– Contemplating the timelessness of our Baja life –
No news, nothing to report my friends. I know there is a ceaseless stream of bad news, worldwide, about the current state of financial affairs. It’s impossible to escape it. It is bad, it is scary, but is it important? How about going off line every now and then, switching off the news? How about sometimes denying access to our senses? How about a “news fast” at times? What are news anyway? Who decides what is news? I chose to shut down my satellite radio for a while. Oh, I’m so thrilled with this new Obama feeling everywhere. Why couldn’t we get this guy before this crisis hit? But I need a break, I need some news-free time.
Can you imagine a newscast in the morning?: ‘Nothing happened.‘ ‘No changes occurred that need any reaction on your side.‘
“Plus ca change, plus c’est la méme chose.” ‘The more things change, the more they remain the same.‘
By bearing witness we make news ourselves.
Here is a poem by Ryokan, a Japanese monk, some 200 years ago, who made no attempt to do anything memorable that should go down in history but is remembered and revered around the world for his wisdom.
My hut lies in the middle of a dense forest;
every year the green ivy grows longer.
No news of the affairs of men,
only the occasional song of a woodcutter.
The sun shines and I mend my robe.
When the moon comes out, I read Buddhist poems.
I have nothing to report my friends.
If you want to find the meaning, stop chasing after so many things.
* * *
The sea is calm. Nothing is news, it all just is.
Nothing to report.
The sun came softly,
the breakfast was delicious,
the boat is sleek and efficient,
it rests on the warm sand
that crunches under our feet.
An old swell is pounding the north shore of Danzante. We rise and fall with it and listen in awe to the thunder.
The Blue Heron.
We are in awe of him. He allows us to watch from a distance.
Enough to eat for days.
The freezer is already totally full and will keep feeding us in summer.
a mystical place at the northern end of Danzante.
I know it’s silly, but I’m half convinced the axis of our universe goes right through this place.
No news! No one ever cares!
I don’t know what it is. Barely an inch long, born probably a few hours ago. I heard its faint heart-wrenching crying somewhere between the rocks just inches from the water. The sea gulls had heard it too and were waiting. I carried it into the shelter of a crevasse, but I know it was doomed.
It feels like news, but doesn’t it happen all, the time?
* * *
It was a very warm season (winter). Now we go out again in the mornings with just a tee shirt.
Klaus February 28. 2009