Waking in the Obliquity of the Ecliptic
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October 19, 2006, New York City:
Waking in the Obliquity of The Ecliptic
I’ve been moving in circles lately—little circles. Spinning my wheels, essentially.
Getting nowhere, going nowhere fast.
Alas, I think it might be the change of seasons that has put me in this rut.
I saw my first leaves falling while crossing the park this morning. When I stepped to the back of the elevator up to my office, I noticed a sad dry leaf in the middle of the floor, which apparently someone had inadvertently dragged in.
I have a super-sensitive sense of smell—the power of 4XS, I call it— so, the scent of mildew and mold and must surrounds me these days. Admittedly, as much as I’d like to celebrate the piquing of my olfactory senses, it unsettles me, it makes me feel that at any moment I might be assailed by some respiratory ailment.
Usually I am enthralled by autumn in New York, but at this moment I’m feeling a bit disenchanted. I’m confident I’ll shake myself out of it, sooner than later, but for now, somehow, I just want to allow myself a minute of sulking—if only for a brief-breather at the precipice of another turning point in time, if only for a minim in the rotation of the earth that does not stop for its inhabitants, if only for a moment while in the wake of the obliquity of the ecliptic.
Than again, maybe this sudden disillusion, this somber reflection, this pensive distraction and ephemeral dissatisfaction has more to do with where I’m at than where the earth’s at, at the moment.
Because lately I’ve been feeling nowhere. Admittedly, lately, being all but a few days—but a few days of feeling nowhere, can feel just as long as forever.
Maybe, its merely this love-stupor I’m in. Moreover, it’s getting cold, buttons are falling off my clothes left and right, I’ve essentially finished the book and I always get a little heavyhearted at the end of any major endeavor.
The other night, while contemplating my human condition I wrote the following:
I’m rebelling against ambiguity, especially my own, nobody wants to commit these days, afraid of getting caught between a rock and a hard place or somewhere with someone that’s going nowhere. People tend to waver, wading, waiting in that wishy-washy space, of the seemingly secure in-between.
Yet, if you wait long enough nothing ever really seems worth waiting for.
Therein lies the conundrum.
Because, assured of the inevitable disappointment, sometimes we rush into things instead, if only to get it over with. Because, as excited as we might initially, truly, be, experience stands solemn in a corner, smiling, smirking, ominously, smugly waiting, with a clock in one hand—tick-tick, tick-tick, tock-tock—and a sickle in the other, ready to swath away all those high and false hopes we tender, we tend to harbor over and over again.
Blah, blah, blah.
This morning I saw a ray of hope though.
On my way to work I encountered a charming pair of orange shoes. I was enamored by their pumpkin hue. They reminded me that I’m planning to take the boys apple picking this weekend.
I was also taken by the quaint-homely style of the girl wearing them. She looked comfortable. She looked like she was going to work in SoHo or one of the Villages. She looked like she worked in publishing or at a copy center, maybe the Barnes & Noble at Astor Place or Shakespeare & Company on Broadway. Something to do with books. I like books.
At some point during my pictorial of her, I imagined that she clicked her heels three times for me and whisked me away, back into her bed—with a cool fall breeze wafting from the sill, and the smell of espresso and cinnamon-raisin buttered bagels toasting in the oven lapping me out of my slumber on a late and lazy Saturday morning-into-afternoon.
Maybe than, I just need to get out of the city for a few days. Breath a little country-fresh air, leave the woes of chasing worldly aspirations, elusive amorous prospects and cosmopolitan delights behind. I think my camera would like that.
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May 14, 2007, New York City:
A special thanks to Jason Leslie Rogers (Pencils and Pixels), curator of the Museum of Flickr Fine Art for choosing my photo, Waking in the Obliquity of the Ecliptic as part of the inaugural permanent collection of this online exhibit.
Sunday, June 10, 2007, Happy Note:
I met Debbie (Deborah) today, she's lovely, she's fun, she happens to literally live around the corner (how convenient). She's the one in the photo above and her colleague at work discovered her photo by chance, serendipitously. So Debbie sent me an e-mail. I e-mailed her back. We met in the park. How lucky can one guy be, lucky for me.
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