in the trees

recent visual notes (scales)

another post about prayer

I think I take my blog in my hands when I write about prayer, because it sounds so weird in this part of the world to talk about that, there is no sex appeal in it, the NYT blog would never link to it, and frankly causes all of our brilliant sexy atheists to run for the hills. But it's a little too late for me to go back now!

While people may pray for a certain result, the act of prayer itself brings peace and a retreat from constant manipulations that we feel we must exact upon worldly matters, over which I feel I have little control. But that's not really what I want to talk about now. It's just how the other day my first grader was sick and asked me to pray for her, and I said I would, but I didn't. Later she asked me if I had and I told her I didn't, but I wanted to, and she said it was ok, that when it comes to prayer wanting to was the same as doing it. I think there's some truth in that, although I believe she lets me off too easy, although maybe I was too busy praying with my deeds as I cleaned up the mess and gave her what she needed.

It sounds kind of like she's been reading Eckhart. I have the impression that for him, an intention of that nature is as good as the deed. It is compelling to know that he was persecuted by Franciscans, but even before Francis met his end, he knew what abuses of power would find their way into the order. Because ultimately orders are human.

Record & Tape Center

I certainly hope this shop never gets a makeover. A door like this was something I couldn't pass by that day, so I went in for the first time. I have a feeling Tony, who runs the shop, has a few stories to tell, from the look of the door, from the fact that he's been in business there for 41 years.Maybe I'll get him to tell me some, but that day, he just sang me a little tune about telling stories, and sold me some picks.

lowlands

Monday I was in the low lands, the Lowes land, the Lowlands. There's a good view of the Culver Viaduct, which I admire, from the Lowe's parking lot, and a little park that lines the Gowanus, relatively unused lately by the look of the unpocked but sagging snow. I guess in the recent weather not many have been down to this tranquil spot from which to view the steel claw at work loading the scrap metal heap onto the barge. Takes my breath away, really, I must be a 4-year old boy. That neon green birdhouse installed by the Gowanus Conservancy seemed uninhabited but I'm sure before long some Gowanus minnow/ scrap metal eater will find a comfortable home there, a short wing away from where stands the nested bridges of the Viaduct and the draw bridge below it, kind of like pants under pants.

The Lowlands came later when a group of musicians had assembled to play old time tunes, sweet to my ears, sweet under and also on top of sweet I think. And sometimes a little sour, but not so much that night.

I understand the viaduct's getting some kind of an overhaul, which is why in order to get the F train to Manhattan I have to go two stops in the wrong direction and change trains. I'm hoping for the best, since most everyone I know goes over that complicated structure everyday at least twice. There's a nice view of the Statue of Liberty and the Gowanus (one of the world's most polluted waterways, come see!) from up there.

To Judge and Not Judge

Walking with a youngster I know I was suddenly overwhelmed by the harshness of her assessment of a man passing by. I said "you shouldn't judge so much." She said "people deserve to be judged." She's the alpha in the family, so I'm trying to figure out some way she's right. At the age of 13, it's pretty important to be able to size people up I think. It happens at the gut level and takes hold like a steel jaw. Perhaps it's not fair to tell preadolescent not to judge people as they negotiate all the strata of themselves and others to find sound footing in their increasingly autonomous social affairs.

But you can tell them not to judge themselves, when they've failed, and they fail often. The sting of failure gets under the skin like an inoculation arousing parts of their immunity to avoid similar missteps. It's such a long, long painful, curative process. As the proverb says, the righteous man falls 7 times a day, but he rises again. I am in awe of that moment when the paralysis of failure seems to wear itself thin and somehow the morning sun rises again, and though the first ray may be barely noticed, before long the long light is flooding the avenue and we are heartened by the length of our shadows.

We are the shadow and the observer, and as complex beings we have to simultaneously judge and also not judge, and in so doing, keep the judgement from gaining the solidity it needs to grow into a grudge or a prejudice. We can watch our judgement bud, flower, wilt and fall from the vine of our minds when we leave it alone instead of becoming enchanted with it. Does anyone really want to stick it in a jar and pickle it? The judgement did some work, and in someway perhaps showed us ourselves as it sketched parameters that we need to trace to find our way.

Perhaps the judge is too harshly judged, perhaps the judge creates other things besides conflict. Maybe the judge helps us maintain balance. What we really need is an honest judge, that's all. Because there's nothing more heinous than a judge that lies. So maybe it's not really judging that's the problem, but the lying that seems so enamored of it's false superiority. Because we all fall, 7 times a day.

heart of fennel

st mary of the snow

manometer

Maybe it's best to leave the definition of "manometer" to the imagination. Since I can hardly tell you what it is, if you don't already know that it's a device that uses a spinning mirror to indicate the effect that air pressure associated with the enunciation of different vowels sounds has on the stature of a gas flame. Makes a cozy illustration in a book whose title escapes me, and I won't fetch it now because the explanation I attempted above has me ready to snooze. Good night!

old tools

I found these in the shed, one of many of the rotting structures behind some BK houses. The one on the left looks handmade from a kitchen knife and a linoleum blade. The awl is something I really needed, or at least will need when and if I lose a few pounds.