where were we? yes, the walk to the ocean, the path, the road, the seven stations (after hiroshige). you don’t often think of going on a pilgrimage these days, where along the way to your final destination there are shrines (maybe even seven, who knows?) and inns, and resting places, a bench, a table, a place to rest your feet and contemplate your journey. our lives in this century, this decade, this year, this month, day, hour, minute, second don’t allow for that. we’re so busy ‘capturing’ the moment that if it weren’t for a handful (can you name them? everyone’s list is different i imagine) of artists of all stripes, we might just miss the whole thing (whatever that thing may be; it could be, as it is for me this week, a walk along the ridge above the ocean, sky above, blue below, oftentimes melding one into the other so seamlessly you could be standing on your head, the world all topsy-turvy (without the anxiety).
the other day i read a writer bemoaning a blogging site that allows for the easy sharing and <3ing of images as if they might define who the person is who is re-blogging and sharing the images; that creatively it is full of empty calories and what is produced on the other side (and they did define this perhaps more narrowly than i am) is an empty soul. that there is no there there, no substance, and that their lives once they leave this new trend behind will be as vacuous as it was when they started, only more so for the waste of time and lack of personal growth. now i do think that not everything you participate in needs to make you ‘grow’, sometimes empty calories are just that, empty calories and that there is a place and time for that (television, tabloids, tabbouleh, anyone? okay, maybe not tabbouleh, but the triple alliteration seemed important for the rhythm it produced and tabbouleh is what flowed from my brain through my fingers typing on the keyboard, so sue me.)
stations, then. on this particular day, and throughout the week, i stopped seven times on the road to the ocean and thought for a while at each resting place on topics diverse and unrelated and connected and outrageous and sexy and melancholy and thrilling as any thoughts that could be inspired by the blue of the ocean and the blue of the sky, the green of the hills and russet of tiled roofs, the hidden wildlife (a puzzle), and a woman knitting at the last station as she waited for her brood to come back up the path from the ocean.