Stardust Melody

Stardust and a song on pamandjanet.


From which stars have we fallen to meet each other here?”  Nietzsche

I trudged across a snowy parking lot this morning and could not help but think of Zhivago, the poet at the time of revolution.  The writer Pasternak caught that moment in time.  The snow deep and then shallow, snow blowing into my scarf, into my eyes, seeing only my shoes….the snow gradually breaking into a muddy road.   Zhivago, with the soft eyes of the poet,  Zhivago, the doctor who loved and lost, Zhivago, who looking out across the Russian plains saw the summer fields of grasses and flax, thistle and wheat; in winter, the dark forests looming at the edge of meadows.  Zhivago who heard the grey wolves calling and saw them gather at his cabin in the dawn of early morning.  And Zhivago who saw the blood of Revolution splatter on his fields, in his…

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Scattered stardust on pamandjanet.


unknown     “The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of starstuff.”

Carl Sagan, Cosmos

I’m writing this evening when my brain feels as scattered as stardust, blown about about the cosmic wind. My focus is lost; I think there’s a thousand things I should be doing with myself to oppose the insanity that has taken this country. Where to best put my energy? I come up with a plan, a theory, and the next event, the next encounter, changes my mind. I want to write about how sorry I am that you have had this terrible loss, this friend that is gone from your life, like the loss I suffered nine years ago..nine years! It’s so hard to believe she’s been gone that…

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Waves as Wings, or Water as Dark Matter

the 10,000 birds need some exposure.


 via Daily Prompt: Folly

Seabirds walk along the pier.  The beach is rocky or you’d be barefoot.   I’m stuck here working in a chilly room.  Temperatures falling.  I’ve borrowed a blanket and put on gloves.  I’m looking forward to your return, your warmth and  optimism.    My friend, you watch waves under a bright white sun, the sky for once not the usual grey.    

“May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.” ~Edward Abbey

I noticed on BBC World news last week the story of thousands of Snow Geese in Montana.  Just a small story at the bottom of the U.S. section.  It’s said, “Thousands of Snow Geese Dead.”  It’s been 3 days, and no further news.  CNN reports the story a day later as “hundreds” of geese.  I am waiting for a public…

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Pilgrimage — pamandjanet

I can’t mix the idea of the typical American with the idea of a pilgrimage. I imagine disdain or at least discomfort with meaningful travel. Modern travel is a status symbol. The suburbanite has already arrived; there is no need to travel anywhere for greater purpose. Travel means something to post on Facebook, making […]

via Pilgrimage — pamandjanet

The Road to Nowhere

Come on a ride (Talking Heads).

Midlife can be  a road to nowhere, the clock running out, a thousand ideas and no idea. A race to reach what?

I heard a story on NPR-a 53 year old journalist took up bicycle racing while studying midlife experiences. She commented in the story that midlife has few markers compared to the early adult years, which are often full of courtships, graduations, purchases, births. Then the endless middle chapters, with the center of the story shifting to first words, steps, schools, teams..the story of the adored little ones.  The journalist suggested a goal to structure the passage of time, for her, both the book and the bicycle race.

Subtract the narrative of the little ones, soon the young adult ones..and where do we find ourselves? In a morass, fertilizing the grounds of midlife confusion and crisis. Somehow the solution of making a goal or two seems perfunctory, a coda or two after the symphony is over. You can try a return to early striving, invent something new, but the energy is not quite what it was, and the rewards at the end of the race don’t glow as brightly. The naiveté that kept you moving is gone.

And the pressure of time running out..what is the race best run?  Have a better relationship? Paint? Write? The senior games? See the world? And what is to be let go of? The house? the marriage? the job? the view of yourself ?

I know one person who has given up trying to make a difference. Just doing a good job is enough for her. She does that and faithfully, but has given up on the idea that anything will change through her efforts. You may imagine that she is disheartened, but I think she is past that turmoil. Her inward consistency leads to her stability, she is in alliance with her values. It doesn’t matter that the world changes, what matters is that she is who she wants to be.

I do not have her stability, her pyramidal shape and personality, her faith in herself. I believe I was better suited to earlier life, while she told me once she had trouble as a younger person, sensing herself an old soul and in a holding pattern until that moment arrived. She has arrived. I’ve run a race and I’m shocked it’s over. But I’m also not ready to stand still. So I spin round and round and wonder if I’m on a road to nowhere.