Things like this never happen when I have my camera with me.
Yesterday my wife and I took our exercise walk up the mesa. On the way back we saw two baby horned toads! These were two separate incidents, amazingly. And when I say “baby,” I mean tiny, about the size of my thumbnail. I took this relative abundance to be a good sign. After all, how many folks have ever seen a baby horned toad?
A couple of years ago I saw two babies riding on their mother’s back, one of the most astonishing things I’ve ever witnessed. She froze in the middle of the dusty trail, giving me a good long look as I stood right over them. This was extraordinary enough, to see the three of them, but then one of the little ones crawled off and walked a few inches away, onto a patch of sand that was much lighter in color than his (?) mother’s back. And then he changed color to match! I mean, in no more than a second or two. I didn’t even know they did that, but this one sure as hell did.
So today I walked up there by myself, and of course I took my camera. Hah. Nary a horned toad to be seen, naturally.
Run away, run away
But I did run across a piñacate beetle, otherwise known colloquially as a “stinkbug.” I’ve run into these before, and they deserve the nickname. It was the only animal I saw on this walk, but I had a good time anyway. I think I would rather just “be” out in the wilderness than do almost anything else in this world, even if all I see is a stinkbug. It has to do with the universal quality of consciousness arising from no thought.
I worry less and less these days. I know that’s odd, considering my history of apocalyptic rants. And by the way, did you know the Germans are preparing for a huge crowd in Berlin for Obama’s speech?
Comment by carolfrombatonrouge
1 July 24, 2008, 10:03 am o'clock |
Civilization changes everything:
While I was growing up in Arlington, Texas (west of Dallas), back when is was barren, I would play with “horny” toads of all sizes. The tiny ones are so cute…..then, when they get older, they learn to shoot liquid at you out of their tear ducts. Well, now that area is HUGE and all that exists is glass and cement.
By the way, I absolutely love the pics of inside your house, the light glow is beautiful.
Comment by Number 6
2 July 24, 2008, 11:11 am o'clock |
“Things like this never happen when I have my camera with me.”
of course! that’s the way it *always* works!! i’ve noticed the same thing with my music - the best stuff i do is when i’m just jamming & fucking around without bothering to hit “record”.
maybe it’s one of those Unwritten Real Rules Of The Univese, a reminder of the truly transitory nature of physical existence, that one should always be fully aware of This Moment, since This Moment is all that ever really exists, and you can never really “capture” it.
there’s a line from “Camera”, a short film by canadian director David Cronenberg: “Photography is death… when you record the moment, you record the death of the moment.”
Comment by Steve Ingham
3 July 24, 2008, 2:04 pm o'clock |
You said……..”I think I would rather just “be” out in the wilderness than do almost anything else in this world, even if all I see is a stinkbug. It has to do with the universal quality of consciousness arising from no thought.”
I know exactly what you mean…Just you and One with the Universe and Nothing else matters!! Although it can be done anywhere…..not nearly as much fun and helpful to the senses as where you and your wife get to walk!!
Enjoy - and keep letting us in on it…….we love it!
And Less of the “apocalyptic rants” is not a bad thing either….it just is!
Steve in Hot and Humid Oklahoma!!!! … “I’m Melting” !!!
Comment by K.J. Webb
4 July 24, 2008, 6:46 pm o'clock |
Re Number 6’s observations….
I agree that a hunk of raw experience is of a totally different order from words afterwards spoken about it or a picture made of it. “When you describe a thing, it is already dead in your heart”, according to Nietzsche. So why speak or why make pictures? Well, why not? You’re never going to get the unmediated experence back again anyway. It’s extinct, whether written about or photographed. And there’s this to consider: most experience is either so tedious or so painful that we’re happy to arrive at the time when it’s dead in our hearts. Maybe the whole point of art is to help us cope with that reality.
Whatever it was that happened to us, the interesting part begins later - trying to figure it out. Humans long to make sense of what they’ve undergone - construct a narrative or mint a resonant phrase or image, remember what was beautiful or render bearable what was painful. This can only be done with words and pictures. Experience is what we must endure. Words and pictures are what we live by.