NANO ZEN

photo by @thechannelc and used under the terms of the Creative Commons

As always I never have a camera to capture the scene of my thoughts here in Cannes, but @thechannelc has a beautiful moment she captured during her trip to New Zealand that fits just as well.

A Sunday evening twilight alone and tweeting by candle light and laptop glare; supper, wine, haiku games, and random snippets of on the spot philosophy (in French no less), more wine.

I was a little maudlin by the end of that evening and thinking way back to when our family used to have an holiday apartment in the mountain village of Leysin, Switzerland (tourist office). How at night there are no lights to wash out the vast view of the stars, how air is so clear and fresh, and the water like crystal and sensuous across the tongue.

Of course come next morning, I felt a little naughty, and who better to share a naughty thought with than an online friend I’ve never meet like @amykate. Not sure she caught the double entendre though of the haiku.

I was out last Thursday walking to a night club for a little amusement. Maybe pull some bird. It was a lovely full moon, with a faint misty haze before it, diffusing its soft light; scent of jasmine strong in the cool night air.

Erato, as Wikipedia explains, is one of the Greek Muses that inspires lyric poetry, typically romantic and erotic verse. And Selene is the goddess of the moon I’ve often written of.

But a funny thing happened on the way to the forum (club), no sooner than I composed the haiku as a note on my cell phone, some women crying and smelling of spilt beer stops me in the street, tells me about the recent death of her mother, and asks if I can help her back to her hotel. She clearly was having trouble with the vertical axis, so I help her out, find the hotel, and see her up to her room. Next thing she’s wanting me to come into her room and spend the night.

While this sounds like some teenage fantasy come true, I really didn’t fancy her, and it would not have been proper to take advantage of her in such an emotional and drunken state. I had to tear myself away from her as she tried to pull me into the room.

I think I should be careful about invoking Erato’s and Selene’s names in my haiku in future, cause I clearly I got more than I bargained for.

This morning while walking Baka and listening to Lorenna McKennitt’s album The Book Of Secrets, I started to think about the suggestive photo of the milkweed pod on the back of the liner notes.

I imagined a woman lying nude and asleep in my bed, me awake, simply watching her, and how much would I ever come to understand her. I then wrote these two versions and I couldn’t decide which of the two expressed that thought more clearly.

So far, nothing has happened yet after having invoked Erato’s name twice in one morning, but the day is far from over yet.

Again late night or early awake. Found myself once more at the ebony keys of my laptop. Watching the tweets of people I follow, looking for something to spark a chat or inspire a thought. Not to say I have no thoughts, but at 2h20 in the morning one has a tendency to fade to black for a time.

A wet cool Sunday evening. Almost perfectly quiet outside, except for the occasional slosh of water as a car passes in the street below to disturb the steady trickle of rain. Then from out of the night comes a single clap of thunder, like someone yelling at the neighbour’s hound to be silent.

Later I find myself wide awake during the pre-dawn hours, unable to sleep. I rise, go to my study, and light several candles. Even though the glow from the laptop screen is enough to read by, it lacks the warm ambience that flickering flame gives.

As the candles burned, my thoughts drifted towards more erotic sensations and the need to share them. A sort of 9½ Weeks moment.

The slow tint of ghostly blue light signals the coming dawn. I dress and opt to walk Baka early through dawn drizzle in damp silence. No lights from windows, no passing cars, just a dark bluish shift to sombre grey light as the day slowly comes into view around Cannes.

Once more @jaava provided food for thought as she settled into her evening. A gracious hostess.

But finally with the grey dawn, came a westerly bringing with it more steady rain to nourish the trees and flowers of spring; a wine urn totted by a godly servant amongst the thirsty guests of a Greek banquet as they lounge or cavort in accordance to their whims and desires.