With music in the background

 

July 1974; Sally McKenzie and Pat McCarty walking to
the tent where Krishnamurti gave his talks in Saanen, Switzerland

From left: Pat McCarty, Sally McKenzie,
and Stephen Morrissey: our last day at Saanen, 5 August 1974

Just after arriving in Saanen, Switzerland, where Krishnamurti gave yearly talks, I met Patrick McCarty and Sally McKenzie; it was July 1974. That first evening at the hostel we walked to the Saanen Church to hear a concert; only recently I learned that we had attended an event of the Yehudi Menuhin Festival. Pat McCarty became a good friend. Two years later, in April 1976, we drove from Eureka, where he lived, to Baha California in Mexico; I met his brother and his wife and stayed with them in Oakland; I also met his parents, in Bakersfield. We visited San Diego, San Francisco and Los Angeles, we stayed at Yosemite National Park; we attended Krishnamurti's Talks at Ojai. Pat visited me in Montreal several times, including when I married in August 1976.  Then life intervened and we lost touch and then, just a few years ago, I learned Pat had died in 2008. 

As well, recently, I learned that Pat's birthday was January 21, 1947, the same birthday as my second wife. I have a theory regarding dates, probably not original to me, it is the synchronicity of dates, the meaningful coincidence of dates, especially births and deaths; dates can be a recognition of the importance of certain events or people important to us. When I met my second wife at Dorval Airport, in 1991, I felt that I had always known her and, looking back, I felt the same way about Pat McCarty; both born on January 21. The meaningful coincidence is their birthdate and that both of these people have helped fulfill my life; these are people who give more than they take.

Lucy Worsley is one of my favourite television personalities, she recently presented the life of  Agatha Christie over three evenings. I've read all of Agatha Christie's novels, out loud to my wife, this was a daily time of togetherness made even more enjoyable by what we were reading; unfortunately, when our basement was flooded last summer all of our Agatha Christie novels were destroyed and had to be thrown out, they were all water damaged. Lucy Worsley mentioned that in her old age, when Christie was planning her funeral, she considered having Edward Elgar's Nimrod performed. Nimrod is a deeply moving memorial for Elgar's friend Augustus Jaegar, you can feel Elgar’s grief in this music and feeling his grief we feel our own grief; this music is a deepening of the soul. As well, Nimrod, a city of antiquity in Iraq, was excavated by Christie's husband, the archaeologist Max Malloran, so this music would have a deeper meaning for Christie, she accompanied her husband on this archaeological dig. Nimrod is also a biblical character and it is possible that Nimrod is another name for Gilgamesh, the central character in The Epic of Gilgamesh. I like to tie things together, to see what is significant and what gives meaning to life; The Epic of Gilgamesh deals specifically with the grief of losing a close friend, as Gilgamesh lost Enkidu, as Elgar lost Jaegar, as Max would lose Agatha upon her death, as Agatha would lose Max.

Finally, in addition to Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot, and Sherlock Holmes, one of my favourite detective characters is Colin Dexter's Morse; all of the episodes of this television series with John Thaw are excellent, and the subsequent shows, after Thaws's death, Lewis and Endeavour, are also excellent.  An episode of Morse entitled "Dead on Time" features Schubert's String Quintet in C major; like Elgar's Nimrod this is a deeply moving piece of music, it is an entrance way to the soul, to memory and the past, to the ancestors, and to our very existence and history. In the long run it is the soul that concerns us, for we are visitors to this life and our work is the soul’s work, which is to become conscious human beings.

Daily walk, December 28 & 29, 2014

"Intruder" by Glen Sorestad

 

2013

The red fox lolled on the manicured green
of our back condo lawn like any domestic dog –

warm autumn afternoon, newly mown grass
tickling its nose, a fox-nap imminent,

but only if those loud villains looming above
in the shaggy blue spruce would spare their vitriol.

An unruly mob of crows, freshly summoned,
hurled dark invective at the unwanted visitor.

The black gang deemed this their territory,
now under egregious trespass from the sleek sneak,

the protesters alerting all within hearing of their
unmistakable umbrage with the bushy-tailed rogue.

As the clamor reached its acme, the fox rose,
languidly stretched its length, and strolled off

and away in apparent unconcern, from the dark
rancor, now lapsed into sudden, satisfied silence.

Snowstorm on December 27, 2012

 

Christmas Day 2023

 Plus 5C, like a fall day, priceless!

"the measure of a man . . ."

 

the measure of a man

are in his acts

of generosity, kindness,

and compassion--no other

measure exists, not accolades,

not wealth, not achievements;

only in what kindness

a man or woman

shows fellow humans,

animals, and the natural

world do we measure 

the value and meaning

of a person's life.

Christmas at St. Ignatius Church

Christmas at St. Ignatius of Loyola Church on West Broadway Avenue.

 

Morning walk to Meadowbrook Golf Course

 

"Montreal Lane Vision" by Tom Konyves

 

Tom Konyves, at his AM Productions in Vancouver, 1992

Tom Konyves and Stephen Morrissey, at a poetry reading in
Vancouver, 1991

A couple of clothespins later

another creak

the cat looks up

in heat: a sunbather looks down

in between the leafy branches

where the sparrow turns and spies its mate.

And it's these sparrows

who repeat all our thoughts

in their infernal dialogues

their gossip not meant for us

watching rainbuckets mirror

the stately Versailles. 

Published in Bite, volume 1, number 4;

Vancouver, 1988.

"Into the Mystic" by Van Morrison

 

From the Champlain Bridge, 2011

We were born before the wind
Also, younger than the sun
'Ere the bonnie boat was won
As we sailed into the mystic

Hark now, hear the sailors cry
Smell the sea and feel the sky
Let your soul and spirit fly
Into the mystic

Yeah, when that fog horn blows
I will be coming home
Yeah, when that fog horn blows
I wanna hear it
I don't have to fear it

And I wanna rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
Then magnificently we will float
Into the mystic

When that fog horn blows
You know I will be coming home
Yeah, when that fog horn whistle blows
I gotta hear it
I don't have to fear it

And I wanna rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
And together we will float
Into the mystic

Come on, girl

Too late to stop now

"Rave on, John Donne" by Van Morrison

 

John Donne, 1572 - 1631

Rave on John Donne, rave on thy Holy fool

Down through the weeks of ages

In the moss borne dark dank pools

Rave on, down through the industrial revolution

Empiricism, atomic and nuclear age

Rave on down through time and space down through the corridors

Rave on words on printed page

Rave on, you left us infinity

And well pressed pages torn to fade

Drive on with wild abandon

Uptempo, frenzied heels

Rave on, Walt Whitman, nose down in wet grass

Rave on fill the senses

On nature's bright green shady path

Rave on Omar Khayyam, Rave on Kahlil Gibran

Oh, what sweet wine we drinketh

The celebration will be held

We will partake the wine and break the Holy bread

Rave on let a man come out of Ireland

Rave on Mr. Yeats,

Rave on down through the Holy Rosey Cross

Rave on down through theosophy, and the Golden Dawn

Rave on through the writing of "A Vision"

Rave on, Rave on, Rave on, Rave on, Rave on, Rave on

Rave on John Donne, rave on thy Holy fool

Down through the weeks of ages

In the moss borne dark dank pools

Rave on, down though the industrial revolution

Empiricism, atomic and nuclear age

Rave on words on printed page