A note from an old friend from an old time from an old place...

"The night-crawler returns to the barrio. I know him as Jose, others as Joseph and still others as the guy who wanders past ten, sniffing the pavement, observing the night. 

No doubt that this time armed with knowledge, you surveyed the landscape keenly observing it's night denizens from the edge of the street, looking outward and inward depending on how the looking is done. The brick houses worn out by time, different faces, old neighbors long buried, faded paint streaks the horizon, scattered leaves canvassed the hood we call home. 

Yet, it all seems so new, but the neighborhood wrinkles. El tiempo no miente. Time doesnt lie. That's our neighborhood; Joe returns and notes that the only new thing, are the wrinkles on his face. Welcome back Jose."

RB

EL Paso Texas Jan 02 2011 

ALL THAT'S PAST

All that's Past

Very old are the woods;

And the buds that break

Out of the brier's boughs,

When March winds wake,

So old with their beauty are--

Oh, no man knows

Through what wild centuries

Roves back the rose.

Very old are the brooks;

And the rills that rise

Where snow sleeps cold beneath

The azure skies

Sing such a history

Of come and gone,

Their every drop is as wise

As Solomon.

Very old are we;

Our dreams are tales

Told in dim Eden

By Eve's nightingales;

We wake and whisper awhile,

But, the day gone by,

Silence and sleep like fields

Of amaranth lie.

~ Walter De La Mare

THE RAVEN

The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -

Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -

Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -

This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -

Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'

Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;

Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -

'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.

Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -

Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -

Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -

On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'

Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -

Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore

Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,

But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,

She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee

Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -

Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -

On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -

Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -

`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted - nevermore! 

~ Edgar Allan Poe

THE CAVE

"The Cave" 

It's empty in the valley of your heart

The sun, it rises slowly as you walk

Away from all the fears

And all the faults you've left behind

The harvest left no food for you to eat

You cannibal, you meat-eater, you see

But I have seen the same

I know the shame in your defeat

But I will hold on hope

And I won't let you choke

On the noose around your neck

And I'll find strength in pain

And I will change my ways

I'll know my name as it's called again

Because I have other things to fill my time

You take what is yours and I'll take mine

Now let me at the truth

Which will refresh my broken mind

So tie me to a post and block my ears

I can see widows and orphans through my tears

I know my call despite my faults

And despite my growing fears

But I will hold on hope

And I won't let you choke

On the noose around your neck

And I'll find strength in pain

And I will change my ways

I'll know my name as it's called again

So come out of your cave walking on your hands

And see the world hanging upside down

You can understand dependence

When you know the maker's land

So make your siren's call

And sing all you want

I will not hear what you have to say

Because I need freedom now

And I need to know how

To live my life as it's meant to be

And I will hold on hope

And I won't let you choke

On the noose around your neck

And I'll find strength in pain

And I will change my ways

I'll know my name as it's called again

~ Music Lyrics by MUMFORD AND SONS

THE LISTENERS

The Listeners

'Is there anybody there?' said the Traveler,

Knocking on the moonlit door;

And his horse in the silence champed the grasses

Of the forest's ferny floor:

And a bird flew up out of the turret,

Above the Traveler's head

And he smote upon the door again a second time; 

'Is there anybody there?' he said.

But no one descended to the Traveler;

No head from the leaf-fringed sill

Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,

Where he stood perplexed and still. 

But only a host of phantom listeners

That dwelt in the lone house then

Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight

To that voice from the world of men:

Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,

That goes down to the empty hall,

Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken 

By the lonely Traveler's call.

And he felt in his heart their strangeness,

Their stillness answering his cry,

While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,

'Neath the starred and leafy sky; 

For he suddenly smote on the door, even

Louder, and lifted his head:-

'Tell them I came, and no one answered,

That I kept my word,' he said. 

Never the least stir made the listeners,

Though every word he spake

Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house 

From the one man left awake:

Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,

And the sound of iron on stone,

And how the silence surged softly backward,

When the plunging hoofs were gone

~ Walter de la Mere

IT IS A CRIME

It is a crime....

to have love and squander it

to have opportunity and ignore it

to have potential and waste it

to have a mind and choose to act as a child

to have passion and sleep instead

to have life and fear it

to have friendship and think only of yourself

to have a soul and not explore it

to have faith and not challenge the world

Dear Diary, today i embrace change for my own good

Dear Diary, 

I am embracing the hideous facebook timeline. I resisted from the very beginning but I hear ringing in my ears.. I’ve always said to myself…"embrace change Joseph". I can see some good points in the new format but scanning it feels as if face book has removed a large amount of historical posts in favor of a few select posts. Is that true? How is that determined? Or is it still there? i collect and store my history with great care and it was made simple here.Has it been swiped from me? Facebook you helped me remember the importance of the past and empowered me with technology to peer effortlessly into my evolution. We cant turn back now.

History is important for me. It's the story of evolution, growth, learning and adventures. Social sites...ugh.... i despised them initially. Then one day, it changed just like that. What started as a personal social experiment, changed to overcoming self imposed isolation, then slowly became a public yet personal diary of sorts.


I suppose face book was meant to connect old friends and it did that. Bringing up old ghosts, old friends, old opponents as well as those left behind though not forgotten. Even with all these reconnections, Face book through its history also illustrated why and how we drifted apart in the first place. Sometimes the past should remain the past. I found myself reliving old goodbyes with some discomfort…again!  The experience screamed out to me and was telling me the first goodbye was meant to be the end of the story... time to let it go forever. Thinking about it... It’s ok i tell myself with a sigh.  Its ok to let things go  as we each evolve and move on. The past has its dignity too, not all that used to be is meant to live in the present or future.


It’s been about 5 years on facebook and through its history, I see myself change, evolve. Friends come and go, new faces appear from unlikely places, old faces disappear into the night in my rear view mirror. All of us connecting in powerful new ways from around the globe. I wouldn't have imagined that my closest connections are worlds away. A surprise, a delight, a blessing and one I'm eager to explore.


We each drift in a particular way, led by the stick and carrot right in front of us. I find it wonderful to see the evolution. Five years ago I didn’t have friends spanning the globe, the states, from wide age groups and most surprisingly much like me…the odd INTJ.


History is important to me and it’s so wonderful to go back from time to time and notice again how far ive traveled. Each year brings huge changes and unexpected lessons, and as an INTJ....i don't look back, i learn and move forward. I embrace change once again and tread forward with enthusiasm into the undiscovered country.