Affairs of the cosmos; an intimate theft

Dedicated to the upcoming solar eclipse on 12 August, 2026

 

Furnace of gold is he

The moon, she

Shadowy silhouettes

They gaze at each other

They are still so far

Away

Trajectories never permitted to touch

Except for this single stolen hour

 

Her luminous body slowly pressing against his blinding heat

A celestial embrace

A collision of desire

Late-afternoon of delight-

Full vibrant resinous amber hues

Alchemy of sharing secrets in the darkness

eARTh shivers

two celestial deities lose themselves in one another

 

suspended above the sea,

their union peaks

mortals look closely

she is a halo of pure white fire

a lifetime of waiting releases

sun and moon alchemize into unified twilight

 

cosmic law, though, dictates

their union cannot last

all mankind should heave a collective grateful sigh of relief

she makes the first move

her dark form sliding away

from his golden warmth

 

a broken embrace

a horizon bruises

crushed violets and crimson rose petals scatter

across the skyline

the sun, alone, sinks into the Atlantic

sulking

aching

the touch of his fleeting lover

he carries within his rays

 

the moon?

Again, she slips between eARTh and her lover

Only to move on

To separate again        `

 

She

A phantom receding into the void

He

Will burn through a thousand lonely dawns

Seeking out her silhouette on the tide

Until they again find their rhythm

 

Another cycle of stolen theft...

 

NOTE: if you’re going to watch the event, make sure you have your ISO 12312-2 certified solar eclipse glasses to protect your eyes. if you're in Portugal, you can get a pair here:

 

https://clubdavisao.pt/campanha/eclipse2026

 

 

Separation—

  

Separation—

 

Circumstance builds the wall

without consent,

a cold monument built by fate.

Is time punishing, or is it not?

The past? The now? It grows

each day remaining separated.

 

I endeavor to cloak the wall with night-blooming jasmine

so I can smell a distant shadow

deep into the Bewitching Hour,

when the wall doesn’t seem so imposing,

when communication flows without restraint,

when unbound lust blossoms, wafting beyond confinement,

lost in a ghostly embrace

behind the wall.

Louredo and the Mondego River Runs Through It

 

Pre-run dip in the Mondego River

One of my favorite secret spots

My run today from Louredo to Penacova along the Mondego riverfront trail 

Back in Portugal and back to my go-to favorite places along the Mondego River. Following the river from Louredo as it carves a path through the landscape, I felt like I was (slowly) moving through a living canvas. The river was so calm— to the point of drowsy— such as I was (thank you for that, Solo_Ojo). 

Getting closer to Penacova, the valley became narrower and steeper. The scent of eucalyptus permeated the air while the hot summer sun baked me. The sound of cicadas was my background music.

This past spring I biked some of this route, but running it made it seem like a fresh experience.  Once I spotted the white houses clinging to the side of the valley walls, I knew Penacova, up above, was within reach, so I turned around and trotted (yes, a very slow cadence...) back to Louredo.

 After a slow drive back north a bit, I finished off the day at Barra in Garfanha da Nazare for sunset. Today was just the type of day that I didn't even know I needed. 

ReallyDirtyPoetry.Series:17.July.2026

 I'm resurrecting my 'Really Dirty Poetry' series from twenty years ago. Inspired by my archaeological work in the field, I would write poetry out on various job sites— either while monitoring large machinery, doing data recovery, or during down-time moments of surveying and mapping. So, yes, it was a dirty, dirty job, and I documented it the best I could. 

Fast-forward 20 years, I'm revisiting these older works and updating the series to include for my dirty, dirty time cycling and running here in the mid-Atlas Mountains. 

 

 ReallyDirtyPoetrySeries:17.July.2026

 

  

She ran and ran and ran until she broke.

The semester clung like dust to salt-slick skin,
driven out by her Hoka One Ones that bite the mud.
A heavy heave, a spiritual vomit from within,
painting trail grime against her rushing blood.

 

Dry mid-Atlas sun baked the barren waste,

Dust coated her swallowing throat,
coughing up deadlines, meetings, lesson plans…gasping for the heat.
Shedding every lecture, every grade until there is no more—
just the filthy, beautiful rhythm of the trail.

 

Left stripped naked before her own wild heart,

Nothing left to carry, nowhere left to fail.

The Rolling Stones: Foreign Tongues album; my review

Foreign Tongues: 

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLRqbVy5wTt3c

 

Rocking into the midnight hour, staring up at the ceiling or out into the darkness of the moonless night, vices in check, I just listened to every song on the album. Now, I'm ready to go through it again and give commentary.

 

I've followed the Stones all my life. I know what I like. I know what I like with my whiskey. I know what I like in a man. I know what I like with the Stones.  Rarely do I falter...

My first listening, excluding the songs I've already heard countless times before the album's release today (In the Stars, Rough & Twisted, &, more recently, Jealous Lover), I had already detected elements of their 'Emotional Rescue' era — 1980 to be exact. 

In 1980, I was just finishing my 'wonder years' in southern California and in high school. Life revolved around the beach, mostly. It was a time of experimentation into seeing who I would eventually become and from which influences that resonated. 

 So, here we go:

 

Rough & Twisted

This single has been out for a few months now. Blues inspired, Stones are at their best. It's fucking smooth, and it puts me in the mood to just groove while lying on my bed staring into space just soaking up the atmosphere. Lights are dimmed while everything else remains turned on.

In the Stars

Epic Stones. This single was also released months ago, and I still can't get enough of it. I know this song so intimately for this chapter of my life that I can safely say, Yes, I fucking do 'want to dance til the roof caves in'. After all, it's in the stars, baby. It's akin to a life anthem; relaxation, enjoyment, freedom. Sign me up- permanently. 

Jealous Lover

Beast of Burden vibes here. But, I hate the song, lyrics. I, unfortunately, first listened to this track watching the video on YouTube, and I'll never be able to dis-associate the video from the song. The video was just garbage, IMHO. 

Mr. Charm

A fast recovery from the distaste of 'Jealous Lover', 'Mr. Charm' returns to rock & roll I expect from the Stones. 

Divine Intervention

"Respectable' (Some Girls album) vibes for sure. Blues-y Stones swagger. 

Ringing Hollow

Country honky-tonk goodness. Jagger is falling out of love with America in this song. I understand its complexity. Get beyond the political message and just lay back on your bed and listen to it with pure intentions. 

Never Want to Lose You

Banging dance groove. Lyrics...are just alright. 

Hit Me in the Head

Punk-y stones. Charlie Watts on drums (RIP). 1972 guitar riffs. Lots of adrenaline 

You Know I'm No Good

Amy Winehouse tribute. I'm feeling gritty dirty blues and the harmonica... 

Some Of Us

Keith Richards vocals. Deeply emotional and just a sweet ballad. Richard's voice... makes way for a reflective mood. Lying on my bed in the dark, my eyes closed, this felt monumental. Reflections on the passage of time; this IS the Stones. Yes, Keith, 'some of us are on our knees.' The song infects you. This hit deep for me.

Covered In You

 Sleazy-blues with a contemporary flair. I'm getting 'miss you' vibes and it's S E X Y as hell. Pure Sticky Fingers and Exile on Main Street eras. A fucking banger of an ear-gasm for me. I could play this on repeat in the right circumstances with the right person.

Side Effects

Meh. A little too 'angst-y' of a song is my first (and second) impression. This is the song I would get up from my bed to go pour myself another glass of wine.

Back In Your Life

Another beautiful ballad. Stones ballads are not appreciated enough. Classic Jagger. Fucking adore this track. I want this in my life; 'is this how our story will end'. Put on repeat — under the right circumstances. I get high off listening to this track. It just hits differently, reflectively. I mean, I ADORE this track. The boys are pouring their hearts out here.

Beautiful Delilah

The album's closing track, Chuck Berry and rhythm and blues. Full circle Stones. Bravo.  

 

It's nearly the Bewitching Hour, and I am fully satiated.  As Bonnie Raitt and Johnny Lee Hooker said, "I'm in the Mood...". 

 

29 June, 2026 Internal Cartography Series 33° 31' 58.8" N, 5° 6' 0" W

  29 June, 2026 Internal Cartography Series 33° 31' 58.8" N, 5° 6' 0" W

 Composed while pondering tonight's full moon, biding my time before the Morocco - Netherlands World Cup game starts at 2 am here in the mid-Atlas Mountains.      

 

A full moon sails through the sky,

Charting its path in silence.

Which cartographer will chart my map?

Who will trace the headwaters of my river ­—

Its deep primal pulse?

Who will climb my peaks,

And sink into the guarded depths of my chasms?

Who is patient enough to map this breathing land?

Who is willing to explore my hinterland?

By what name will you claim my terrain?

 

I say to you, cartographer:

Do not rush the landscape or demand immediate answers.

Do not fear the dark heavy heat of my depths.

If you pursue the source of my rushing rivers,

Do not hack through the dense overgrowth.

Let it yield under a slow patient hand.

 

My terrain has been trodden by ancient myths.

My realm is a beautiful weight of ancient earth

And cosmic patience.

My scarred terrain whispers stories

Like ancient petroglyphs.

 

Look up: the full moon circles back tonight,

Closing its quiet arc above the wild.

What if you choose not to return to your land,

And instead, inhabit mine?

 

Map slips from your fingers, useless now.

Ink cannot hold the heat of this earth.

 

What will you do now that you are standing at the edge of the wild,

With no landmarks left to guide you?

 

 

Atlas Lions Fever

 

 

 

 

World Cup season is upon us, and it’s always something I manage to forget about up until it’s happening again. And then the fever sets in: staying up all night catching all the matches at friend’s houses, heading to the local watering holes to cheer along with other patrons, etc.

Having spent 2 decades in the MENAT (Middle East, North Africa, Turkey), these World Cup experiences each have lasting memories. What do I remember the most?

·      White plastic chairs spilling out onto overcrowded streets facing giant projectors

·      The smell of shisha & cigarettes

·      Hot sweaty nights interrupted only by the sound of electric fans blowing useless breezes in rhythmic cadence

·      Fireworks, horns, chants, dancing in the streets with flags

·      How fierce national rivalries dissolve into regional united regional cheers as a team plays further up the tournament ladder

·      University camaraderie with students and professors watching matches together underneath starry skies on campus

This 2026 season I’m living/working in Morocco, so it is especially exciting as the Atlas Lions are on the rise. I’m noticing that within the A-L groupings that many of the not-as-well-known teams are under-represented- in terms of predictions about matches… As a result, there have been some interesting unexpected draws (Spain/Cap Verde, Portugal/DR Congo, Iran/New Zealand and even Morocco/Brazil). There is this wave of lower-ranked nations upsetting the tournament giants, and I’m here for it.  There is a beauty in this chaos that is equal to the tension.

I think many sports fans supporting the traditional giants are suddenly understanding the significance of AFCON (Africa Cup of Nations). So, this feels especially relevant to be here right now because I feel I’m located in the epicenter of this giant shifting awareness.

In my ideal bracket, I’d like to see Morocco and Portugal in the finals; AFCON grit vs European elite. Obviously, the 2022 quarter-finals between the two teams is still fresh in everyone’s memories. Watching this game on 19 July here in Morocco and then stepping into an airplane on 20 July to Portugal… this would be epic!

Option number 2, for different reasons- both cultural and political, I’d like to see Morocco vs Iran in the finals. Really, though, I’d like to see two MENAT teams compete in the finals. Why? Perhaps I’m naïve, but the reality on the ground of many AFCON nations consists of vague terrain (dirt lots or packed clay fields), improvised gear, or no gear at all (barefoot).

It’s 9 am and I’m lying in bed still riding the high of the Atlas Lions’ victory against Scotland last night – as well as the Brazil win over Haiti. Thus far, I’ve resisted watching many of the ‘giants’ but it’s time to start seeing what England is doing, etc. Tonight, we’re heading to the local watering hole, so I think I’ll focus on the Ivory Coast/Germany game that will be playing; another opportunity to test out the AFCON grit test the old guard.

Mid-Atlas Late Afternoon Thunderstorm Interrupted

  

 

 

From heavy heat to a cooling downpour,

thunder rumbling

 like the sudden sharp intake of breath

 before skin meets skin.

 

And just like that,

it’s over

just as it was getting started.

 

Heavy heat cloaks tense atmosphere.

Humidity thick, suffocating.

Somewhere a disappointed lover lies back

in damp silence.

Sticky skin.

 

Shivering in the heat of an empty sweat,

desperate for the flood that never came.

Phantom fingers tracing the damp heat,

left burning for a flood that never fell.

 

In time, a cool breeze settles,

cooling the skin yet clearing nothing. 

 

 

Exodus: Anthology of Romances

  

I’ve never really thought much about moving to a country, setting up my life, living my life, and then exiting that life for another one. I would further say that this feels very comfortable for me. I enjoy the challenge. I dare say I’m addicted to this ‘feeling’. There is such beauty in letting go.

Think about the stages of falling in love; it’s a long process and quite addictive. Falling out of love, again, a long process. Addictive? In a sense, yes. I mean to say, that the feelings resulting…they are nothing short of brilliant for artistic endeavors; writing, painting, etc. Staying in love… that’s the challenge, right? Is this why I run away?What do people write about when they are in love? 

So, I consider countries/working situations for the past 20 years as a sort of relationship, each one. I’ve written about this before, and it’s a constant consideration in my mind. For example, Istanbul was this boyfriend that I was addicted to- even though I knew ‘he’ wasn’t right for me. Istanbul was like what I (naively, I’m sure) think heroin is like. It was extremely difficult to leave, but I did — although it’s always in the back of my mind… New York City was a similar feeling; it was super exciting, but I knew that relationship would never last. It was an epic summer fling. Rarely do I think about NYC. But that’s okay. 

If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with... Each country mirrors a passionate volatile lover. Infatuation turns into daily living turns into departure. Each departure, although exciting, increasingly becomes more and more difficult, though. Perhaps that’s not the right word choice, difficult. Maybe now, though, it’s that I’m remaining behind. I’m the lover that is being left behind. Of course, I know I will also leave this lover but not just yet…

Being an ‘outsider’ is never my worry, honestly. Or, it is never the reason to leave; this is more appropriate to describe each exodus. Each country is an unpredictable partner, and I think I’ve adapted to this frame of mind. After all, each country I’ve moved to has been about work. I’ve excelled at building family, work relationships, communities, and then exiting them. There is this lingering love connection with each intimate connection I make, and meeting up with these family members in other countries is the logical trajectory. Lovers reuniting. This is what we always tell each other- when we are leaving; the aftermath of the break-up. I’m already dreaming of returning to Turkey next winter. It’s been too long since I’ve connected with that lover.

Because I am a person who likes seeing patterns in things, I think about the inevitable break-up with my current country. Is Portugal going to break the pattern, the chain, for me? I fell in love with Portugal years ago. Portugal, though, I am realizing is not a lover. It’s a partner. Portugal has always been something separate. It’s just always been a stable relationship that I could always count on. So how does Portugal fit into my patterned existence? I’m not sure yet, but I kind of like the idea of staying in love there. Or, I think I’m up for the challenge.

Am I finally shifting from a series of torrid romances to a foundational partnership? I wonder. Is Morocco going to be my last goodbye love letter, my last exodus?

10 June, 2026 Internal Cartography Series 33° 31' 58.8" N, 5° 6' 0" W

  

It’s not what I say,

It’s what I’ve left unsaid.

 

It’s not what I write,

It’s what I’ve left unwritten.

 

I am an open book,

With a hidden language.

 

That which you cannot hear nor read,

Unless you are free.

 

Liberation flows from within

My root chakra.

 

I am free

Great Works of Literature are Capable of Temporarily Destroying Me Emotionally

  

Recently, in Portugal, I fell in love with a man.

His name? Nathanial Hawthorne, and he is 224 years old.

 

What do I adore about him?

His ability to absolutely fuck up my afternoons using only words.

 

We have unfinished chapters, him and I.

Although we’ve only just met, I anticipate quickly returning to him next month —

Where I left him, lying on the couch.

 

There, he can finish me off.

Seduce me with his weight of sinful guilt, his cruelty of isolation, his failed utopian ideals.

For him, there is no easy redemption; for me, devastation.

 

He is under my skin. Right now.

A haunting by the ghost of a man who likely dooms every soul that dare to read his works.

The ink from his pen slowly poisoning.

Soon, his centuries-old grief will ruin me completely.

 

How haunting it will be, to be so exquisitely undone.

Coming Home to Whose Moon?

Whose moon have I been keeping company with?

 

I am being swept off my feet,

 30,000' in the air

 

Two traveling entities

 sailing across the nighttime sky

 on different trajectories:  

Myself west to east - ocean to the mountains. 

The moon orbiting- sailing atop its celestial highway

 

Entwined in a personal dance with orbital mechanics,

 it feels as though we are moving as one,

yet we are spinning further apart

from each other 

 

Looking down from the window, 

village lights shimmer; a scattering of humanity

in contrast to the dark void of uninhabited lands —

a lonely mid-air Moonlight Mile

 

A road made of reflection, 

leading right back to somewhere I'm supposed to be.

 

I don't know.

 

The engines push me forward. 

 

The ocean has long faded in the distance, left behind 

as I am being propelled towards the mountains.

 

Standing on solid eARth in the Bewitching Hour,

I again seek out the moon's company.

 

But I have to wonder:

Is this the same moon I've been sharing the sky with?

 

Or has it changed,

It is growing heavy and full.

 

Perhaps tonight's rare Blue Moon will divulge 

if its light still touches your shore

while it illuminates my mountain peaks. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Once Upon a Time-Machine: Dreaming in hypnopompic imagery

 Once upon a time machine: Dreaming in hypnopompic imagery

Praia da Vagueira

                                   
 

 Awakening at 10:00 am, for the second day in a row, I lay in bed for a few smug moments soaking up the totality of the situation. When I start waking up at 10:00 am, I know vacation is soon over...

Well, that's what 10:00 am means in this current life iteration. In a past chapter, far far away across the furthest reaches of the Pacific Ocean, waking up at 10:00 am meant different things due to different situations. Those were enjoyable times, for sure. 

Back to current reality, I'm slowly, quietly working out the day ahead: eat that luscious mango in the refrigerator with some Greek yogurt and fresh blueberries,perhaps even drizzle some organic honey on top; go into the garage and tool around with my bicycle; get the sewing machine fired up and put new elastic around my favorite bikini bottoms that I've had for about 20 years. Of course I have a plethora of bikinis — as anyone from Hawaii amasses because it's the most important piece of clothing to wear — but this bottom is my absolute favorite. 

The backstory of this bikini bottom: My boyfriend and I were on the mainland (San Francisco). We had just finished traversing the U.S. from San Fran to the Midwest and back. It was an epic odyssey— as they all were. We were back in San Francisco and had to return the van we were traveling in. We rented it and took out the back seats and put a futon bed in it and just drove... Anyway, we were somewhere in the Outer Sunset (district) and getting coffee early on the last morning, and a surf shop was next door. We walked in, of course, and there I saw them: exquisite. If you don't know #AaronChang, he is a famous surf photographer. I didn't know he had a surf clothing line as well.  This bikini bottom (no top) was the most beautiful fabric I had seen (well, that can't honestly be confirmed being that it is a major weakness of mine, fabric). I knew that it would be mine, even considering it was the last day of our travels and we had to head back to Hawaii nearly penniless. However, living in Hawaii, one is always in search of the bikini that no one else has. To add to its potential lure, I could tell that I would be able to surf and the bottoms wouldn't fall down when falling off a board (quite common, honestly). I think Ed went back into the coffee-shop, but I stayed... I coveted. I purchased. Back to the Islands we went. Now, all my bikinis are spread around the globe in my belongings — waiting for a permanent place to belong, but this one stays with me always.  

Back to the dream-machine...which is the point of this communique...which has nothing to do with bikinis, although Freud might think differently...

For two days in a row now, I've slept in until 10:00 am. Friday night was a late night out/early morning arrival home (however you want to analyze that one), and last night was just an innate desire to sleep for 12 hours. The second happens less frequently than the first..., so whenever the feeling arises, I just go with it. Somehow, somewhere tucked into those 12 hours I had a very strange dream. I mean, I guess all dreams are strange. I usually don't remember my dreams, so I started piecing this one back together. The gist:

I met a strange man while in a strange land. There was an empty old-style apartment (mine?). I think it was only a room- bedroom. It seems it was a recent possession. It had a cathedral ceiling, chipped paint/plaster, and a rustic smell. It was bright, though. After some time (?) I returned to it only to find four women occupying it. I told them they should leave because it was mine. They looked scared or lost- not knowing what to do or where to go. I apologized and said they should take their time leaving. I told some people the story- I think they were my family, for sure my sister as I remember explaining the room to her. The man I had met showed up to where I was staying (with my family?). Then I was on a subway and got off somewhere I'd traveled to before- Romania with Ed? (a different Ed, Istanbul Ed)). I recognized that it was somewhere I had visited before, but not the part of the city (Cluj Napoca) where I had been staying. I only accidentally had walked there (in real life), so the dream revisited this brief place, but I immediately recognized it in my dream. I met up with the strange man again. We kissed. I saw the strange man again in a field with 2 other men. One was bald and seemed to be his bodyguard. As I observed them from a distance I thought, "Who is this strange man? Why does he need a bodyguard? Why are they speaking in hushed tones? The sun is beating down on them. How does this connect to a (my?) empty room- which has nothing in it but a bed?" Then, I was somewhere outside and saw a pink Cadillac roll up. It parks in a field across from where I'm observing them. The chauffeur (of course) gets out. The strange man is still there as well. They are all standing/talking. The strange man gets in the pink Cadillac. As the chauffeur drives off, a dust cloud enshrouds the Cadillac- but not before our eyes briefly focus on each other. I smile to myself and walk away.

What would Freud do? That's too loaded of a question. How do I interpret this? Here goes: The room was something from my past? The observation that there was only a bed in the room- no need to unpack that one... The 4 women in the room with only a bed; all remnants of a (my) past life chapters- earlier versions of myself or more likely ones that still present themselves in various encounters? The Romania part; that's a deep memory. The subway makes sense; deep underground processing of thoughts. The strange man? I think he must have owned a carnival. The pink Cadillac certainly fits nicely with the carnival imagery. The whispering men; likely the masculine qualities of myself that I keep private. 

Back to reality. There was a carnival yesterday, in Vagos (or was it a religious festival... I'd like to think, in retrospect, that it was a carnival though) while coming back from Praia do Labrego. The lights were on, people were flowing throughout the venue, and the smell of roasting meat pervaded my being. I continued on, but not before catching glimpses of activity. Riding on, the brief image of that scene stayed with me for a few more miles. 

What does it all mean? Who knows. On an ending note, I couldn't resist... I asked AI what Freud would have thought of my dream... lol 

International Space Station (ISS) fly-by

Dinner conversation inevitably turns to strolling down memory lane. So, most apps are just time distractions, but a few are pretty cool, like the ISS app, the Marine Traffic app, and the NightSky app. It seems whenever I'm here in the village, more times than not we luck into an ISS fly-by. I, trying to distract from a failing chess match, ask about the night sky tonight. We both instinctively reach for our phones and open up our space apps. 

Mine was still set to Morocco so nothing showed up. Solo_ojo's showed that we had 38 minutes before a fly-by (22:23 - 22:34 pm). I still lost the match, and I learned that I need to take care of my rook's better. 

I digress. The irony of staring at our devices to show us what's in the sky... Rather annoying. Overhead, Arcturus. Its Hawaiian name, Hōkūle`a, was used by ancient Polynesian voyagers for navigation, and it was critical in guiding canoes to the Islands. The northern sky is very busy with the Big Dipper and Polaris. The west, the waxing crescent moon, Venus, and Jupiter all cluster together.

The ISS always traverses from west to east, so we walked down the path to get a better view to the west. Doubting we would catch it because it was a low-elevation pass (just above the horizon), I started listening to the cacophony of nocturnal sounds. And just like that, there it was. Distant and dim. No flashing lights. Moving fast, like a ship sailing along a distant coastline.

To think, 30 minutes previously, it was sailing across the South Pacific. Now (11:30 pm) it is over northern China. By the time I finish this post (maybe 1:00 am?), it will be somewhere along the SW coast of Africa. That is some celestial geometry! Space is profoundly trippy. 

The ISS app showed that 3 Russians, 1 Frenchwoman, and 3 Americans are onboard. How incredible their conversations must be. Do they watch movies? Do they play chess? I imagine they stay clear of discussing politics...

Curiosity gets the best of me, so I ask AI (Claude)... what data are they collecting. "Expedition74", Claude explains, is running "cutting edge biomedical and deep-space survival experiments." 

on a side note: OMG, I just quoted AI... wtf? I don't even want to know how to properly cite Claude...

Another digression... From what I deduced, the focus is pancreatic cancer research, cartilage replacement, and how spirulina can consume carbon dioxide that astronauts breathe out (in anticipation for longer trips to...Mars). 

I'm already making a mental note to purchase some super blue-green algae at a health food store here in Portugal to take back to Morocco...

So, curing diseases on earth and getting humans to Mars. 

Again, I return to the paradox of standing in the darkness staring at the sky while staring at devices trained to tell us what we are looking at. Basically using devices, tiny pieces of the space age, to track space. 

Returning to the chessboard and relating it to space exploration, there's a lesson to be learned: high stakes psychological battles governed by strict geometry where a single structural vulnerability can collapse an entire empire. By this I am referring to the white queen coming out of nowhere to take my black rook. Chess and the ISS. The connection? Different expressions of human instinct: the drive to be calculating, control (both yours and your opponents) space, and minimize errors under pressure. 

I realize that I under-utilize the rook(s). When I want to use it, there is still pawn in front of it. Then I forget about it. I moved the pawn and I didn't even catch the trap. I was able to recover, but what a blow to lose that piece so early on.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

Impermanence: ponderings on love, loss, and soil

I spent some time this afternoon staring at a fingernail that has been slowly falling off. It's been maybe two weeks that I've been observing the inevitable. I'm not consumed with it, and I'm quite fine to let it go (literally) as I've come to accept the impermanence of IT. Of everything? No. Letting go of permanence is a struggle for our species. Why?

Why do we seek out permanence in a fluid universe, I ask the moon. Acceptance of the loss of a fingernail- is it acceptance of (my) ultimate impermanence? I mean, the nail will grow back. Do we grow back? 

Waiting for an answer, I ponder: we don't mourn the loss (death?) of the (new) moon each calendar cycle because we know it comes back. It has a history of coming back. There is an understanding of permanence within impermanence. Death without tragedy. 

The moon silently understanding; it has a permanence of cycles: waxing, waning, disappearing... My existential riddle remains unanswered tonight. Is the answer only to be found in the dissolution of consciousness and ego? Could it be this is 'true love', death? Love is in the soil...

What about a wave in the ocean, traveling incalculable distances only to crash on some distant shoreline? Does the wave die? I understand it to be fluid. Can there be a wave that never crashes?

 The act of burying as an act of planting. Earth (literally, dirt) treats both acts the same. A sudden realization leads to a rare moment of clarity. I did not possess this clarity earlier this evening, as I watched the dirt fall over a small patch of disturbed earth. A seed. A corpse. It's all the same to the soil. 

I'm not the same person that I was when I woke up this morning, I understand this.  My dying nail? It's still holding onto a permanence I've already let go of. I want it to fall off into the soil. Tonight. Let it grow back into something wild. 

 

Driving back from visiting some friends tonight, we took the cemitério road (rua da eternidade). I noticed that the same road at some point changed into rua da paz. It makes sense, I get it. Anyway, it made me smile. 

 

When Things Aren't as They Seem (on google maps)

 

Preparations. I do my research. I researched the route, downloaded the maps, charged the extra battery pack for my cell phone, packed gear for an all day ride, bla bla bla. It's amazing to be so organized beforehand that when it comes to stepping out the door, I let it all go, most of it anyway. This is not the first time... 

Article of evidence #1

I had a huge list of things to get while in Lisbon that I can't get in Morocco. All of it having to do with cycling, running, yoga, etc. So, you know, the fun stuff. I get up to start the odyssey across various neighborhoods in the city and don't take the list. I mean, I KNOW the list. I OBSESSED over the list for a few weeks beforehand. I did well without the list- as I knew I would. But still, I forgot one or two fairly important things.

Articles of evidence #2-5

Everything I needed today was organized beforehand. I didn't know where I was going, really, so I knew I'd be using a lot of battery power. I brought the fully-charged battery pack but forgot the cord to attach to the phone... 

While I was up late looking for waterfalls,  I was keeping track of basic kilometers to cycle. But, did I overlay the map with 'terrain' to include for topography and elevation? No... 

I knew there would be a lot of çesme (fontes in Portuguese) because they seem to be everywhere, so I *knew* that I wouldn't have a problem re-filling my bottles... All those fontes that I saw, while descending, on the way out... didn't have water in them for the uphill battle I incurred. 

I had my Plan A (to find the very CLOSE waterfall that I couldn't locate on Saturday while out biking AND on Sunday hiking) and a Plan B (a cascata/praia fluvial a bit further away in Vimieiro). So, en route to Plan B (yes, I aborted Plan A because I wanted a longer more technical ride), I happen to see a brown sign "praia fluvial da Moura Morta") and made an on-the-spot decision to go rouge with a Plan C... This is where the topography and elevation is definitely not in my favor (for the return voyage), but am I thinking about that in the moment? No. However... I did stop to look at google maps and saw that it wasn't *too far away* from Plan B, as well as it *looked* so close to Penacova- which suddenly became Plan D - for the voyage home... Again, the elevation... 

In the end, I did not jump into any waterfalls today, but I did manage to find a spot in the Alva River to cool off. Today's odyssey absolutely kicked my ass, and I pretty much limped back to Poiares and crashed out on the couch, where I am still lying down, recovering. Was it worth it? Yes. 100 percent. 

Nightmoves

There's a highly active nocturnal ecosystem that I'm privy to here- cradled in between the Serra do Carvalho and Serra de Magaruffe ranges. Fireworks in the distance. I wonder what the occasion. Queima das Feitas? The Feira Francas? It's midnight so perhaps a wedding and cutting the cake ceremony? 

Time slows down. Exhaustion turns into exhilaration just by lying down and listening. Journeying here today, each segment of the journey is so familiar. Coimbra-B train station (what happened to Coimbra A- did it just disappear?). There was a cliché train moment when I broke out my computer and finished up yesterday's writing/posting. Is this every writer's dream; typing out a manuscript whilst the moving picture show goes by, frame-by-frame? The countryside is bursting with colors from all the rain. 

Onto the next scene; the mad dash to get to the closest bus stop for the 238. Each twist and turn brings back memories: jumping in the Ceira River over there, hiking around the Mondego River here, looking at houses years ago in Sao Fruitoso, etc. 

Insect sounds intensify. The sound of an owl's wings flapping nearby. And then quiet. My body, my being thirsts for THIS. Who can sleep with all these nightmoves? Not I.  

The night doesn't want me to sleep anyway. I am connected to this dirt.  I am connected to this skyline. There was this one incredible night not that long ago, maybe six months ago? Last summer? Anyway, there were SO many satellites racing through the sky on this single trajectory. It was awesome. Researching it the next morning, it was Starlink. A train of internet steel cutting through the cosmos. SpaceX had launched a quiver of new satellites, and they all deployed at once and were visible. 

Okay, it's getting cold. 

 

Ode to ancient Lisboa (Alis Ubbo)

 

 

Ode to ancient Lisboa (Alis Ubbo)

 

O Alis Ubbo, where once Phoenician traders anchored up and down your maritime shores.

Their oars skimming, eyes searching, moneybags awaiting.

Quietly settling and trading from the shelter of the Tagus —

before the cacophony of Romans, Greeks, Carthaginians, and Moors followed your footsteps.

 

O Alis Ubbo, your safe harbor bustling with footsteps from ancient foreign tongues —

much as it is today — alas… grieve.

Grieve for who, for what?

What shelters you from the masses descending onto your maritime shores today?

 

O Alis Ubbo, I drink up your essence late into the night.

I roam your labyrinth neighborhoods like a phantom searching out your ancient harbor for a soothsayer to cast my fortune with a roll of the dice.

Following relics, stealing glances with only a sliver of moonlight to witness.

Listening for echoes of past foreign tongues bringing stories from unknown oceans. Merchants negotiating wares from your Maritime Tin and Amber Routes.

I wait in the shadows ready to steal your secrets along with your golden bounty.

To entomb them in written word as insects entombed inside your amber. MY word. My foreign tongue.

 

Ode to Alis Ubbo, mortal elder, surviving such calamities as earthquakes, empires, crusades. And for what?

Surviving the tides of change brings forth today’s calamities.

Are you patiently waiting out this current wave of digital noise?