Wednesday deluge and Tuesday's haiku...

It's raining to beat the band. The wind last night sang and moaned in the telephone lines and howled in the chimneys. At times it reminded me of arcane Japanese flutes being played in a bamboo forest. I woke up this morning to a heavy sky and high winds. It seems as if global warming is working its magic. I remember reading somewhere once that the Northeast US will assume the weather patterns that we see more prominently in the Northwest, i.e. Seattle, Vancouver, etc...From the looks of this winter the predictions are correct. Thankfully my home is on high ground and there are already existing waterways around the house to carry the deluge downstream.

My own mental deluge continues, however. I calculated my future in terms of school credits, and, if I can stay in school full time (12 credits, or 3 classes) I will have achieved my B.A. in a little over 3 years. That "if" is the chance. Of course I was projecting the future, which never looks good, but I would like to stay on course if possible. It's not the money I worry about, it's the time that seems so elusive. That is the nature of time, though. It is purely relative and a figment of our imaginations. Many scholars believe that time does not exist at all and that the only reality is what is here, right now. So if I stay in the moment, live for today, and have gratitude for the present, I'm OK. So why do I project? It's as if I want to find a certainty and an unwritten schedule of my future. I want to know that everything will be alright. Of course, if I use that philosophy to live in the present, everything will be alright, because the future is constantly becoming the present. Tomorrow will become today as surely as today will drift back into the wake of the past. Memory will replace the now experience and as waves behind a boat change shape with the passage of my craft, I move through the brine, creating and living in my amorphous future/present.

I neglected to post the haiku yesterday. These next three will be the last of the "Jail Haiku". Although there are many more, I am becoming bored with this rehashing of my painful past. I will begin to write more haiku, specifically for this post, and have them up faithfully every Tuesday. I will try to pick these last three with a sense of closure. So, as I watch the wake of my boat from the transom, I will see how the waves fold back into one another, smoothing themselves out, falling back into the sea, undistinguished from the rest of the ocean.

#165.
Faded timetables
and a broken luggage cart:
forgotten station.

#241.
Through the grey morning,
and my narrow, stained, window,
illumination.

#14.
The brooks water flow
has increased triumphantly:
winter is thawing.


Johnnyboy