abundance requires a vessel
life rx 13 may 24
the ten of cups, and an excerpt from Life Histories of North American Wild Fowl: “On March 23, 1919, we went up to the Laureless Ranch headquarters and got Mr. Cody, the foreman, to go for a ride with us. He showed us a new road and took us to Laguna Larga, a great marshy tract 6 miles long in the plains. The water is not deep and grass grows up through it all over, and there are a few small patches of tules or cat-tails, but it all dries up if the summer is dry. As we approached it looked as if it was covered with snow, but it proved to be thousands upon thousands of snow geese and other wild geese. Here is their winter home, coming into the great pastures at night to feed on the abundant grass. Last year for the first time known a couple of large flocks remained the entire summer. It was the most wonderful sight in bird life I ever saw, and it will never be forgotten, as cloud after cloud of white and black birds took to wing and then settled down in a distant part of the marsh.”
the aleatory
What is abundant is abundant beyond any vessel. Imagine thinking you only had access to the air in your lungs.
And yet, the presence of a vessel is what makes it possible to be aware of abundance. The cup that overflows. The lake white with geese. Never is a day so sweet as when some tiresome obligation has been canceled by the other party. That’s why I like writing at the laundromat sometimes: It is time where there is nothing else to do, and nothing else to do is a good time to find the world interesting.
Without boundaries, everything and nothing are the same thing. Which is true—true always. And also, it is nice to be human and to strive after a little morsel of chocolate, have a little room that you keep clean, kiss a cat that won’t live forever. There is lots of time to be endless, but only so much time to be particular. So be particular. Be domestic. Be literal, be granular. Comb out the tassels on the rug. Sit up straight. Etc. etc.
Satisfaction only asks that you have a good vessel.
the assignment
Transcend nothing.
writing prompt
Write a short story in one afternoon—maximum two hours. Think Raymond Carver: couches, sinks, melting ice cubes, a weird married couple next door. Be ordinary. Be as boring as you can. While you write, think about the container that the characters are in, like they’re minnows in a mason jar. Think about what gets scooped up along with them.
a chune
“The Last Year” by Jessica Pratt
I like songs that feel like I’ve heard them before, when I was a child in the back seat of a Nissan station wagon, looking up at the stars and the flash-flash-flash of orange streetlights. This whole record sounds like it was recorded by the Wrecking Crew—those session musicians who put a very particular dirty shine on so many sixties pop records that you probably recognize without knowing exactly what it is that you’re recognizing. (It is Carol Kaye, queen of bass lines, that you recognize, and rightly so. Go listen to “Wichita Lineman” right after you listen to this. I’m serious. Do it.)
credits: small spells tarot deck by Rachel Howe
Life Histories of North American Wild Fowl Part II* by Arthur Cleveland Bent**
“The Last Year” by Jessica Pratt
Dear diary, why does spiritual stuff feel so corny and stupid sometimes? I am often embarrassed by it. I like tarot, but not in a very deep way, if that makes any sense. I kind of feel like seeing three birds sitting on a bus stop bench is also a tarot card, and seeing a weird pair of underwear in the gutter is also a tarot card. Everything feels kind of alive to me. It’s possible to see symbols and arcana everywhere. XS
*Somebody wake me up when contemporary book design catches up to this absolute smasher.
**Quite charmed that his website is birdsbybent.com.