Marcoclicks - images, words

Returning for the first time

I've walked past that garage wall for years, every time I visit this market. It's in the back of the parking lot and while I might not venture down in that direction every time I stop by, surely it has entered my field of vision many times.

And yet, there I was, seeing it for the first time.

Some version of this scene is what always captures me whenever I have the attention to notice - the human wall with layers of injuries and repairs; the spritely tree spout with healing injuries and hopeful growth of its own. The two appear to me to be comfortable in one another's presence. (Oh, I know - this is just human talk, but still, I have to understand the universe in some way, right?)

What I come to as I see this is how I pass by these sorts of scenes much more often than I notice them. These are opportunities to remember something basic in my life - that just like the garage wall and this tree spout, I am always facing the opportunity to grow and connect. And that I can see something new even though I've trod the same ground many times without noticing.

Remember that there is always the possibility of connection and vision, no matter how familiar the terrain. And let that truth be enough to move you through your day.

Blessings,

Marco

Clutter and purpose

There’s so much to focus on, so much to consider in the course of getting through the day. And our work lives lead us to patterns, the habits that we use to get things done.  So it gets messy in the space where we work, where we spend our days doing what we do.

No surprise here. But what I notice when I come upon the space someone else has created is how personal the clutter is, how what seems meaningless to me reflects a deeper order known only to the one whose home space it is.

I’ve come to understand that I have a relatively limited vocabulary for articulating the meaning that’s inherent in the places that people create for themselves. I will see some jarring element and read it as confusion or anger or tension. Yet what’s really going on often has an energy very different from those words. I make a mistake when I think I know what works for me and measure others from that perspective.

This is easier for me to see from a distance. That's why I'm here (indeed, that's why I'm always here) - to notice and to expand into all that I might might see.

Blessings,

Marco

 

Holding it together

When I come to this place, I walk with my camera and I intend to bring a new image into the world. I walk slowly, noticing my body moving, and I see and feel and remember the wind and the chill spring sensations that make up my momentary world.

Yet as I walk, there is struggle - I want to create an image that establishes my presence, that marks this place and this time as unique and important in a changing, inattentive, blessed world.

Ah, I know. I don't always remember, but I do know: this business of looking and seeing, of making connection and art - it's complicated, fragile. The harder I try, the littler it gets. Like grace, it comes unbidden. My job is to maintain the stance of openness, to stay with what's in front of me, trusting that when it's ready, what is to be seen will stand forth for me.

And maybe that's the work for all of us - because we never know where the divine will show up.

Blessings

Marco

We are all fading

Even after living with a late winter amaryllis every year for the past while, I am still humbled by the flamboyant beauty of these glorious beings. Each year, my mornings are brightened by its presence and each year the day proceeds more easily with it presiding over the room - from stem to bud to blossom, it is truly a miracle.

And so perhaps it's not unusual that I am overcome by surprise as the flowers fade and wilt. It happens every year, no question, and every year the process is the same. Yet I am surprised.

I've noticed, though, that at some moment, when the petals have shrivelled and seed pods are emerging from the death that surrounds them, a transition happens. I'm not referring to how the plant marches along its path of decay, although that is what's happening and it's quite a process to observe. Rather I notice that I have let go of holding on to the beauty of blossoms and accepted that the time has come for a deeper, quieter beauty. Wrinkles, textures on leaves and stems, these overtake the joyous, brilliant colors.The shapes are more complex; the leaves seem more expressive, saying harder things.

So this becomes a time for me to appreciate what is there, the old and the dying. And a good thing to appreciate in an amaryllis - we are all fading.

Blessings,

Marco

Texture of thin ice

Sometimes the illusion is more engaging than the reality. And what's interesting is to cultivate the ability to know when that will be the case. In this instance, the water was coated with a delicate cover of ice that was only slightly colder than the water - it was thin ice, barely enough to notice and certainly not enough to venture out on.

So there it was, shiny with colors and textures that spoke to me, well beyond the simple facts of what was there. It was such a wonderfully ambiguous visual moment, it captured me before I captured it.

In this case, I knew what I saw but I wasn't clear about what the camera would record. And indeed, what I saw was very different from this. And, as I'm increasingly coming to lately, what I was able to tease out of the image was considerably different - and more interesting - than what was initially recorded. Lots of changes, manipulation, re-seeing.

I'm fine with that - in fact, that's what I love about my work: the collaboration between (among?) the world around me, my vision, and the technology that supports that vision. To play with all of these is quite a wonder!

Blessings

Marco

Compost

It demands careful steps to tramp around this pond. It appears neglected although it harbors the remnants of more prosperous times. There are the bases of ancient, rusting lamps, marking the overgrown paths. Elderly, huge trees have broken limbs, having succumbed to wind or snow or age. Their remains provide an unreliable canopy, and their fallen branches or trunks blend into the ground, looking drawn and skeletal.

This small world, surrounded by noise, light, and traffic, sits in its own stillness. Its animal and vegetable inhabitants don't need our human contributions - the lamp post stumps or the muddy paths. There is nothing wrong here and nothing right - it just is.

Today, what I love about this place is the collision between what we have added over the years and the easy, uncomplicated composting that goes on without our attention. As we ignore this place, our artifacts return to a pointless beauty that we didn't expect or intend.

Somehow, that's just fine.

Blessings

Marco

What is there to see?

When I walk lately, I have to remind myself to look carefully, to engage my camera-eye. In the past, images seem to have come to me unbidden, as though they were waiting to be captured. Often I’ve had my camera with me – a happy circumstance. Other times, without a way to record, I'd simply notice and enjoy.

But lately, it seems like I’ve not been seeing that way. Lately, I have to remind myself that this form of vision is important to me, that I want to engage with what I see and extract images, to excite my curiosity and wonder, to move my heart, to shape my life.

It's clear, then: life comes at me with a certain velocity and direction, which invites you in a particular direction. But you don't need to go only that way: you can pay attention to what you know you love and shift course to come closer to that. A worthy intention...

Blessings,

Marco

Patterns and texture

I'm surprised by the ways in which objects in the world grow. It isn't always linear or straightforward or tidy. Sometimes we can know but more usually, it's impossible to discern the circumstances that have led to a particular structure.

It may be easier to see this in the natural world (especially in beech trees, which seem to relish the layers and textures that their growth reflects and celebrates) but it happens in our lives, my life as well.

In winter's coming, I am seeing the ways in which seemingly chance decisions have echoed through my life and helped to sculpt the shape and structure of how I am today. It's curious and hard to explain, especially to younger folks. The structures, the patterns - easy or hard - become clearer to me even as they continue to have an impact on me.

Yet I have noticed that the more troublesome patterns also become more readily visible to me. With that, the opportunity to shift how I am, to act in my own self-interest becomes possible. That's the blessing!

Marco

Getting to the warmth

We can feel the uncertain shift to cold, and perhaps we find ourselves a bit adrift with the transition, so uncertain. It is uneven, raw, confusing.How do we find a place of warmth, how do we move life toward that when the newness of winter looms, when comfortable patterns are disturbed?

Maybe what we need as winter builds is a secret place, mostly invisible and always warm, within.With such a place, we can sit with the debris of summer’s decline and welcome the memories it holds. We are free to move about and celebrate the darkness, knowing it is the next step toward the light.

Blessing for the return of the light.

Marc

Unclear

I am sitting, quiet, unclear about what is coming next. Am I ever clear about that? Well, actually, no, not really. But sometimes it feels like the routine of my days will handle the next-ness of life, for a time at least. So the drab blessing of sameness sits beside me and I watch the trade-off of familiar for excitement. Common enough, I suspect. And that's how it has often gone, I say with decidedly mixed feelings.

But this is a new time for me and now it's different, now it feels a bit like each day is new, even if only in some small way. That sense of routine, of familiarity is gone, so the bumps feel bumpier. And the trade-off? Well that's not the same either - I am much more likely to notice the push and pull of events and actions without making assumptions about how they make me feel - something about staying present. 

What do I make of this? I know in my head that letting go of the familiar (or seeing in a new way) invites access to a world I've seldom seen before, and at least parts of it seem new.That's a big deal - moving beyond habit, beyond familiar. I'll watch it, quiet, and see where it leads.

Blessings

Marco

Seeing

Supposing this image portrays what the full moon rising really looked like that evening. Are you surprised? I was. I hadn't realized or expected the dominance of blue in the image, not until I saw it in Lightroom. So, I'm sure I'll get asked - Is that color accurate? Is that what the rods and cones in my eyes actually transmitted to my brain as I breathed into the scene? Surely I don't know, I don't have a clue.

What I do know is the truth of the scene that feels inherent in this image - the mixture of darkness and light, the subtle distinction between moonlight and sunshine, the quiet of water, trees, hillside. It all somehow combined to plant a seed of a vision in my heart - so that what was there in that moment, what I saw and what my camera captured, it all becomes immaterial as I sit with what is in front of me in this moment.

It needn't be complicated; seeing is easy.

Blessings,

Marco

Secret places

This pond: even though many people see it, drive by it, maybe even walk around it, and perhaps know it, it is still a secret.

How does that work? As usual, I'm not really sure. But here's what I think. Many people move through their days focused so intently on what's in front of them, they hardly see what's to the side or what's up or down. Yes, I know - being attentive to what's in front of us is a useful discipline since we are more likely to be present when we're attentive that way.

Still and all, it feels to me as though we spend plenty of time being focused and what I wonder is whether we would find more of the secret places were we to let go a bit more, strive less, take off our glasses, look at the world always around us with accidental eyes.

Now of course, I'm only wondering here - it could be a bit scary to disconnect from our life's structure in that way, or at least a bit disorienting (especially the glasses part). But it might be worth a try. My intuition says we'd find ourselves in a world that appeared more beautiful (and thus more hopeful) than what we can otherwise access.

I'll tell you what: I'll give it a shot and report back.

Blessings,

Marco

Remembering

We walked our usual amble around the water, stopping at our usual places, looking for frogs or turtles or anything to help us remember our connection to something other than the urban haze. It is loud here in this almost-secluded spot. Surrounded by traffic and hurry, it would be easy to miss the jumble of the natural world that sits this close to us all the time.It would be easy to allow the tumult to grab our attention, rather than attending to what is in front of us.

So this meager pond, this forgotten refuge offers us an opportunity to find ourselves, replenish ourselves even in the face of the surrounding noise and grit. We can, if we choose, remember our connection to all living things. And, especially on this day, we can celebrate and mourn for the gains and losses well beyond our own, become part of a larger, blessed community that has always been possible.

Blessings

Marco

Why bother?

Yes, I do wonder - just now noticing that exactly no one has stopped to look at the blog posts since the last time I was here. A public journal? A record for some future internet archeologist? You'd think I'd have an answer. You'd be wrong.

OK - here's the best I can do by way of explanation. Perhaps I do this because I've done it, done it for so long that coming here and writing, selecting which image to highlight and what to say, all that has become a part of my internal process even though, while it started with the idea of being shared, it continues to soothe even without that.

There's always the chance that someone will read it, so I still play with the words with care, aiming to find my meaning in them and use as few as necessary, a sort of odd, frugal environmentalism.

I love that this image highlights a moment that is bleak yet suffused with reflections of glory. I could go on with that metaphor but I won't. I'll let you - assuming you show up - sort it out for yourself.

Blessings,

Marco

Wanting

I want this image to be prettier, more meaningful, more important than it feels, in this moment, than it is. I want it to say something about chance encounters and the importance of places that don't even register in our awareness. I want it to sing to you, to evoke a deep recognition of your - our - connection to everything, no matter our judgment about its value, beauty, importance.

What a heavy burden to put on an image, any image. A still life of a forgotten, ignored place already starts with a handicap. It is hard to see any intrinsic importance in this, anything worthy of your attention. So why bother with this shot?

I've been asking myself this question a lot lately, especially as I notice the burden I put on my images. Indeed, why shoot anything? What is the frame of mind that can pick out something that resonates so strongly that it requires this sort of immortality? As I've been thinking about this more, I've found myself shooting less. And sometimes that less really is more.

Blessings,

Marco

Clearly, deeply, fully

Lately, I've been wanting to look at things I don't usually look at and aim to capture images I don't usually see. Like for instance, blue. Or green. For reasons I've not thought about and probably wouldn't understand if I had, I've decided I don't care for those colors - perhaps it's a left-over sixties earth-tone phase.Whatever the reason, how odd to limit the spectrum of what I will look at!

That's changing and that makes this a rich time. So much of what I see has been governed by my expectations, based on what I've seen before. Yet if every moment is new, why not aim to see it with eyes equally new? Enough limitations in life without inventing extra ones!

Today it feels like something is moving in my life, something that causes me to re-evaluate aspects of my life, so easily settled into a familiar routine. From changing the pictures hanging on my walls to clearing out visual clutter from the meditation room, lots of small changes. They begin to add up to an articulation of new possibilities. Or so it seems. Or so I hope.

It's part of a larger movement, in myself and perhaps in the world: increased attention to seeing clearly, feeling deeply, and living fully. As I enter my personal endgame, what could be more important?

Blessings

Marco

Slowly

The day within me moves slowly, offering small moments of clarity amidst the confusion I often sit with. Why does what I see in front of me perplex me? Or maybe a better question is – why does that surprise or bother me? After all, did I think I understood it all? Hardly.

Yet I do have expectations of constant clarity, all the evidence of my decades to the contrary. Interesting - because I also know that I continually enjoy the obscure and the unexpected. Confusing...

I think what I want is the control that comes from me deciding when I am surrounded with paradox and when I just want to be delivered a simple straight answer. Yes, i know there's no such thing, that the more you look the more you see and that attracts complexity. So maybe that's why I'm always looking for the synthesis that doesn't oversimplify. Interesting insight, eh? I'll have to sit with that one...

There's something to be said for asking questions on a day of rest.

Blessings

Marco

Close to shore

All appearances to the contrary, I’ve spent much of my life close to the shore. I have been content to spend my days around that with which I have become familiar. And yet I notice that my illusion of control and understanding is fading.  

More and more it seems as though I left my glasses on the kitchen table: it's not that I can't see; I just can’t see clearly. I have to work harder to focus, I have to bring things closer to me to get what they are, what they mean, what to do with them. And the result: I notice what I might otherwise have missed. Ironic, eh?

So perhaps it’s no surprise that my intuition is tugging at my shirttail to get me to row out a bit deeper, to challenge the current and to trust what surrounds me and my ability to keep my balance. And the truth is that I’m doing that – slowly and not without lots of bumps; I’ve even capsized once or twice.

Still, it feels worth the discomfort, worth it for the opportunity to see the uncharted places – in the world and in my heart.

Blessings

Marco

Non-converging lines

Sometimes it feels like my life seems to have a life of its own, that I am simply observing myself moving through my days – making decisions, accepting consequences, and defining my time on the planet. Usually I feel connected to what’s happening, just not in control. Oh, I know that it’s the illusion of control and I understand the notion of being “the observer.” All well and good.

But I increasingly notice this lack of control I have over important things in my life. A tree limb falls on my car or a joint of my finger is dislocated, and all of a sudden I’m focused on the implications of these events – be it money, work time, or comfort. Whatever else may have been on my to-do list gets bumped down a notch. Is it happening more now? Or am I just noticing it more?

Even when I can maintain equanimity, it is an on-going challenge for me to remember – and to be comfortable with –  how little control I have in my life. And yet, it’s a basic reality. Life moves in unpredictable ways and my expectations don't necessarily converge with what actually happens.

Saying that helps; I feel better now.

Marco

Stepping up

Come join in the procession, the long line of humans who have walked through this place and who still come for as many reasons as there are people. Come, truly notice this place of memory and sorrow and reflection. Remember that It need not be frozen, you know. This place can reflect the same fluid world we inhabit, can offer the same mix of sensations and emotions.

This is usually a place of quiet moments that  reflects back to us what we bring to it. But for a moment, just suppose there are dancers here, gently among the monuments and markers - humans, animals, plants, all dancing. Hold that image. This place could be a sanctuary for laughter and celebration as well as quiet connection. And why not? This place is filled with the murmur of lives beyond counting and no matter why we've come here, we can find a thought or color or texture or feeling to celebrate.

Remember the joy of peace.

Marc

When the reflection is more distinct than the object it reflects - what does that mean? Sometimes it feels like I am paying more attention to the inverse, the upside-down, the non-obvious and, actually I think that's right. I'm attracted to looking where others' eyes aren't.

Sitting with that observation, I can feel some of the discomfort I experience as a result. It's a bit like Frost's roads in the woods or Thoreau's different drummer: it's hard to be that way. And for me after a while that stance gets tiring. Now, I love the way I see what I see - and yet I recognize the ways in which that element of my vision separates me from others who see in more conventional ways. And that's tiring.

I don't mean to separate myself or elevate this sort of vision. Frankly, I'm thinking it's about equal measures of awesome and awful. But it's how I'm wired, so judging it good or bad doesn't serve me, I am always remembering.

As I sit in my life and see what I've accomplished and the struggles it has taken, indeed still takes, I am comforted by the images - upside-down or not - and my role in bringing them to this place.

Blessings

Marco

Today

The spring snow is sifting through the slowly emerging sunlight. It gives me hope. This belated touch of darkness served to remind me how soon it will go, leaving nothing but true snow drops after it passes us.

When it snows in April, I can afford to be gracious about it: I know it will quickly fade. That's sensible, yes. Still, it's far too easy for me to fall back into December, when what sits in front of me would mean something far different.

So the challenge is to separate history's recordings from today's reality, to move beyond the way we historically see and have seen to find new, truer eyes. Many practices point us toward this: I am learning that so many disciplines of heart and head and spirit overlap and, if we are careful, can create a joyful synergy. That's what I want!

Blessings,

Marco

Celebrate

Blessed be this encounter with the on-going mystery of living, this that I take for granted and forget to notice, much less bless. By what logic would I expect that some foul bubbling up of oozing mud-strong life could lead to anything as unlikely and as certain and solid and beautiful as human bodies?

The lesson, beyond the obvous benefits of noticing, is to learn to remain sufficiently conscious so that our life becomes a way to celebrate our connection to this commonplace miracle.

What I see with increasing clarity is the centrality of staying connected, how that leads to building the presence of heart in every aspect of my life, how it can shift me from impatience to quiet wonder. lt's not that far when you're all there!

Blessings

Marco

Honest

I think of myself as an honest person, someone who values speaking the truth and doesn’t shy away from owning his mistakes. It is true that I sometimes exaggerate and I can spin a story or a situation in the direction that best serves my interests at the moment. Not uncommon, I suppose, and not sufficient to change the basic story.

There is another form of honesty that has to do with whether or not I choose to show my true self to others. I notice, for example, that these entries are sometimes opaque – designed, perhaps, to be obscure rather than to speak directly and clearly. Now, I’m not meaning to be too critical of myself here. It's a way to protect myself and that's fine. I just observe that if I’m going to continue to write these entries with my original intention - to write from my heart as a way to connect with myself and others - it serves me to be as clear as I can.

I suppose there’s a limit to how much of myself I am willing to expose (even though I suspect that my sharing here reaches a limited audience) and that’s exactly fine. What I want, though, is to decide what I’m game to share and share that much with language that speaks to me and those who care to track this on-going exercise in making the internal visible.

Blessings

Marco