Tag: half-penny thoughts

  • Half-penny thoughts | 12jun25

    a path in the middle of a dark forest
    Photo by Wes Hicks on Unsplash

    I’m doing some spiritual alchemy this morning. You know, calcination, dissolution, separation… yada yada yada. Fancy words for a messy process.

    As most of you know, I don’t have much patience with fancy language to describe simple things. I also don’t have much patience with elaborate processes when the processes themselves should be (and tend to be) simple.

    Stepping back…

    I was thinking again, about this process of rewilding my spirit, getting back to the beginning. Part of that involves taking what you perceive yourself to be and going all Zen by seeking out the face you wore before you were born. Or, as the kōan would have it, before your parents were born.

    [A kōan, for those unfamiliar with the term, is a Zen “public case” meant to help one realize satori, otherwise known as enlightenment.]

    What better place to set as a destination for rewilding your spirit? Your original face, before even your parents were born!

    Before nurture came around… Before your nature evolved…

    What face did you wear?

    And can you find it again?

    Note: For the curious, my philosophy is largely Taoist informed by Zen, my spiritual practice is largely animist, influenced by panpolytheistic understandings (with many of those trappings removed). Confused? Now you know why I think these kinds of thoughts.

  • Half-penny thoughts — 02jun25

    Photo by enkuu smile_ on Unsplash

    I recently realized that sometimes I take what was said or done in the past and apply it to the present, which is flawed thinking when I consider how it might the reality of a given situation.

    Yes, that’s how our minds tend to work — we use our experiences to inform our futures and presents. That’s how we try to maximize our situations to our advantage.

    And, often, it works as intended.

    But there are times where the past does not necessarily inform the present. Or, even when the past informs the present, it does so with such imperfection as to be essentially useless. Instead of advantage, assumptions about the past offer us greater opportunities to stumble and fall face-first into a cow pie. And that’s if we are lucky. Unlucky, we tend to crash and burn in a dung heap.

    I’m often on the unlucky balance of the equation. [Aside: If I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck at all, as the saying goes.]

    I need to remind myself that, absent other assurances from the past, there is still only the eternal present. Putting too much faith in the (often illusionary) past to explain the present is a fool’s errand. Forget about the future.

    Excuse me while I go remind myself of the nature of things by sitting in the dojo of my mind…

  • Half-penny thoughts — 30may25

    Image of a writing journal and a pencil.
    Photo by Dariusz Sankowski on Unsplash

    One of those ideas that keeps coming back to me is a question that has been on my mind for at least ten years. Whether it is music, writing, or art in general: Where is the disruption and subversion?

    (more…)

  • Half-penny thought — 14may25

    Photo by Patrick Fore on Unsplash

    I sometimes ask myself not if I should write, but if I should share what I write.

    Writing is my lifeblood. I have occasionally “given up the bad habit of writing” only to find myself slinking back with a scrawled bit of doggerel like a junky needing his morning fix. If I go more than about a day without writing something, somewhere — I get that janky tremor that we used to call “jonesing” back in the day.

    I cannot stop. That much has been decided. And, for the most part, I like to think of it as a victimless habit. Mostly harmless… Besides, like decent person with any filthy habit, I wash my hands afterwards.

    But should I share what I write? That gets trickier.

    I still believe it is “mostly harmless”. But I know, regardless of the perception of “quality” (in quotes for my buddy, Ted), what I write often seems to not be (for whatever reason, perhaps due to “quality”) the kind of stuff that people particularly “get” or maybe even like. And I am not entirely blind to the qualities of the writings that are well-received, but the well-received style of writing is plainly not me.

    So I often find myself asking, when I write, should I share it? Or should I hermit myself off in the woods and eventually be found as a dead and desiccated body, with stacks of scrawled within notebooks scattered around my cave that some cold hiker will burn for fuel against the cold autumn air?

    Wait… don’t answer those… those were rhetorical questions. Allow me at least the illusion that someone reads and maybe slightly likes what I write, please.

    Channeling non-oblique, non-obtuse writer to see if I can make something of something…

  • Half-penny thoughts — 07may25

    Photo by Cornelia Munteanu on Unsplash

    Eyes chase the dust motes playing in the sun framed in shadows cast by the window frame. I wonder that they might be alive, even if we think of dust as the slag of our skin, cast off in a neverending shedding season, our constant state of ephemera we purposefully cast a blind eye toward — afraid of our own mortality. Unable to accept we are a season of dust, we focus our gaze on the verdant, the thriving as we sweep the parts of our dying under the rug for someone else to discover after we have passed on.

    Consider this: Could the “dead” cells of ourselves still be alive? By what measure have we to decide when they are finally and truly dead things? They never had a heartbeat and we cannot confirm they ever had mind — although I will argue that there is more mind than we are inclined to recognize in the world around us — much less this have an active mind.

    And yet, be it the vagaries of air eddies and their imagined whims, or dust motes at play, one has to wonder if any of this must be as it seems. Who is to say that if we look beyond the scrim before our eyes and truly see, if we might not see more than what everything seems.