Monthly Archives: December 2014

The Sweet and Bitter Lie

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This is one of 15 creches I’ve constructed of unaltered natural items I’ve found on the beach. For some reason, I am captivated by the gentle side of Mexico best symbolized by her obsession with the Virgin of Guadalupe. I’ve seen motorcycle leathers with an image of Guadalupe on the back! I’ll publish pictures of the others soon. I know. A seeming contradiction to the words I’ve posted below, but perhaps one or the other view is just a sweet little lie!

The Prompt: Sweet Little Lies—As kids, we’re told, time and again, that lying is wrong. Do you believe that’s always true? In your book, are there any exceptions?

The Sweet and Bitter Lie

I think the sweetest little lie we tell ourselves and our children is that of a beneficent and caring God. This belief and the religion that stems from it  is our way of comforting ourselves. It is totally aside from reason. How else could we look at a baby turtle struggling to swim for the first time plucked up and swallowed by a hungry pelican, or a baby suffering with cancer or a horribly deformed child and think, “This is the product of a caring Father?” We all must conclude, if we make use of our senses at all, that nature is impartial and serves only its own cycle. There is no kindness in nature, other than her beauties and comforts; but even they all serve a purpose: to survive against all odds, and to kill or at the very least to depend upon the death of other organisms in order to do so.

I do acknowledge that Religion is probably necessary for many who do not think far enough to recognize the sweet lie. For those who use it to create more compassion for others, I applaud the end. But right now it seems as though religion is being used more as a weapon and political ploy than for the “good” side of its coin.

I don’t know how I align my agnosticism with my belief that there is some sort of incredible synchronicity going on in the world. This is a topic for another day, I guess.

For other posts on this topic, go here: https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/sweet-little-lies/

Sunday Stills Photos Challenge: Pets

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Pets on the Beach (And Elsewhere)

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I don’t know why, but of all the pictures I’ve taken of my dog Frida, this has remained my favorite. There is just such attitude to her walking out of the fame just as I snapped the picture!

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i’ve watched this little dog every day at the beach. He runs back and forth, barking at pelicans, but never catches one!

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And this, of course, is why!

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I took a half dozen shots of this early-morning fisherman with his two well-behaved dogs, but this one, taken from a half mile down the beach, remains my favorite. The fact that you can barely make them out in the scene but that they remained the center focus for the fifteen minutes or so it took me to reach them is all in mind when I look at this photograph..

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This streamlined little guy prances by several times a day, following his master, who seems to somehow be associated with the fishing boats and frequently goes to consult with the fishermen. Love his tongue!

I love it in this photo that not one foot is on the ground!

I love it in this photo that not one foot is on the ground! (Not just a crop job. Different photo, but same tongue, same attitude!)

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Okay, okay…I know you are wondering why I never showed a closer-up of that long shot. Here it is—the faithful companions.

 

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This elderly man has been visiting the beach every time I have. He sits all day in the palapa restaurant next to my house. Once we played dice. He said he’d only play for money! Ha. Another time he told me his job was artificially inseminating horses. Later, Lora Loca, the proprietor of the cafe, told me this was a lie. I guess the aged have to get their thrills somehow! Someday I’ll probably be doing the same.

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This is Bobino, a beach cat I adopted 4 years ago, the first time I rented this beach cottage. He refused to come home with me when I left so Daniel, who has the place next door, adopted him. He is kept well-fed by fishermen. Here he is scoping out his next meal through the deck posts of my porch. A second later, he was streaking off and yes, the fisherman did give him a little fish. One day as I walked under a tree next to my porch, a fish fell out of the sky and landed at my feet. Whether it was fishes from heaven, the grackles up in the tree or Bobino who presented me with this prize, I’ll never know. But, for the future: I don’t eat fish!

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This adorable stranger waited so patiently for the remains of my breakfast at Guacamole’s, one of my favorite beachside eating establishments, that I hope I gave them to him!!

 

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Okay, I know I’ve published this photo before, but I miss my dogs and it took so long to train them to be this polite while waiting for their meals and there is a sort of “waiting to be fed” theme going here, so here they are again: Frida and Diego. Not at the beach, but in my mind as they vacation on the two-acre lot of a friend who has two other dogs and a big field filled with sheep to bark at next door.

For more pets, go here: http://sundaystills.wordpress.com/2013/12/01/sunday-stills-the-next-challenge-pets-and-its-our-5th-anniversary/

Blue-footed Booby

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Blue-footed Booby

Graceful Vee of wing and curve of neck
laid out in sea foam on the beach—
it is as though you are making a final goofy move
on feet dressed up in blue first for dancing and then for love.
The means of your death is less a mystery to me
than what has left you and where it is now.
Perhaps, as I cup my hand through air above you,
I hold a part of you not soon enough departed.

Remembering those tiny sea turtles,
alone in the sea for moments,
picked off by the birds,
these mysteries worry me
like tiny flippers
resisting
that next great adventure
of the inside of a pelican
as I finally understand why anyone
would choose to have their ashes scattered at sea.
I have always dreaded descent
to the ocean’s dark floor,
when I could have been imagining
washing up on a favorite shore.


When is Enough Enough?

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This picture of the sunset a few nights ago is proof enough that the best things in life are free, but they are easier to enjoy when one is not hungry.

                                                          When Is Enough Enough?
To want all or to want nothing are both dangerous. Those who want all are the conquerors and exploiters and power lords who have brought the world to the state it is in today. They will exploit the poor and the weak but get their feelings of the most power from exploiting those equal to them in power. The world is a game to these people and we are all pawns.

But to want nothing may lead to despair. True, in a few holy men, it has been the path to enlightenment; but for those living within the world and not to the side of it, to want nothing can lead to apathy and powerlessness.

I think the secret lies in wanting enough and then wanting enough for others as well. This doesn’t have to be done by charity. It can be done by the way we vote, the way we treat our neighbors, the way we invest our money and the way we conduct our own businesses. It can be done by the way we bargain for a trinket on the beach or handle wrong change.

Sylvia Plath was probably correct in her statement, “Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.” When the richest woman in the world commits suicide or one of the richest men in the world gauges those living hand-to-mouth with unfair cellphone charges and policies, one has to wonder what great lack they are trying to fill and whether in fact they have any true take on what the world is really about.

Cee’s Fun Photo Challenge: Bridges

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With the estuary now open to the sea, it presents more dangers than crocodiles in the surf.

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It is also necessary to cross this scary suspension bridge to get further up the beach. I’ve tried wading the estuary, but crocs seem a bigger danger than the three cables that support this bridge.

 

 

For more fabulous pictures of bridges, go here:

Trapped

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The Prompt: Feeling Fancy—You’re given unlimited funds to plan one day full of any and all luxuries you normally can’t afford. Tell us about your extravagant day with as much detail as possible.

Trapped

Is there something you don’t do that enters dreams and haunts you?
A working woman with no time to write although she wants to?
The widow who would travel far and hasn’t the finances,­
but yearns for more adventure—for rare lands and strange romances?

If I were given millions to spend in just one day,
there’s nothing that I really need. I’d give it all away.
Pay for operations for kids hiding in the dark
because of accidents of birth that left their cruel mark.

Send the widow off to sea to see if there’s a chance
to change her life and fill it with adventure and romance.
Let that other woman find out if she’ll write again
if there are no excuses to keep her from her pen.

Perhaps these dreams are only dreams and if given the chance,
these women would discover they aren’t trapped by circumstance.
With obstacles removed, their dreams remain there on their shelves
as they find romance on T.V. instead of in themselves.

Perhaps the child once cured will still remain behind the door,
his habits firmly founded by what has come before.
Some say we cannot really change the world that wants to be,
but with millions of dollars, I’d have the chance to see.

 

For more writing by other writers on this topic, go Here

Cee’s Oddball Photo Challenge

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You can see the duckie, right???

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Well, here’s the rest of the story. It is just flotsam and jetsam caught on a tree limb on the beach during high tide. At first I thought someone had constructed it, but it is a feat of nature.

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Okay. Here is one more. Hours of work on Photoshop?

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Nope, just a cropping of a simple shot I took of my niece Lainie who is standing behind some art object on a shopping trip to Tlaquepaque when she came to visit me.

 

Monosyllabically Possible?

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The Prompt: One at a Time—Today, write a post about the topic of your choice — using only one-syllable words.

Monosyllabically Possible?

I
might
just
fail,
but
I
will
try.

in
a
case
of
do
or
die,

If
I’m
caught
out
in
the
kelp,

It
will
do
to
just
cry
help!

But
if
you
want
to
cuss
and
shout,

it
just
won’t
work
to
go
that
route.

When
in
the
door
you
slam
your
thumb,

we’ll
see
how
far
that
you
have
come.

Your
girl
has
just
gone
on
the
lam,

and
you
just
have
to
shout
Goddamn!

Floating Meditation

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Floating Meditation

I don’t want to do aerobics;
I want to float the sea,
pretending that I’m flotsam
or perhaps that flotsam’s me.

I’d like to try to meditate
the half hour I’m adrift,
but I fear that between me
and my subconscious there’s a rift.

“Am I flotsam now or jetsam?”
keeps running through my mind.
I guess to tell the truth,
I’m not the meditating kind.

Work Ethic / Canción de México: Two Poems

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The Prompt: Gut Feeling—When’s the last time you followed your instinct despite not being sure it was the right thing to do? Did it end up being the right call?

Work Ethic

There’s something stirring in me. I do not know its name.
It whispered to go seawards, so that is why I came.
I do not know the object, though once I thought I did.
Once here the book I thought I’d write left my mind and hid.

I find that I am drifting like a seabird on the swell;
and so far that is fine with me, in fact I like it well.
Instead, I write these ditties that I finish every day,
forsaking what I think I should to just write what I may.

No need for all the boring things: research, footnotes, citing.
Whatever is in front of me is what I end up writing.
Some might say that it’s responsibility I’m shirking,
but I say that I’ve simply learned to go with what is working.


Canción de México
(Song of Mexico)

This small café sits on the square, or rather the rectangle.
The gas trucks pass by, blaring “Gaaaaas,” their grounding chains a-jangle.
Trucks and cycles lacking mufflers roar by every minute,
bass blaring from each car window without much music in it.

The guinea fowl make such a ruckus that they sound insane,
but to complain about the noise in Mexico’s inane.
The daily garbage trucks, the water truck and all the rest
all live by the assurance that what’s loudest is the best.

I drink my coffee, eat my muffin, try to grin and bear it;
but when she sets a napkin down, I grab at it and tear it.
And even though one part of me says that I shouldn’t dare it,
I use a bit to wipe my lips. The other part? I wear it!

I stuff a wad in either ear, and though I still hear all,
I go by the illusion that I hear it from afar.
Sometimes I feel the threat of age, so quickly it is nearing;
but if I lose one faculty, dear God, please make it hearing!