkansas and beyond. There are waterfalls the next town over and accessible enough that I can take Maya there to watch the running water any time I want. And we live in a small town that really does have small town charm. An old downtown square with unique shops and park space and flowers and fountains and a farmer’s market. Yet, the area is still able to draw an international fishing tournament, massive conventions, call one of the world’s largest companies home, and build a high school and athletics facility that impresses ESPN enough to fly to little Bentonville to film a show to broadcast across the country.

I feel at home. I feel really proud to call this my home. And I feel more excited than ever before to be raising Maya here, in a place where she doesn’t have to travel for hours to get close to and experience animals. Somewhere that hasn’t grown so out of control yet that everything that’s pure and natural has been replaced by whatever it is we call modern, urban society and progress. I guess that’s what I find so fascinating about this area of the country. People here genuinely seem to appreciate nature and the landscape we’ve been blessed with. You can just feel the genuine appreciation and respect. That’s the kind of place I want to call home. And it just so happens I do.

 

 

Home is when a road -- any road -- allows me to get lost in peace

When the rolling hills stretch toward the sun in the distance on either side,

Like waves in an undiscovered ocean.

Home is where blue finds green and forever patterns of yellow wildflowers,

Breathing like an infant without words or preconception.

Where hearts walk slowly and patiently with horses, the wind and whatever songbird the season brings.

Home is where work dissolves

And what I thought I knew becomes what’s always been true of the present moment and the fuzzy blending into the next.

Home is when ideal finds you in exploration, rather than because it’s supposed to.

When whatever scent you absorb lives harmoniously with what simply is.

 

 

5/15/08

 

Today has been one of those abstract days for me. Most of my days are, at some point anyway. People always say there’s something unique about every individual … and I truly believe the way I view whatever it happens to be in front of me if my unique trait. It’s difficult to explain, but I basically tend to see everything in abstraction. If I’m looking at a building in the distance, is see the composition of the lines moving in expressive ways and taking on a mood, rather than seeing five stories of windows and cement. When I look at the sky, I tend to see a floating gallery of sorts, where pallets of white and blue and orange and wind and taste and smell and everything else mix into each other.

I can remember during the first or second day of an RV trip from Chicago to the upper East Coast, I spent more than an hour observing the long, overgrown, weedy ditches between the eastbound and westbound lanes of traffic. On tat trip, we saw some pretty incredible sites, like the Adirondack mountains, cape Cod, Acadia national Park in Maine, thick forests of al kinds, Niagara Falls and more. But, for whatever reason, tat hour spent observing those weeds blowing in the wind in the center medians and along either side of the highway stands out as much, if not more. I didn’t see weeds or overgrown grasses at all. I saw movement and color and feeling. I saw an abstract concert, where jazz musicians were blowing their hot horns and their spontaneous music and movements were carried away in the breeze overhead. It was an amazing experience.

I guess that explains a lot of my poetry. While there are messages and thoughts expressed in my writing, I don’t often make a conscious effort to tell a story or create a clear beginning and end with all of the details in between. For me, it’s not about trying to form a story, but rather turning down the mind and allowing random words to find their way into a beautiful composition that may or may not mean anything at all. But in the absence of clear meaning, abstraction opens the door to the soul and all senses, and the freeing the imagination to run anywhere it pleases in the absence to time and boundaries.

 

 

Orange spots on black-framed windows

Meaning obscured by weightless jazz and bluebirds.

 

 

5/16/08

 

When I curled up on the couch with Tammy and Maya tonight, I have to admit I rolled my eyes. Tammy had picked a movie to watch – “P.S., I love you.” – and I was convinced it was going to suck. I love movies, so I was willing to watch anyway, but I had a feeling it was going to be some sappy chick flick.

But I quickly learned that was the man speaking inside me, not the person inside me. The movie surprised me. It, at a couple of points, brought tears to my eyes. Of course, I did not let Tammy see those tears – that was probably the man inside me as well, too embarrassed to admit. But this movie was pretty incredible in parts.

I went from thinking it was going to be utterly pointless and riddled with dialogue that went absolutely nowhere following the opening scene, to believing there’s something everyone can learn from this film.

I guess you have to watch the film to know what I’m talking about. And maybe you’ll disagree with me. But I don’t think so.

All I know is tat when the closing credits were rolling across the screen, I stared at Maya as she slept away. That connection was incredible. Our relationship. Everything she meant to me. That beautiful girl … who with every breath created something so much more precious and meaningful and inspiring than Picasso or any other artist ever has. And as I lay own for bed, I wrapped my arms around Tammy and said, ‘ I love you so much.’ I can’t imagine her not being here. I can’t imagine anything without her. It was one of those rare moments where you don’t take anything in your relationship for granted. And it was such a beautiful, meaningful moment. All because of a movie I assumed would be a sappy, senseless chick flick.

 

 

Love is strong

And there’s no abstraction for that

Nothing to color in the lines of something that just is

And I think of that love

And cry at the thought of the color we’ve produced – together, breathing somewhere else

 -- outside our arms

But that’s happiness

And our own love reborn

Love is strong.

 

 

5/17/08

 

Courage is something.

Maya can be a wild girl, but she can also be extremely cautious and, at times, uncertain. I can remember a few months back when she wanted nothing to do with walking into a room for a half hour of extremely basic ballet and tap lessons. She’d walk in all excited, but as soon as Tammy and I stepped out of the room, Maya would start crying and panicking.

No matter what we told her, she would not have us leaving the room, It was as if she would be stuck there forever and we’d never return, even though we were on the other side of the glass watching the whole thing. It got so bad we eventually dropped the class.

So it should not come as a surprise that when today – the day of her first Jitterbugs recital – rolled around, Tammy and I fully expected Maya would either never actually make it onto the stage … or she would come sprinting off as soon as the curtain went up and she’d jump into our laps trembling in fear.

But when the curtain finally did go up, there Maya was, dressed in one of several adorable costumes she donned tonight. She was smiling and … to my surprise, looked extremely confident and proud. She spotted Tammy and I in the front row of the small auditorium and immediately waved to us with a huge smile on her face.

Tammy and I waved back to Maya and mouthed to her, ‘You’re doing so good. What a big girl.” Routine after routine, Maya danced away, having a blast. And she was so proud afterward, when Tammy and I both gave her high fives and huge hugs.

Watching that curtain go up and seeing Maya standing there in her costume searching for Tammy and I am something I’ll not soon forget. It did take courage for her to do that. A lot of courage. I can’t put into words what a big moment that was for Maya … or how that experience will probably do wonders from this point forward, both for her confidence and  willingness to get up in front of crowds and try new things.

That cute, little, blond-headed thing, walking toward me in her black leotard and tights. And that huge smile on her face.

 

 

Blue tights and wild hats

Curtains up and eyes fixed on nervous seconds

As the hand finds comfort in dancing feet and movement

Blue eyes

And smiles as warm as the courageous sun.

 

 

5/18/08

 

Did all kinds of digging and playing in the dirt today. Planted flower after flower after flower in two large landscaping beds in our front yard. Even planted a small flowering tree and a tall, beautiful Japanese bush of some sort.

It didn’t take long for the dirt to get pressed up under my fingernails. The smell of the moist dirt beneath the surface … the clay and the strange colors tat are there to be discovered in this part of the south. I mean, dirt just isn’t like this in Illinois or Minnesota, where I’ve lived and had gardens and landscaping beds before. This stuff doesn’t just find its way through your hands like grains of sand. It’s a solid, heavy clump.

All those differences aside, though, one thing stood out today – and that’s how important it is to get dirt under your nails once in a while…. if not all the time. The longer I sunk my hands into the dirt, the more aware I became of my surroundings. Everything made so much more sense, It was like I was involved in some kind of peaceful science experiment. I could feel the ground breathing. I was noting all of the little details in the dirt and the smells and the feel and how much water was being stored in pockets of the earth, just below the surface I stood on.

I sat in those landscaping beds today, with sweat rolling down my face, feeling as though I had become closer friends with the planet. Like I was more aware of what was going on. Like I better understood the balance of nature. Like I was aware of the fact so many more living things and things were going on and existing in this space than just me.

As I washed my hands in the bathroom sink, I couldn’t help but think how different the moods and temperament and general views of everyone on the planet would be if they were willing to stick their hands in the dirt every day …unafraid of getting a little dirt under their nails. So often, we walk around in a fog, unaware of the breathing going on around us, beneath us, above us – everything. Everything is, in a way, harmonious, when you stick your hands in the ground and feel that drastic temperature change just a few inches into the dirt.

 

 

Blue with surprise

Fingers in the underground

Pockets of moisture and mystery

Veins spidering through dark vitamins

Aid and sopping goodness

The forgotten ingredient of peace.

 

 

5/19/08

 

More planting today. Beautiful little purple flowers with green leaves spreading out along the surface. I was right back to that special place I wrote about yesterday, feeling connected to everything around me. But it was watching Maya that provided another layer to the experience today.

Maya sat down next to me beside the dirt bed and watched for a few minutes. She was so focused and observant. And then she blurted out – what you doin’? I explained I was planting flowers and that we were going to water them later so they could get some food and grow even bigger and prettier.

I pulled a tiny weed and set t aside and noticed Maya was studying it there on the sidewalk – this helpless little weed, uprooted from it’s life source. I picked it up and gave it to her… and she immediately lowered her nose to it and attempted to smell it, as if it were a beautiful flower or something. She waited a second and then lowered her head to the weed again and gave it a kiss. The next thing I know, Maya is at the edge of the dirt bed, moving around the dirt and mulch, attempting to plant the little weed. Her hands moved so gently through the dirt and mulch. And she was so careful with the weed, as if it were a newborn baby or something.

There is something truly amazing about every day, no matter what the circumstances. And for me, today that moment was watching Maya with that weed. If only we all had such respect and care for every living thing.

 

 

Blue is white in the absence of milk

On soft shadows, breeze and soft consciousness

Two faint dots finding curtains and tomorrow.

 

 

5/20/08

 

Today moved by like a blur. Work to errands to picking Maya up at daycare. Then, back to work late in the evening to crank out stories form the county election primaries. But on my way home from work, I found today’s poem writing itself in my head . It was a little after midnight and I was reaching around din my car for a pen to scribble down the words running through my head.

I eventually pulled over to the side of the road and scratched out the poem in a matter of a minute or two. There’s definitely a connection between the experiences I’ve written about the past couple of days and the direction of my poem tonight (well, I guess it’s technically early tomorrow morning). Thinking about the environment and how we pollute it. We take, take, take, without giving any respect or thanks in return. It’s kind of disgusting.

 

 

Plastic faces and plastic soil

Plastic minds and plastic veins

Plastic tears

Melted faces.

 

 

5/21/08

 

So many things we take for granted, like turning the wheel of a car to go the direction we need or desire to go. Today, I spent about an hour after I got home from work, walking up and down our block as Maya drove her new motorized kid’s jeep around. She’s so proud of her new car. But all she has really understood the first couple of days she’s had it is to push the pedal on the floor to make it go.

The whole concept of using the steering wheel to correct your path or to move to one side or the other or turn around just wasn’t there yesterday or the day before. But today, it started to click. Maya started to get it. She started turning the wheel when it needed to be turned. She definitely overcompensated and overturned nearly every time, but she was trying to figure it out. It was starting to make sense.

It was a blast to watch her sort it all out.

 

 

Everything is as new as the next and before

Moments frozen and disappeared

Quiet

As blades of grass on music.

 

 

5/22/08

 

Today was all about feeling the sun. It’s amazing how the change of seasons can play with you. I mean, it’s spring quickly rolling into summer, so you know it’s going to be getting warmer ….. and I’m completely looking forward to that. But you would have thought someone had lit the earth on fire today, the way it felt to me. But it was probably only in the low 80s.

Why is that? Is it because the body needs time to get used to the temperature heating up? I mean, in a few months, a temperature like this might prompt you to want to bring along something with long sleeves. Maybe not, but you know what I mean. It’s going to be 100 for several consecutive days in August. The low 80s is nothing.

But, that said, it’s pretty incredible to think about the power of the sun, of cloud cover, of whatever it is that’s going on in the sky or on the surface of the planet at any time. We’re so far from the sun, it’s not like we can get a hold of it or anything, but you can feel the power of the heat being radiated from it, especially on a day like today. You can feel that light crashing off the earth’s surface. An when the clouds roll in a couple days from now, it will be equally amazing how they are able to simply bounce many of those incredible strong rays right back into the sky, giving the surface a breather and a cool respite, of sorts.

And then you start thinking about how all of that plays into sustaining life. What tiny, microscopic organism may not live if that cloud cover doesn’t roll in. And what is given life when the sun’s rays are given an uninterrupted path to the earth’s surface on a clear day? It’s fascinated how interconnected everything is. We just tend not to think about things with any depth. We tend to walk around with blinders on, I guess. How else could we possibly find any second of any day boring or dull? Every fraction of every second is a complex miracle. It’s impressive how peaceful those complex miracles can be if you are willing to absorb them. They just cause you to breathe a little easier and more in synch with the air around us.

 

 

Air through a square from days away

Sweat on the skin of sidewalks and yesterday

40 mph and open to the sky

The chaos of fun moving everywhere,

Like children in a swimming pool.

 

 

5/23/08

 

I’m one who loves to sleep wit the window open. I love breathing the fresh air as I sleep. If the temperature is just right – fairly warm but with a hint of cool moving in my window with the breeze – I sleep like a baby. If it’s one of those warm days where it’s also pretty muggy, it’s not quite as comfortable, but I still like the window being wide open. I just flip on the ceiling fan and throw off my blanket.

Today was definitely one of those humid, hot days. But it felt good. And I just got done penning my poem for 5/23/08 and am considering opening the window in our bedroom and turning on the ceiling fan for some circulation. I guess it’s kind of like getting your hands n the dirt and establishing that connection with the earth. Sleeping with the window open, you’re feeding on the breeze and the air and the temperature of everything alive and good outside, all night.

That’s why the change in seasons is so awesome. In the spring, you get the scent of budding flowers and greening grass and everything coming to life, floating through the screen on the bedroom window. And in the fall, you get the sound of rustling leave and a comfortable nip in the air, as you tuck yourself away under the comforter. In the summer, every day seems to be different. Some nights, the temperature does dip a bit lower with a breeze. Some nights, however, the heat seems to remain just as relentless as it was when the sun was showing itself in broad daylight.

And it’s all real.

I wish every bedroom was constructed in a four-season porch, surrounded by mesh or screen, allowing the air to pass through uninterrupted. Then, to wake up in the middle of the night to find yourself looking through the stars in the sky …….. it just doesn’t get any better than that.

 

 

Humidity finds its way through tiny squares in open spring windows

Sleeping softly above purple pentas

The air moves quietly with dripping spoons of wonder

Swallowing color in the absence of the moon.

 

 

5/24/08

 

A beautiful night, breathing the air under the lights of Arvest Ballpark, home of the Northwest Arkansas Naturals, Class AA affiliate of the Kansas City Royals. Tammy’s parents and both sets of her grandparents have been in town visiting us this weekend. It always feels good to step into the ballpark, just about any ballpark, for nine innings of ball. The Naturals were taking on the Frisco RoughRiders, Class AA affiliate of the Texas Rangers. Great game and Frisco came from behind to win, but the thing I’ll remember – and that’s still dancing through my head – is the acrobatic play the naturals’ shortstop, Angel Sanchez, made in the third inning or so. He tracked down a ball that was headed directly over second base and, without stopping or even slowing, somehow managed to flip the ball out of his glove behind his back and directly into the glove of the waiting second baseman. The second baseman touched second and fired to first to complete the double play. There’s no way for me to explain it justly – other than to say it reminded me of something Ozzy Smith would have pulled off. At the moment, I can’t recall ever seeing a more phenomenal defensive play live.

But the highlight of the night, of course, was Maya. She sat on my lap for a few innings, clapping and cheering. All she knew was that she was at a baseball game and people were making lost of noise. It was great watching her play games with her grandpa --- giggling and giggling. Eventually, she ended up sitting on grandpa’s lap and mommy’s lap, but I was watching from down the row of seats. She was having a blast. This night just felt altogether good.

 

 

Sunken green with yellow stripes of summer victory

Senses lightly sprinkled by $8 ticket stubs and an overheard view of silence

And rows and concourse excitement

Making history of its birth in the company of grazing cattle

--crack –

And a roar of the passing evening

And breathing grass stains.

 

 

5/25/08

 

Woke up early this morning when I heard Maya calling my name at about 6:15 a.m. I got up with her and we hung out for a while, but I eventually found my way back to bed when everyone else was up and hanging out in the living room.

I slept for a little while, but when I woke up, I was in one of those incredibly relaxed states. And, before long, strings of words and abstract visuals started coming to me. So I grabbed my note pad and scribbled out the words as best I could … and within about 10 minutes, my poem was written.

The words just kept coming, from where I’m not entirely sure where. All I know was that the morning sun was showing through the bedroom window and it just felt like a good morning. I could hear birds singing outside my window or on the roof. I closed my eyes and it just sounded and felt so beautiful. I opened my eyes and the beams of light seemed to be floating above my head. I could count them individually. It was wild and, as I’ve already said, beautiful.

 

 

Crystal suns

Obscured by anticipated fountains

And light unique to morning bedrooms

Warblers marching on invisible lawns and courtyards

Wilderness on a patch of pink sangria.

 

 

5/26/08

 

Can’t go wrong with a three-day weekend. It was Memorial Day today. And a pretty lazy day at that.  Played with Maya. Went on a shopping run to Missouri. Cooked a few cool meals on the grill and chowed down on some great dip and beer bread that Tammy made. Nothing incredibly outstanding today, but I go to bed tonight feeling extremely loved. I do every day, but it just stands out today for some reason. I can feel it. Kind of not looking forward to going to work tomorrow, but who knows what that will bring. That’s then and this is now. The moment is a beautiful thing.

 

 

Spots across the window

Through a familiar street lamp reflection

Of rays speaking to outstretched limbs

And gaps between negative space

Straight sidewalks finding nowhere stars

Black as the ceiling across the opening to forever

Vertical black across the sleeping lawn of white shadows.

 

 

5/27/08

 

I have a feeling my experience today is going to develop into something further. I was moved and motivated even more than I was the night I saw Radiohead jam in that basement on VH1 and decided to start this project.

There's this little town called Springtown, Arkansas about 25 minutes from my house and it's so crazy. I went there today because it’s this place along a little road that leads to a few bigger towns. No one ever stops at this place and certainly no one ever wakes up and says, "I'm going to go hang out in Springtown today.”

This place is very poor and there are only 114 residents. The houses and the few other buildings there are very old and have such character. And there are some pretty dilapidated things as well. But it's amazing to me because this place seems to have been forgotten.

I mean, it's located along this little winding road only 15 miles from what may be the busiest stretch of Interstate highway in the entire state and the busiest commercial area in the entire region. 15 minutes away in another town, people are ordering pizzas for delivery and watching sports on satellite television, yet in Springtown there are people still going down to the local creek to get their water for washing dishes and cooking and showering and everything. I can't believe it.

I mean, I know there are other communities in so many places that have to get their water like this, even in 2008, but this place is so close to everything, yet so far away and such a throwback lifestyle, you know? So much stuff has been developed north, south, east and west of this place, yet when you arrive in Springtown, it's like you are hundreds and hundreds of miles from anything. It's quiet. The birds are singing all the time. There are kids swimming in the creek. People are on their porches. There are open fields and hills and forest to explore. But nothing is fancy at all. Nothing is modern. It's just basic. I know there are some people really struggling to make ends meat here, but I didn’t walk away today feeling as though anyone was sad. It was so real.

I spent some time talking with these people and many of them feel very fortunate that they have been forgotten or ignored by everything else on all sides of them. It's like living in the middle of nowhere, in the country. I talked to a 94-year-old lady who's lived there her whole life and another person who has been getting water from the creek for 21 years and wouldn't move if you gave her a house with running water somewhere else.

I have been thinking tonight about doing some kind of feature on this place for the paper. I mean, I want to do a series or something and I have an idea where I want to have a photographer do a cover for this section with a collage of the portraits of all 114 residents of Springtown. Each individual head shot of these people would be in a collage to form a whole page .... because it would put real faces to this place everyone just passes by and ignores.

And I could spend some time with these people, actually getting to know them and their personalities and what makes this community tick. The photos alone from the buildings and houses and activities and other things you could only find in this place would be incredible. But I really like that idea of making a collage with all the faces. Each of those faces would tell a story. It's the town's identity. Real people with real lives.

 

 

Springtown 114

Clear sunlit forests and yesterday in overgrown shadows

Fetching secrets from upstream

Habits like involuntary hermits

In a jungle of upside down bridges and warped crosses on wooden porches

Swimming holes with stories of northern chill, in southern humidity

Smiling with acceptance on the unmarked highway

A world inside a mile

Dependant and satisfied.

 

 

5/28/08

 

Came across an old review Rolling Stone Magazine published when Radiohead released it’s fourth CD, “Kid A.” Damn that review was right on. The way it was written even felt like Kid A – like the breaking away, the originality and the scrapping of all rules that stand in the way of innovation and something truly ground-breaking.

I found myself really reflecting on what that CD meant – what it still means and represents. It’s pretty incredible to think about it’s place in music history. In the history of art as a whole. I mean, they just scrapped everything rock music normally clings to and opened up a creative vein that hadn’t been tapped in quite the same way ever before.

And today, when I got home from work, I put my iPod on the sound dock and listened to “In Rainbows” in its entirety. And, damn. There’s something special going on there. Every artist strives for that special feeling that comes every time you finish a painting, pen that incredible line of a poem or come up with that something that stands as truly original. You get that rush and feeling of almost weightlessness … and the only thing better would be to have that state of being continue endlessly.

That’s what makes Radiohead, Pink Floyd, Jimi Hendrix … in my opinion …. So incredibly inspiring and just different from anything at all. I mean, they put you there time and time again. Everything they touch seems to put you in that moment – and all the chaos everywhere finds its way into some sort of adrenaline rush, followed by a peacefulness that’s just right. Everything truly is in its right place (to borrow a phrase from Radiohead).

 

 

Everything is

When the sun finds its face on the backside of a moonlit teardrop

Having breakfast with the specks at all ends of forever.

 

 

5/29/08

 

It’s kind of crazy how connected and rooted-to-the-earth the cluster of 42 days this series is based on have been to this point. After every day, I find myself what can possibly be around the corner, waiting for me to experience before the next time I sit down to the keyboard.

Today was no exception. It was one of those days I knew my assignment for the day would turn into the lead story on the front page of tomorrow’s newspaper. It all started with an email I got yesterday talking about some couple in east Rogers that’s building a house out of tire bales – basically tightly compacted bales of old car tires. As different and interesting as that sounds, I still wasn’t sure exactly what I would think of it once I got there. But I knew it would grab people’s attention, regardless.

When I arrived at the worksite at about 9:45 this morning, however, I immediately knew it was going to be even better than I had imagined possible. First, this wasn’t some wacky couple that woke up n the morning and decided to fly by the seat of their pants and throw this thing together. This was well thought out … and they were planning to make a significant difference.

The walls and core of this house were constructed of giant tire bales, each one weighing in at about 1 ton. Imagine all of the 2x4s, studs and skeleton of a traditional home and replace it all with these tire bales. Then, the bales are covered with cement. So now you’re living in an incredibly insulated home tat remains cool during hot outside temps and heats up at night when the sun goes down or when it’s cold outside. The east side of the home is a wall of angled windows that allow natural light to pour throughout the entire living space. And the light isn’t just utilized by the people living inside, but also the fruit trees and other incredible vegetation that grow indoors. And the plumbing has been engineered in a way that carries all shower, dish and non toilet water through an underground filtration system and deposits it into the indoor planting areas. So when you take a shower in this house, you’re also watering the plants.

And all of this is set back off the beaten path, in a gorgeous, wooded valley. It’s quiet and peaceful. There are no utilities necessary, as the home has been constructed to capture sunlight and convert it into electricity. Rain water is captured and stored in on-site cisterns that fed the home’s plumbing system. Imagine in this day and age, not having to worry about a gas, electric or water bill. And imagine turning the rest of the property into massive gardens and living off of it.

It’s pretty incredible. In a way, it all seems unreal, but I walked through it. I witnessed it. It’s very real. Talk about being connected and aware and having an appreciation for the earth. Talk about living responsibly and stepping outside the norm for the good of the planet and your own health. I walked through the small area of the home that was finished and it felt as though you were outside when you were inside. Imagine waking up every morning being that close to the earth -- not immediately separated by carpet, forced air and whatever other manufactured material or substance there is that tends to contribute to blinding us from our precious surroundings.

I mean, I feel like I’ve become more connected and aware just from keeping this 42-day journal and regularly penning poems. Imagine walking up every day in an environment like this. It’s like every day is a camping trip – but in reality it’s home. That’s the point, I guess. The earth is everyone’s home. So why do we abuse it the way we do?

 

 

The single window

Lit in the shadows of towering oxygen

Drawing interpretations of the stars

Blinking and wise with anticipation

Finding space in the noise of nature.

 

 

5/30/08

 

Today, I woke up to an email from Tsuneo. Most days are like that, as we email back and forth regularly. But since his baby boy, Haruku, has been born, we’ve been throwing emails back and forth even more often.

When will life get back to normal? Will it get back to normal? What is normal?

Sleep? I’m so tired. Up all night.

Questions. Confusion. Concern. And complete peace and happiness, in an altogether incredible way.

Listening to one generation and then another. Family. Communication. Love. And precious beauty.

Those first weeks and months and years are such a whirlwind. There are so many emotions and new challenges, anticipated and unanticipated scenarios and experiences. Love is flowing, yet frustration finds its own peaks. But it’s been awesome having each other to bounce thoughts and experiences and everything off of each other through this. Tsuneo told me this morning that he values my opinions and insight and our daily email conversations. And I embrace the opportunity to hear about his experiences. Hearing the emotion in his emails. Friendship is invaluable, inspirational.

There’s something about the fact this exchange is taking place between two individuals living in different cultures on opposite sides of the globe and surrounded by very different people and influences that adds a special quality.

 

 

Orange mouths on cotton mist

Tasting striped lunacy.

 

 

5/31/08

 

Mill Dam Road, a skinny, winding back road through the country not far from my house, is quickly becoming my favorite place to unwind, let the mid rest and the soul dance. It’s the third or fourth time I’ve driven this beautifully quiet and simple road through the Ozarks with my windows all rolled down – and it just feels beautiful. Driving to the turnoff where Mill Dam Road starts, I feel the excitement racing inside me like a kid counting down the hours of a day until the big baseball game later that day.

Today started beautiful and ended beautifully. Tammy had a few appointments and a pottery class and that sort of thing, so Maya and I got ready and went to the Bentonville Farmer’s Market. The morning was overcast, as we were supposed to have isolated showers throughout the morning. But we managed to get about an hour in at the farmer’s market before the rain really started to fall.

Maya and I checked out the vegetable and flowers. Some guy turned a few balloons into a groovy flower for Maya, which she loved. And we spent the next half hour sitting on a curb, listening to a threesome called Shout Lulu, a string band with a folksy sound that bills itself as “Old time music and dance in the Ozark Mountains.” And, just like Mill Dam Road feels beautiful and free, Shout Lulu felt like true, old-time Ozark music. It was a banjo, a violin and a mini guitar of some sort, with each member seated on stools, huddled around a microphone. Very simple and fun and happy. During a few songs, the female in the group even stood up and did an incredible tap dance to the tune.

Maya loved listening and, a few times, wandered to the front of the area where the band was playing and started dancing, waving her balloon flower above her head. I just sat on the curb and smiled. Amazing how music moves people, no matter what the age.

Maya and I battled the raindrops all the way to The Promenade, an outdoor mall in Rogers, the next town over. BY the time we found a parking spot, the rain had let up and the sky began to clear. We stopped in Border’s and bought a few books and I read Maya’s new selection to her, as she sat on my lap on the ledge of an outdoor fountain.

After a while, I decided to head for Mill Dam Road, figuring Maya would sleep in the car on the way. She did, and continued to snooze away for about a half hour, as I drove the winding road through the quiet valley. Trees everywhere, Old homes. Quiet farms and rows of wild flowers. Cows huddled together under a big shade tree patch, while a few cooled off in a small pond. The sun was shining brightly by now and it was really heating up. I drove on with the windows down, exploring and soaking up every second of my path down this incredible stress reliever of a road. I mean, this place just brings you to where you need to be. There’s something so harmonizing about it.

There were a few small deer running in the distance and three horses walking around on a nearby farm. I saw what I believe was a Blue Jay, then a cardinal or two and incredibly interesting looking little yellow and gray bird I’ve yet to identify. There’s an old silo with the top missing. Must have gone missing years ago, as a tree has grown up the height of the circular structure and is now peeking out the open top at the sun.

Maya woke up as we crossed a low water bridge , where the water was rushing by softly. A few minutes later, we found ourselves parked beneath that small patch of shade trees, enjoying the cover from the sun and watching all kinds of cows that had gathered nearby. There were so many calves mixed into the group now. And Maya was in all her glory, pointing and laughing, as she was so excited to have an opportunity to observe the cows so close up. Her beautiful blue eyes stared away, just a couple of feet from the thin wire fence that separated the cows from us.

Those same couple of cows I had seen soaking in the pond a little while earlier were still doing so. And I pointed out a threesome of turtles sun bathing on a log sticking out of the edge of the pond that was exposed to the light.

Every time I drive down this road, there’s something new to observe – some incredibly beautiful detail or species or whatever that I hadn’t noticed before. I’m already excited about the thought of my next meander down this quiet, hidden gem of a country road.

 

 

Wishing star

Invisible above the clear valley

Water counting lazy minutes

Between the songs of blue and red and butterfly honey

Ambient grasses in repetition with steeds and quiet diamonds

Healing rows of random perfection.

 

 

 

6/1/08

 

Today was all about love. In fact, this whole weekend was love. Watching Maya dance around to the music at the farmer’s market yesterday … and then again on the grass in front of the stage at the Saturday night music jam at the outdoor mall was awesome. Tammy and I watched Maya bop away and spin across the grass, as a steel guitar blues musicians played a solo gig. It was a gorgeous night to spend outside and I could tell Tammy was feeling the same love in her heart that I was.

It was just a good, realizing weekend, where family comes together and just spreads its roots into each other’s hearts. Today was an easy day. We got up late, played with Maya, shared laughs together – all three of us. Went for a walk around the block with the dog and didn’t give any thought to anyone’s schedule but our own. It was one of those days where I rarely, if ever, looked at a clock or even thought about time. You know it’s a good day when that happens.

Tammy and Maya are asleep. I just spent a few minutes staring up at the sky, watching the stars duck in and out of a thin layer of moving clouds. The air tastes good and life is good. It’s going to be a good sleep tonight.

 

 

10:30 a.m. finds eyes on damp evening skies

With white stars and a foggy invitation to tomorrow

The quiet of love

Confidence with green patches of morning salt.

 

 

6/2/08

 

I was feeling like I was in a really good place when I woke up this morning. I remained in the moment, noticed the birds singing, the clouds moving and that sort of thing. I made myself a cup of hot green tea and hung out with Maya and helped make Tammy’s lunch for her to bring to work.

I was running a little behind when I dropped Maya off at her school (we call it school instead of daycare because it’s NOT AT ALL  a “drop off and babysit my kid kind of a place”). But when I pulled out of her parking lot, I decided to turn right instead of left, which took me down a country highway to the end of my now addicting route down Mill Dam Road. I absolutely love that drive. If you need to be brought back to the moment, that 20 minute drive down my stretch of Mill Dam Road brings me back. And if you’re already in the moment, it’s almost like a drug. My senses go into overload – and in a very good way. And it’s incredible to just stop the car, have all the windows rolled completely down and listen to the deafening songs so many different kinds of birds all bouncing around in the quiet little valley.

20-or-so minutes later, I was back on Arkansas Highway 12 and headed to work. I popped my Jimi Hendrix Blues CD into the car disc player and cued up song No. 2, his electric interpretation of “Born Under a Bad Sign.” Damn, that was perfect. This was definitely the right way to start the day.

 

 

Sunrise tributary

Planned and surprised in the same sensation

Juggling warm tractors and fresh eyes

Born from moments and innocence

Pausing for the Monday morning chorus.

 

 

6/3/08

 

Well, I woke up this morning and my quiet country road was calling once again. I made the right turn out of the parking lot at Maya’s school and followed it through the thick canopy of trees to Arkansas Highway 264, turned right and then right again on Mill Dam Road.

It’s not getting old, this morning routine. It’s been putting me in a really good place to start my days. You get that connection with nature – that level of freedom that only comes with taking a moment to really understand how you’re a simple speck among a massive universe.

I was absolutely in awe as I watched the top of the long grasses in the open field leading up to the thick forest of trees that climbed the hillside in the distance. The grasses are really high right now and they were all moving in rhythm in the wind. The shadows were moving over the top of the swaying grasses like piano keys when you run your hand from one end of the keyboard to the other. Here and there, there were these purple wild flowers or weeds or something sticking up above the grasses, like people trying to get a peek at what may be somewhere in the distance from this mass of life swaying in the wind. The songbirds were at it again and, every so often one would swoop down and glide just above the tops of the grasses.

Watching this inspired me to write my daily poem – which is a little bit different for me. For the most part, I’ve been penning my poems right before going to bed. But the few I have written in the morning so far, I’ve felt really good about them. All of today felt good, in fact.

I started this 42-day project feeling more connected and in the moment than I’ve been for some time. But I feel like I’m really getting rooted in the moment, at least a bit deeper and more consistently than before. This incredible back road is part of that, but it’s really everything – Maya, Tammy, the environment, the air – everything. But I find myself thinking more and more about the fact this project – penning one poem per day and writing a quick journal entry (like this one) really helps keep me in the moment. There’s a level of awareness that just hasn’t floated away or become lost or forgotten as often lately.

 

 

The tide carries softly

Purple dancers stretching for air

As the waves find solitude in the breeze of another day

Shadows pulsating

Carrying, softly

White and yellow dreams flutter like a leaf without direction

Catching love.

 

 

6/4/08

 

Ever really think about how truly interconnected everything is … and it all begins and ends with the land? I was watching a farmer on is tractor today, in the distance, and it brought on almost a cleansed feeling. I thought about how he was cutting off the long, wild fields and rolling them up into bales. And how those long grasses would grow again, with the aid of simple rainfall and every day sunlight … and the whole process would repeat itself over and over and over again … providing a sustainable cycle of life. Then I thought about how we tend to manipulate or alter this precious land in so many ways, beyond what it was intended. There was a day when all we did was depend on the sun to provide our food, our life, our livelihood. But then we decided we couldn’t wait for the sun, so we started drilling for oil and cutting down forests and using up our precious resources.

I grew up in a predominantly urban area, and really didn’t have any respect fro farmers. I mean, I knew what they did was tough work, but it didn’t occur to me until much later that farmer’s are probably some of the most connected people to the land and our true roots. I mean, they depend on the finest details in the soil to produce crops and livestock and more. So much of what they do is sustainable and respectful of the planet. Watching that farmers today, I had such a respect and such admiration for these people and what they do. The wisdom there people possess. They’re out there working their fields and livestock every day, probably noticing many of the little details like the weather and the tiny creatures and the smells and so many of the little details that make the miracle of life possible.

 

 

Rainbow particles

Blue and yellow and red and powder

Tasting chocolate sunsets

And tropical canopies.

 

 

6/5/08

 

Very little of today was spent outside – but it’s a day I look forward to each year that I work for the Daily Record.

Today was media day for the annual Wal-Mart Shareholders Week. To anyone who just reads those words and hasn’t been to northwest Arkansas to experience it, it’s impossible to understand the enthusiasm and energy with which I’m writing right now. And I understand that.

But that’s the thing – it’s special because this just doesn’t happen anywhere else.

It all started earlier this week, when thousands of Wal-Mart associates, shareholders, media and others from not only the United States, but the entire globe, started arriving. On Tuesday and Wednesday, Bentonville’s tiny downtown square was crawling with hundreds – at times thousands – of people from every corner of the globe. Brazil. China. Japan. England. India. The list goes on and on …

This week every year, thousands flock to Bentonville and northwest Aransas for Shareholders Week, which wraps up tomorrow (Friday), with what’s referred to as the Shareholders Meeting – but it’s actually an annual bash at Bud Walton Arena, complete with acrobats, music every country represented cheering and waving their flags as if we were at a Brazilian or German soccer game.

This little corner of Arkansas turns into the largest tourist hub in the nation for one week. But today, it’s media day, where Wal-Mart takes newspaper reporters, magazine writers, television crews, radio personalities and others through its stores, behind the scenes and more to get a feel for what’s happening – what makes the world’s largest retailer tick. It’s pretty fascinating, because all of these people show up in northwest Arkansas expecting Wal-Mart – the retail giant – to have this massive headquarters and be located among a sea of cement and skyscrapers. Instead, they find themselves nestled in the quiet Ozarks, in small towns where there’s plenty of room to breathe and life moves at a much slower pace. It’s not dirty and there aren’t traffic jams. People can drive to work in a matter of minutes and have complete silence at night.

It’s a feeling that’s hard to describe, as I talk to so many of these visitors and each of them talks about how amazed they are by how small the region we call home is. And how peaceful it is. And how they just want to sit down on our downtown square and listen to the birds sing in the trees for a while. It makes me even more proud to live where I do.

My favorite part of media day is having an opportunity to meet and talk with so many other reporters from around the world. Last year, I became friends with a man named Sundeep Khana, a reporter for a publication called Financial Times in India. This year, I got to know a few members of the visiting media from Brazil and Puerto Rico. It’s pretty awesome to have all of these clearly different groups of people all together in such mass – yet everyone is together rather than fighting. It’s such a peaceful gathering, even with everything that’s going on in the world at the moment – even with all of the justified hatred these visitors could be throwing at us due to the blunders of the Bush administration and our government in general.

 

 

Eyes on a dust that feels like South Dakota

With yellow tapestries

Growing smiles over naked fence posts and basic paths of life

Circling for the moment time finds itself reflecting on the shadows cast on brown.

 

 

6/6/08

 

I was up at 4:30 a.m. and on the road by 5:15 a.m. and boarding a charter bus by 5:30 a.m. with a caravan of hundreds of reporters en route to Bud Walton Arena in Fayetteville to cover the Shareholders Meeting – which as I explained before is basically an annual congratulatory party like no other.

Many refer to the annual meeting as a show - and it certainly opened like one. Here’s a couple of paragraphs I wrote for the paper describing the opening of the 2008 bash in Fayetteville:

A silhouette ripping off chords on an electric guitar appeared at the left side of the stage. The sound of drum sticks banging on metal echoed throughout Bud Walton Arena. The arena lights flashed and with that - the entertainment was on.

Acrobats came flying from every direction. Several bodies emerged from a platform fastened to the rafters, taking flight above the crowd. A half dozen bodies swung from cables high above the audience, like a trapeze act without the wire. Two acrobats defied gravity as they spun, flipped, jumped rope and balanced atop a contraption that looked like a giant dual hamster wheel in motion.

The electric guitar and the repetitive thumping of a pair of metal garbage cans continued to ricochet throughout the arena as attendees moved to the edge of their seats. If Wal-Mart sought to grab everyone's undivided attention, it had accomplished its task - and then some.

And that was only the first five minutes of the three-hour event.

There were musical acts around every corner, celebrities and an arena packed with sections of people all proud to be from whatever country or state of store they were representing. It’s pretty wild to be standing in the center of the main flood, with all of this happening around you. And it’s your job to cover it.

There are those who can’t stand Wal-Mart no mater what. But this is an event I look forward to covering each year. Again, it just doesn’t happen anywhere else. There’s not a company like Wal-Mart sitting in everyone’s back yard.

 

 

The speck is the unnoticed grain

In the salad of everything.

 

 

6/7/08

 

All of a sudden, I’ve had this string of days where I went from complete connection to nature to an international blitz. And while today provided a balance of both, it began with a continuation of the international flavor I’ve been tasting all week.

I worked my half-day Saturday shift, something each reporter at the Daily Record draws monthly. And as the visitors from across the globe were piling into Northwest Aransas regional Airport to find their way home, I was assigned to write a feature for our Sunday morning edition about the annual International Festival put on in neighboring Rogers. It made for a pretty good story – all the tacos and mango drinks and curried rice floating around – all of the international song and dance. I mean, there were more than 50 countries represented, and none of these people were visiting shareholders. These are people who live right here in northwest Arkansas. Again, a pretty crazy statistic for a relatively quiet place like this to boast.

But the best part of the day was a little drive Tammy, Maya and I took a few hours before sunset. For the first time, I introduced Tammy to Mill Dam Road, but on the way we made a pit stop – and it was a very good one.

We continued one street past the turnoff for Mill Dam Road and drove into a small, spacious subdivision that’s just getting off the ground called Beau Chalet. Tammy and I have been talking a lot lately about wanting to find or build a house someday with some acreage. Doesn’t have to be a ton of acreage, but enough to give us some space and a sense of place. Where we can wake up in the morning or sit on the patio at night and feel and sound and be just like we’re on Mill Dam Road, taking in that peace.

At some point, we both know we will probably go without subdivision life. Without the tiny lots and one house right next to another. We want to live in the country, where we can watch the birds come and go in droves and where wildlife wanders through your back yard and where your back yard is the Ozarks, uninterrupted. And where we can have a horse, since that’s something we really want to get for Maya a few years or more down the line.

The one problem is we don’t necessarily like losing neighbors. We want at last a few people nearby to connect with and for Maya to play with, you know? So that’s why we were so struck by Beau Chalet. While it is sort of a subdivision, no lot backs up to another lot. No one will ever be able to look into the back windows of another home. The lots are big, ranging from one to three acres and they’re – for the most part – tucked away or backed up by huge, mature trees and forest. There are 10 to 12 lots surrounded by creeks and streams when you pull in … and then a single road winds up a hillside to the upper level of Beau Chalet, where several more lots are for sale, offering views out over the Ozarks.

It’s a magnificent view. I stared out the open window of our car and immediately felt at home – actually more like I had gone to heaven. I could see forever. It was like were sitting on top of a mountain, looking out at the ass of hills, forest and winding, dirt country roads in the distance. It was a postcard picture.

Then, I noticed something that still has me smiling. I stared out into the distance a little further and realized one of those dirt country roads was Mill Dam Road, below. All of a sudden, this place really seemed like home.

Everything we were looking for was there. There were no other subdivisions around, anywhere within several miles in any direction. Just this collection of spaced out homes twisting and turning up a hillside and onto a plateau, above a section of the Ozarks I have come to love deeply over the past several weeks. A place where I have come to feel so at home and so connected to nature and the little details.

Who knows what will happen. We know we’d love to call this place home, but will the opportunity present itself? Hopefully.

We wouldn’t be able to keep a horse there, but everything else and a little more is waiting for us. And there’s any number of ranches nearby to keep and ride a horse when that time comes.

So when Tammy, Maya and I drove Mill Dam Road tonight, I caught myself looking into the rear view mirror a few times, staring at one of the rooftops at the top of that hill in Beau Chalet far in the distance.

As I Watched that rooftop disappear into the distance, I stared out at the long grasses blowing in the wind along Mill Dam Road. I could hear the birding singing. Horses were grazing and everything was beautiful.

This is right.

I can feel it.

 

 

Hello, heaven

Imagining dreams on thick green plateaus

A ridge in song

Hello, heaven

Under blue umbrellas

Vistas of song

Dirt paths on wings and reflections.

 

 

6/8/08

 

There’s an old song that features the phrase “Easy, like Sunday morning.” It may even be the name of the song. And today was certainly that.

On this Sunday morning, Tammy, Maya, Dasha (the dog) and I all spent the morning sitting beside the rushing waters of Tanyard Creek in Bella Vista. It’s a place I love to take Maya because she can sit there for forever, just throwing leaves and rocks into the water and watching them carry downstream. It was a hot, sunny morning, but we sat tucked away, inches from the rushing water, beneath the cover of the thick, tree-lined banks.

It was peaceful. It was quiet. Perfect. Exactly what Sundays are meant for, you know?

It was nearly 30 minutes before anyone else happened upon our little spot, just a few hundred yards around the bend in the creek from a small waterfall. And those people disappeared in a hurry, so it was immediately back to peace and quiet and watching Maya do her thing. I honestly wouldn’t mind doing this as a family every Sunday morning.

I think we will.

What better way to give thanks than to take a seat in nature and marvel at it … respect it … and love it?

We hiked a portion of the trail afterward, through the woods, along the high shelf above and then on the trail at water’s level below and over a cool old suspension bridge. Saw a cardinal that was as red as a Crayola crayon near the trailhead.

And much as I’ve been trying  to remain in the moment, I’m now looking forward to our trip to Hot Springs this weekend. I’ve never been in the Ouachita mountains – and  Hot Springs is a picture of beauty – at least from the aerial shots I’ve seen. Water everywhere. Tree-covered hills everywhere. Character and charm. Nature. Fun.

It’s going to be beautiful. And only four days away … and counting …

 

 

Sweet and easy

Like the underside of waterfalls

Violin droplets

Into the mustard mouths of slow motion carousels.

 

 

6/9/08

 

Maybe it’s because we had just spent yesterday morning sitting beside Tanyard Creek, around the bend from a small waterfall … but for some reason I found myself staring at the rain pouring down today feeling as though I was staring out from the underside of a waterfall.

Does that make any sense at all?

Several times, I found myself staring out the window. The rain was pouring down something fierce and all I could feel was this peaceful calm as I stared through the negative space between the droplets. It was kind of surreal. It felt like I was sitting under a waterfall.

It’s been really hot and sunny lately, so the downpour today was definitely a different – and as it turns out – welcome twist. And that storm apparently caused the temperature to suddenly drop enough that a thick cloud of fog has turned my front yard into the scene you’d have if you were walking atop a giant mountain somewhere. I’ve always loved fog for that reason. Reminds me of a time I was in the Rocky Mountains and once when I was on a lookout point in Acadia National Park in Maine – where it was as if I was walking on clouds and not the rocky tops of a mountain.

Something so spiritual about that – not truly being able to see where your next step will land. It’s one of those letting your soul guide rather than your mind things.

Nature is beautiful like that.

 

 

Plastic cups and nectarine salads

Pits thrown to grazing fish on red waters

Purple with the juice of mango midnight railroads.

 

 

6/10/08

 

“We are what we think.

All that we are arises with our thoughts.

With our thoughts we make the world.”

Those words have been a source of motivation for me for the past several years, although I’m just like anyone else in that I tend to get sucked into the temptations and confusion of the rat race and lose site of these words from time to time. But the Dhamapada (the ancient Buddhist book these words were pulled from) is pretty much the handbook to dispelling hate, anger and turning meditation into a consistent state of being, rather than something you do while closing your eyes and sitting Indian style on the floor once in a while.

For the past couple of days, Tsuneo and I have been emailing back and forth. We’ve been talking about anger and reactions and that sort of thing. And the Dhamapada came up. Those incredible three lines came up. And I’m so thankful my friend Doug turned me onto the book several years ago. It’s one of those pocket books you flip through once and nothing ever really seems quite the same again.

Reading the Dhamapada – even just those three opening lines – brings on a feeling I don’t know how to describe. It’s perfect. It’s pure. It’s better than the rush I got watching that Radiohead gig or that I get from doing a painting or anything like that. I mean, I remember reading those lines – and the fact they are the first words in the book --- and being knocked on my ass immediately. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever read as beautiful and powerful an opening in another book.

And to think I had read several Jack Kerouac books in which he referred to the Dhamapada being in his rucksack or that he got it out to read while hitchhiking across the country – and it never struck a chord and prompted me to check it out. Then Doug sent me a copy and --- bam, I was on my ass.

You just breathe easier and clearer – almost slipping into what feels like a dreamy, unconscious state – yet you’re completely awake and aware the entire time. It does that to you.

I didn’t really know where this journal and poetry project was going when I started it more than a month ago, but it’s started to become clear now. It kind of is all about the state of being – the creativity and freedom and quality of life that’s experienced somewhere down the path of those words. And the challenge to remain rooted there.

 

 

White washes over horizontal blue

And flecks of shattered consciousness

Green water through hitchhiking straws of clarity.

 

 

6/11/08

 

Honestly, the only thing I’m feeling right now is how incredible it’s going to be to sleep tonight. It wasn’t an overexerting day, by any means. I just caught myself nodding off on the couch a few minutes ago – but more than that, when I looked out the window, the glow of the moonlight was so beautiful and soft and dreamy. And I just want to drift away, into that – right now.

 

 

White dreamy triangle

Triangle, white and dreamy

Dreamy triangle white

White

Triangle

Dreamy

White.

 

 

6/12/08

 

Downloading the “Into the Wild” soundtrack right now. No idea why that popped into my head a few minutes ago, but Eddie Vedder’s voice and that simple guitar humming in the background of this movie was perfection. I guess that’s how this whole project started – the power of music. Influence, inspiration and so on. But there’s also an experience that fins its way into the story of your life – at least that’s what I’ve found. For me, Eddie Vedder’s voice represents individuality, raw energy and a time of considerable influence and motivation. And to hear his voice surface again in this movie – an incredible movie based on a true story that represents freedom – it’s perfection. These are the kinds of songs you crank up while your twisting and turning your way through the countryside, up and over a bunch of hills, with the windows rolled down and your arm tapping on the top of the window frame and you singing away – feeling it.

It’s never going to become the album everyone is talking about. And, over time, this album will probably even be forgotten. Most likely it will, in fact. But it’s perfection in this particular place. It just feels right.

 

 

Framed bewilderment on open air

Stars, crawling on the solid stripes of midnight rainbows

Purple sand sliding into pools of America

Entertaining reflections of the aimless firefly.

 

 

6/13/08

 

When I started this 42-day journey, I had no idea why the number 42. At the time, I had no idea my family and I would be making our first 210-mile trek to Hot  Springs, AR. But that’s exactly how it played out.

What an exclamation point on 42 days that have, essentially, rooted me in the moment for possibly the most extended period of my life.

I mean, where else can you pass out of one national forest and into another in a matter of minutes? I’m sure there must be other places, but I know for sure now that it’s possible in Arkansas. And I know for certain Arkansas would not be the first state that would come to almost anyone’s mind -- at least anyone who hasn’t called Arkansas home.

Very little of the nearly four-hour drive wasn’t through national forest. First, Ozark National Forest and then Ouachita National Forest. And the timing couldn’t have been any better, as we hit the midway point at sunset, just as Mt. Magazine and Mt. Nebo were showing themselves in the awesome display of color in the distance.

Within minutes, we were riding the rollercoaster stretch of road that is Scenic Highway 7. I found myself wanting out of the moment for a few brief seconds, as I wished I could be driving that stretch of road during daylight. But it was pretty incredible in the darkness. I’ve never seen so many deer on the sides of a road in my life – just standing there looking at our car or grazing or whatever. And then a giant black snake of some kind that stretched across one-and-a-half of the two lanes on the old switchback highway.

It was almost dreamy, twisting and turning and rising and descending down the path -- the glow from our headlights our only guide. Then we arrived. Hot Springs, nestled in the Ouachitas.

The air seems different. It smells different and feels different. There’s an excitement about it.

I’m very excited for what tomorrow may bring in this new place. But for right now, I’m more than content and inspired to close my eyes and let tonight’s sunset paint electric colors across my eyes – like a dancing waterfall that washes itself across the sky.

I think that may be perfection.

But then again, everything is – Isn’t it?

Isn’t that what this is all about?

Isn’t that what everything is about?

Everything is perfection.

It’s just a matter of whether we allow ourselves to be absorbed.

 

 

Soft shadows inspiring consciousness and composition

As the pallet of green wanders through thick constellations

Air moving quietly, carrying dripping spoons of wonder.