faces of the northwest

FACES of the NORTHWEST

FACES of the NORTHWEST

A major life crisis is devastating. Diagnosis with incurable disease thrusts you suddenly into the darkest of rooms. Alone! But there are many others who have similar rooms and have found the sunlight. Recently, I read a comment from another. He said; “I took up running because I admired the loneliness and the suffering, but eventually found that running is neither. You become friends with yourself and the wonderful things you think make you unaware of the suffering.” There are basic questions to address once you have escaped the immediate chasm. Are you friends with yourself? Have you looked inside and out? If you are told it’s a nice day, look out the window and check. But if you have chosen not to have a window, the day is immaterial unless your supply lines are cut. Even then, everything is fine until your resources are consumed. Then you wither from inside. Yes, I have been lucky and escaped evident disease by adopting a journey of thoughtful living. But I have to manage myself…monitor progress non-consciously, and take remedial steps from time to time. I hope my thoughts and approach show a little through this work: that they are helpful to you. Along my journey of recovery I noticed quite suddenly that I felt better than I had in many years…and I pondered a bit. Summer was ending and autumn stirring quickly at my property in Australia. A few weeks later back home in the US Pacific Northwest, spring was budding the maples and all the world seemed to be coming alive...I noticed that too. Obviously more than I ever had before, because one morning I sat down and wrote – for the first time: that is when I wrote Tahoma, the prime message of this sequence. Remember, if you don’t take care – then why should someone else? Keep well, and enjoy - Colin Perrott ‘amo ut invenio’

© Sergei Antonov

“The things you see stare right back, but your mind observes all”

Sergei Antonov: http://flickr.com/photos/santonov

http://flickr.com/photos/santonov

Life’s Choices

It makes you pale what tradition can do, reacting in fear of anything new: It will tie your feet in worn-down shoe and try to hold control of you, or fit you out in garb of farce, so to convince you of being first class. Oh its safe within the crowd, there you can be brave and very loud! All decisions are immensely clear when marching safely from the rear, but since you do have the choice, wouldn’t you prefer to hear your own voice? Won’t you walk toward the edge, pause and look below the ledge for that unexpected thing in there - that looks back and returns your stare? Where convention stands in cynical rule, it is the followers who’re made the fool, who eventually stumble on a truth so strange; they are where there is no change! And so it is that history will repeat - with a strident, pounding and deadly beat. Over time the seasons do not exchange; mindless intolerance is what remains. So don’t be content with a first view, wait and take another few. Face a challenge without pretense, capture the marvel of difference. Walk around, let the music play; learn to approach from another way, Always be willing to be taught, the incredible power in new ways of thought.

CMP Chimacum 9th July, 2006

© Colin Perrott, 2008

Buckhorn Wilderness

Morning Sky (to freedom)

The morning sun loiters outside your door eager to appear, dazzling at center of the floor; dispelling those phantoms nurtured inside and light a smile that stretches so wide. Every beam is the rocket in nature’s show but next to our minds it makes barely a glow. So race ahead as day paints the emergent sky and dare the world with a raven’s strident cry. Kick against the bars of convention’s cage and make the horizon your private stage. Soar over mighty cliffs, sweeping their very edge onto a lofty perch upon a serene mountain ledge. Listen to the trickle of droplets that gather the dew to charge mountain streams so life can renew. Feel the power develop as the waters plunge below and count the colors that shimmer in the rainbow. And if someone remarks on a tear in your eye, describe the mist you caught in that morning sky. CMP 20th November 2008


Chimacum

Pretty Butterfly Oh little butterfly fluttering by, carry my spirit away up high. Higher we’ll ride upon each gust, higher and higher like specs of dust. Paint your colors in my mind and shield me from the passing of time, so on a day that’s drenched with rain, I’ll know you will be back again. When nature’s garden enjoys the sun, that’s the time of our greatest fun; when the blossoms all come out, and summer spreads their scent about. Your beauty is true deception, created entirely for your protection. The delicate patterns on your back warn others not to attack. No slinking around under the gloom reflected by a cold moon: You are about during the day when the world is bright and gay. If I were just like you, I’d have sharp stripes and be in a zoo. Maybe, spots or other fancy dress most unlike father’s idea of best. I wonder how the world looks to you; filled with tints of marvelous hue; things flushed red or frozen blue: when you know more color than I do. It’s in our eyes we carry our jewels, the colors, patterns and visual tools. We are protected by all our senses, and how we use our brains as defenses. Perhaps if we allowed what we see, to wash our souls and set them free; we would be fascinating too, making the world happier by what we do.

Drawn by Esther

CMP 21st November 2008


Mt. Rainier: USGS / CVO photo

Tahoma Hear the still of the night and let your imagination play. See the shadows of the forest transform on each dawning day. Feel the warmth of the sun and let it drive your cares away. Savor every blossom. Touch the breeze that makes it sway. Let your soul breathe! Set it free! And cause it to fly: to paint its unique colors against the wide summer sky; outline the great White Mountain that stands serene and high; and set a focus for others that respond with kindred cry. Bathe in the Pool of Reflection, so deep and profound. Flow with the cycles of nature that pass, making barely a sound. Watch the leaves of the maple turn red, and then float to the ground. Reach for the cup of wisdom, drink deep and share it around. Depart the crowds in twisted valleys carved by fear, beneath frosty blankets of mist that swirl, ever near. Climb the ridge and experience the vision brilliantly clear. Stand free at the edge to measure the depth in life; so dear. CMP Chimacum, May 16th 2006


Sisters: USGS / VCO photo

Flight Granted the wings of a butterfly, I’d let my spirit soar. Given its sight, I’d find new colors and scenes to explore. In its dainty and fancy dress, I’d be a picture of awe. But with a life so short, there wouldn’t be time for more. Nature’s wonders were not designed just to please our eye. Without them, there is no doubt our inner souls would die: Mountain peaks and flying birds surrendered to leaden sky; Spring’s cradle for newborn life holding but an empty sigh. So pause for a moment: do not consume in relentless haste, lest this enchanting world transforms to desolate waste. Do you imagine our kind can survive - living without joy? We are only one part of it all, this planet we’re out to destroy.

CMP 9th July, 2006


Chimacum

In Chimacum Valley There is a delightful old dump truck that sits in a field beside the highway in Chimacum Valley. It is really old – getting on toward a century – and it once would have been the pride of the fleet. But now it seems so small and quaint. No longer does it get daily attention from its owner; refurbishing the wear and tear of use, lubricating its moving parts, and keeping it fueled to carry the daily work load. Its regular visitors are chickadee and deer, eagle and geese, and the quiet forces of corrosion and decay. Mostly we all pass by and give an imaginary wave. But near Christmas each year Santa comes to sit in the cab with hand raised in good will toward all who pass. At dusk, the truck comes alive with hundreds of small lights while the reindeer assemble in front of the gentle old machine, practicing for that one night each year when they will help to draw a new load of happiness into all the homes in our valley and beyond. Though old and worn, the truck has a purpose. It will be there to do its work every year until a time may come when none in the valley seek the wonders it carries. If that ever happens, the old truck won’t be getting all dressed up and prepared each year. It will no longer play a central role in our community, but will rust away quietly behind the long tall grass of the field. Then it will experience aging, disintegrating without notice. And we, as we drive by, will no longer think of the joy of giving. No longer will selfless motives unite the generations at the closing of each year. Progress will have driven over our quiet little valley amid the snowy mountains. Think of yourself as the old truck and Santa as the love you have for living. Be aware of the lights that your body turns on in expectation of each flight of enjoyment. Don’t let your mudguards fall off and your hood droop. Do what you can to combat erosion by your environment. Be prepared for adventure and it will come. Strive for wellbeing and you will find enjoyment. But if you careen into a ravine disregarding the rules of travel, you will never make it to being an old truck at all. Thus old age is not simply a state where cells become dormant and lose functionality. It is one where youth is diminished through assault by formerly insignificant forces that persist with disadvantageous intent. We age little by little, piece by piece, cell by cell. It isn’t all about stress and pollution or reactive oxygen species that are toxic for our genome. Aging is the lengthy process of repaying the mortgages that were envied in youth and raised with flair in early adulthood. No matter what cosmetics we use, nor what the surgeon snips and tucks, age accumulates. It wearies us. For all that, it is a condition to which we each aspire – and one that brings many forms of enjoyment. Just go find them, and be content!

CMP 17th January 2007


Gray Wolf Ridge: 47o57’N, 122o46’W

faces of the northwest

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