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 |   Enga mellom fjella: where from across the meadow, poems sing from mountains and molehills. |
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Enga mellom Fjella  Sentinel Marked as if you own me I bow before the Bitterroots and just like you my rocky soil, my withered grass lays prey to the empty sky. © Kåre Enga 2007 "Sentinel"   Reader's Choice of Poems: "'heart's home'" "Where grows the compost heap" "Between us" "Speak soft my name" "Drugs sold here" Reader's Choice of blog entries from my old blog "L'aura del Campo" :"Death of Jeannie New Moon" "Doing and don'ting. A scene in 2nd person." "When is it proper to tell someone you love them?" "Half-naked dreams? 'Getting the stain out of genes!" "Il pleure (poem). We R puddle-luscious, aujourd'hui." FACES     PLACES            Kåre  Enga~ until everything was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow! And I let the fish go. ~ Elizabeth Bishop The Fish |
 me Which side do you choose? In the political bruhaha in Costa Rica I didn't have to choose sides. It wasn't my election; it's not my lindo país.  Basically I'm a social-libertarian with blue collar roots that go back to Sweden. But... I don't have to choose... so I don't. Some things in life though demand a choice. Socks or no socks for example. On a snowy cold morning like today the choice is easy to make.  This morning the breeze was out of the east. This meant I walked down the alley on the west side of buildings. Yesterday I walked on the east side to bask in the weak rays of the sun. In summer I walk in shade. In Costa Rica I walk on the north side of buildings in January, the south side in June to avoid the sun. So many choices. Most aren't critical. But some... like what we believe... do make a difference. I may choose to have a small party at my place for a Bahá'í holiday or festival this year. The New Year (171 B.E.) came to mind but I may be in Portugal. Perhaps 'Ayyam-i-Ha at the end of February (it's a gift giving time... and I have chapbooks up the wazoo). Still, belief is a choice. Then there is how we behave. Certainly by choice most of the time but habits are ruts that are hard to get out of. The way we are brought up may make change difficult. Traumas are tricky at best and can be sub-conscious. But who-we-are... as in... I AM WHO I AM... may not be a choice. Did I choose to be the #1 child? Did I choose to have poor eyesight as a child? Did I choose to be me or am I just ME? I guess I'm tired of considering who-I-am to be a choice. Time to just shrug my shoulders and accept this. Time to understand that my right shoulder is going nowhere without my left. |
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