Photographic Memory

Commute Impressionism, a photo by []Aaroneous Monk[] on Flickr.

I've recently come to make a habit of taking pictures on my commute home from work. It provides a kind of antidote for "zoning out" during that 20 minute time frame and forces me to look around at the world passing by and process it a bit. I think this is a good thing because there is a lot of world to experience between where I work and my house. Why should I ignore it? In olden times I would have likely been walking to work or waving and talking to folks while perched on the seat of my horse-drawn wagon. As it is, I speed along in my car but my heart can still take it in, a prayer connecting me to those I see on the way and a picture to remind me...

The Birds

The Birds, a photo by []Aaroneous Monk[] on Flickr.

I saw a "murmuration" over a massive conglomeration of rice paddies in South Korea in 1994 while on a cross country bus trip from Pusan to Seoul. It was not quite as spectacular as this one, but it's been a dream-like image that recurs from time to time in my memory and I initially had to re-remember where it was that I saw it to convince myself it wasn't just something I'd imagined. This video along with its soundtrack looks like something that would be in a Hayao Miyazaki animated film, but it's real!


Murmuration from Sophie Windsor Clive on Vimeo.

The Wizard of Us

The Wizard of Oz , a photo by []Aaroneous Monk[] on Flickr.

While reading some political commentary from a Right-ward leaning friend today about the “real motives” behind the Wall Street protests it occurred to me that those caught up taking sides in a politically bifurcated system can do little more than purvey half-truths and try and foist them off as the whole shebang. In looking back on the earlier phenomenon of the Tea Party Movement with my Left-ward leaning friends’ critiques I see the mirror image.

Using mirror as metaphor, it is like describing half a person, but then putting a mirror up to the edge to give an illusion of seeing the whole person. This half person posing as a whole person allows for pronouncements of nefarious connections and motives that are tenuous at best as well as providing a self-serving and incomplete picture.

Is this the famous “Straw Man” of debate fame? The Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz longing for a brain? Whatever it is I think this approach does precious little to help solve the problems we face as a society, but is more a symptom of its self-destruction. Maybe we need a Tin Man approach whereby we long for a heart?

Night Swimming

I learned tonight that R.E.M. is disbanding.  The flood of memories that have come with that revelation have been almost overwhelming.  I most associate their music with the two years I spent in Korea as an infantryman from 1991 to 1993, a strange and melancholy time for me.  I remember listening to songs from their album “Out of Time” while swimming in a pool on a lonely hilltop that overlooked the Demilitarized Zone with other members of my squad.  From this hilltop the fake city of “Peace Village” in North Korea could be seen in the hazy distance adding a surreal quality to this rare moment of downtime. 

“Automatic for the People” came out some time after we'd transferred back to our base at Camp Casey, headquarters of the US Army's 2nd Infantry Division.  The song "Losing My Religion" followed me in and out of the PX and shops in the small town outside of our base as well as haunted my trips to Seoul where it played through store front speakers in Myeongdong.  Their music was a kind of soundtrack for that two year tour of duty and that song in particular encapsulated my experiences, thoughts, and feelings of the time.

I remember one night in particular.  I was walking back to my barracks some time after midnight, having just come from hanging out with Korean friends in a coffee shop outside the gate in Dongducheon. Half way there I passed the base swimming pool and found myself staring across the road at the blue glow of the water behind a high security fence. A tremendous wave of melancholy washed over me. My mind began to fill with thoughts of my situation: far from home, far from family and friends, trying to find lasting friendships and relationships in a situation that was impermanent and tenuous at best.

The feeling was so intolerably strong that I suddenly found myself headed across the road while keeping an eye out for the Military Police patrolling in their humvees. I scaled the high fence and squatted at the water’s edge looking into its depths. As if in a trance I stripped down to my boxers and allowed myself to topple forward into the water. 

I wouldn’t say that I was looking for death per se, but it was a longing for a release from the emotional pain of life that is felt in those moments when we feel utterly alone.  In retrospect, baptism would be an apt analogy, wanting to move from death to life in the act of immersion and then rebirth.

I remember the glow all around me, the sensation of floating, feeling detached from my cares. I swam for no more than a few minutes staying mostly underwater. I wanted to continue to do that until the sun rose, but getting caught would have resulted in serious consequences in that environment. I eventually got out and put my clothes back on with my boxers soaking through my pants and walked the kilometer or so back to my barracks where I quietly climbed into bed and fell asleep.

***

Vespers

Vespers, a photo by []Aaroneous Monk[] on Flickr.

I attended the Saturday Vespers service at St. Gregory of Nyssa Orthodox Church last night and brought my camera along. While uploading the photos to my computer later in the evening it sparked memories of the first time I stepped foot into an Orthodox Church in the summer of 1995. A friend from college had an Orthodox publication that I had perused while visiting him which intrigued me. That led to reading more about this ancient Christian church that I knew so very little about.

That reading led to looking for a local Orthodox Church which I found in the phone book of a larger nearby town and I called the priest, Fr. Athanasius. I asked to meet with him and that led to some visits in his office and even a lunch date or two. In those early meetings he patiently answered my (mostly foolish) questions, but also encouraged me to “come and see”. This was difficult because I was teaching a Sunday School class back in my hometown on Sunday mornings. At some point I made the decision to attend a Saturday evening Vespers service.

I arrived early and nervously opened the front door. The first thing that hit me was the smell of incense and then I noticed the flicker of candle flames a few feet away. There was a warm glow about the place and a few people were walking around bowing and kissing icons. The service started and I heard the Psalms being read as well as chanted in a Middle Eastern sounding tone. At some point the priest stood in front of a table (the altar) with a golden censer in hand, quiet and attentive, with his head bowed. As the chanter began to sing “let my prayer arise before You as incense” the priest began swinging the censer which jingled with the sound of small bells… “hear me, hear me, Oh Lord.”

16 years later I still treasure Vespers as the sun sets and "we see the evening light", the candles brighten, the air becomes hazy with incense, and I feel my heart beating “hear me, hear me, Oh Lord.”

Pictures in the Dark

Drawing Pictures in the Dark, a photo by []Aaroneous Monk[] on Flickr.

Most nights I lay with Elias after our bedtime ritual until he falls asleep and then I quietly extricate myself when I’m sure he’s asleep. Tonight he requested his Mom lay with him and was told she would join him after getting Anya to sleep. With this assurance of an eventual bedtime companion I left his room and gave dire warnings of what would happen if he were to be seen leaving his room as he’s wont to do if he is awake and no one is with him in bed.

After some time I was pleasantly surprised to realize it had been several minutes since my exit and he had not left his room despite me hearing him mumbling things like “I’m bored” from his bed while I sat in the office next door doing meaningful work (OK, I was on Facebook). The comments eventually stopped and not sure of what to make of his unexpected obedience I peeked in on him. His bed was empty and scanning the room I caught sight of his small dark silhouette hunched over his desk with marker in hand drawing pictures in the dark.

In the Night Kastle

In the Slanted Lands

where only shadows grow

lies the Night Kastle

Asleep in the parapet
lies little Kramer Krow
high in his perch
between sheets of ice and snow

In the Slanted Lands
where only shadows grow

The cry of the grubble-snout
resounding long and low
awakens the sleeping Kramer
from his dreaming undertow

In the Slanted Lands
where only shadows grow

He rubs his tired eyes
and wiggles his talon-toes
sprouting from his back
two slender black wings grow

In the Slanted Lands
where only shadows grow

Tottering on his tower
a breeze begins to blow
he tumbles into the air
to go where he does not know

Falling feels like flying

Sleeping seems like dying

It sometimes leaves you crying

In the Slanted Lands
where only shadows grow.