15 thoughts on “Always Now

  1. Well, the here and now is alive, because we breathe therefore we am. We witness. We register. We record.
    I have, past 17 and leaving home, wanted as much of that as possible, the alive bit. I don’t believe I gave myself the chance between birth and 17 I might have.
    Sometimes I look back to wonder if I caught up yet.
    There’s fear, either of a past repeat that’s too familiar. Or of an imagined fear coming up that is going to be worse than anything ever preceeding it. All that demands rumination, doesn’t it. Not in the here and now. Off somewhere on a planet far far away.
    Painting and drawing are about the best anchors I have to reality. Steve McQueen (paraphrasing here) said about racing, the rest of the time is waiting for the flag. But I relish all the inbetweens. The fog at dawn. The prism in rainsdrops. The internal shift toward courage or perserverance.
    But pigment, a brush, a canvas, well….that’s damn good.
    Thanks for the note from the universe, John.


    • Beautifully expressed piece of deep wisdom, this. So much of dealing with fear and anxiety is involved with solitude, and having something really pleasant to do, like drawing or painting, simply and eloquently helps us to achieve that. I think, expressed really simply, that is what relaxing means. I work in academia where very few of my co-scholars seem able to relax. It saddens me, it increases my own loneliness, but I’ll never become someone who rushes through life only to hear, as my grandma told me, “the very last thing is the nails in your coffin, so why hurry now?” So memorable, here saying that after I’d rushed up stairs and truly busted my shinbone. Still hurts to remind me, too, some 54 years later.


  2. A cautionary tale? A beautiful reminder? I wasn’t born with many exceptional talents, but I’ve been blessed with the uncanny ability to have fun even in the dullest of situations. Hopefully I’ll be remembered for my kindness to strangers. Now that I’m getting older I’ve begun to dwell on what I thought was impossible, death. I have occasional moments of resignation, but this is what I know…I’ll go down fighting. Unless I’m hit by a truck. Thank you for posting this, John. It will make a difference.


    • I was hit by a truck. At first I thought my life was over. 83% deaf, 37 skull fractures, on and on and on. But as soon as I regained a tiny bit of consciousness, and realized I can still think and speak, it was like a torch was lit under my butt. Over time, despite losing my beloved profession of nursing, I not only recovered well enough to function, I ended up in an entirely new career, traveling places I’d never dreamed of, and happier than before the wreck. The drunk who hit us, who hit us as the third family whose lives he disrupted, ended up dead only a few years later, still drunk and still drugged. Guess he never got to the present moment and realized how liberating it is to not fog up your brain. Actually made me sad, despite all he’d done to people.


    • You will also be remembered as a photographer with a keen eye, a wonderfully perceptive writer, and no doubt for those who have met you a very special person. Thanks, as always, for your comments.


  3. And nothing reminds you of that better than dogs, a gorgeous snowstorm that keeps you in, or a hungry stomach. Cats, too, who can be persistent if you didn’t feed them enough the night before. That old hunting and gorging instinct comes up with the sun!


  4. I’m glad whoever clicked just 60 seconds after you posted it did that because when I saw the post, I thought that “It is always now!” was the extent of the post. The video is good, but my memory is the source of a lot of my creativity, the stories I tell, the things I paint about. Painting is so good because no one can quarrel with a painting. Words can’t hurt you if you put it in a painting. But words allow me to share with others and doing so invites them to share with me. I think work and physical activity enter into the equation somewhere to help balance out memories so that they are useful in moving forward and in gaining wisdom in your life. It is snowing 50-cent pieces out there!! OMG, I love Connecticut in winter!


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