Tag Archives: nature of time

Truck Parade

Here in Victoria, one of the more curious Christmas traditions has got to be the annual truck parade.  The local trucking industry gets together and has a parade of festively decorated trucks crawl along one of the main roads out of town to one of the suburbs where they are part of a charity event.  Along the way, the drivers keep up an incessant honking of horns, mostly of the basso profundo variety, punctuated by the odd siren or two.

Tonight, my after dinner walk started with a close encounter with a raccoon, who quickly shimmied up a tree to stare at me eye to eye. Interspecies communication is perplexing sometimes, as it was tonight, so I rambled on. Soon enough the silence was broken by the distant cacophony of the trucks.  The noise the horns produce can be described as charmingly obnoxious, kind of annoying but at the same time endearing, in a folksy kind of way.

Like most of the northern hemisphere we are experiencing cold weather but tonight the clear skies more than made up for the frosty temperature.  The night sky was absolutely stunning, considering that the hill rests at the edge of a modestly sized provincial capitol. Tonight the stars shone bright against the void, only slightly dimmed by a not quite quarter moon and the carpet of lights that defines the urban environment. Hilltop views at night are awesome wherever you are. Here on the edge of the Pacific Ocean we also have the benefit of having some of the cleanest air on the planet, which adds to the overall experience. I digress.

So I was at one of my favourite vantage points, staring out past the lights of the city, looking over the horizon to people I care about and places I love and places I’ve never seen, looking up at the sky at a swirl of starlight and I pondered the antiquity of each twinkle. All the while the truck drivers pounded their horns, blasting random bursts of sonic energy or leaning on a note like a tightfisted preacher.

It was sort of annoying and distracting but I tried to let it roll through me and over me.  I looked into the archive of creation, the distant stars and galaxies and whatever lies beyond and the honking of the horns prompted me to understand that all those distant lights from long ago must have been accompanied by epic noise.  Those tiny lights all represent enormous explosions of energy and matter and somewhere those sounds still reverberate. At that moment I was able to transcend my annoyance with the intrusion of honking horns by using them as proxies for the symphony that accompanied the creation of those distant lights. For a moment, a brief moment, I heard the music of the spheres.

 

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Filed under Passing Thoughts

Rewrite

I could rewrite my days

following crumbs back

through mysteries

I’d use different words

or fewer

but it would be the same story

 

David Trudel     ©   2013

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Filed under Poetry

some days

some days emerge fossilized and stratified

revealing undercurrents of flow interrupted

time weights

broken as shakers shook

lying busted

 

some days sit rocky

heavy and ponderous

but hardly impervious

hardly

 

some days are ground

down

ground

into pieces

minutely

into beaches

where time

ebbs

 

some days are the moment

the tide is full

directionless

waiting for a pull from a slingshot dance

 

some days skip

flat rocks slapping

wet kisses at ten minutes to midnight

 

some days are always rocky

 

 

David Trudel   ©  2013

 

 

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Filed under Poetry

Nowness

Until the brightness of now is dulled

With a patina of etched experience

Gather light into explosions of consciousness

Unhinging regrets and worries

As each moment flares beacon-like

Summoning looks and observations

Perhaps immediately

Or later, when the speed of events

Circles the sun and returns as a reflection

That gives pause and appreciation

For each starbright daisy-chained state of intensity

Found in the now of here

In the now of you

Watching stories unfold with predictable uniqueness

Like protostars arriving in cosmic nebulae

Radiating with explosive insistence

To brighten the night

 

 

David Trudel       ©  2013

 

 

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Filed under Poetry

Checked Time

I have stopped wearing a watch

I am no longer calibrated that way

To those divisions that break life

Into microscopic slices

I don’t check time

Now

I let it be

Amorphously

My markers are dawn and dusk

The pull of the tides

And the rhythm of the day

 

 

David Trudel      ©  2013

 

 

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Filed under Poetry

Hollow Empty

If I am hollow empty as I feel

Maybe I can touch dark matter

Feel cold flames of a conflagration of dark energy

Inside this void

Where there is more space than I care for

Normally

Whatever that state is

 

Today I’m stateless

Abnormal

Hollow empty

Absolved of guilt borne of excessive obsession

Or sins of misdirection

In this absence of emotional weight

I approach nothingness

Surreptitiously

More of a leaving than an arrival

Remembering a void, not a place

Where there are no exits or entrances

Because this is not a place to come to or leave from

This is not a direction

 

This is waking to hollow empty carelessly

Darkly indifferent

To the absence of emotion and externalities

Internalizing the all of nothing

Which has just enough mystery to matter

Darkly

 

 

David Trudel     © 2013

 

 

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Filed under Poetry

What Is Truth

If I could talk about beauty today

I’d talk about whirligig seedpods spiraling down from maple trees

Whose leaves lie yellowed and rusted

Beneath the green canopy that has begun its fatal turn

Anticipating the fall

Or the smell of the forest moments after a rainshower

Evoking distant memories

Walking along the trail

My feet play an arpeggio of crunches

But I’m not listening to that song

My mood is as gray and ponderous as the clouds

Massing like warships off the coast

There is little room for beauty

When the ugliness of war is imminent

When the ugliness of violence is prevalent

And the mean spirits of the convinced

Crush any non-conformist view

With the finality of the fallen

Yet even though I ache with empathy

For the lost and beaten

For long lost spirits vanished in genocidal flames

That is not my truth today

My truth is my own pain

The dull ache of bone regenerating

A scabrous tug of congealed tissues beneath a zippered line

Of reddened welts

Ascending my chest like angry punctuation marks

My truth is stolen by my self-absorption

I isolate chaotic messages of a disrupted nervous system

Comprehending metallic intrusions

Listening to the mechanical insistence of the new valve

Then, drained and enervated I fade

Into somnolence

Unable to maintain the illusion of reality

I slumber unconcernedly

Aware of nothing beyond my next breath

Finding a solitary truth

 

 

David Trudel        ©  2013

 

 

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Filed under Cardiology, Poetry