Self-reflection is an introspective mirror, by method or by process, and the information age is a hall of mirrors. It is a lot of things. 

In tiny boxes suspended in light, before dormant eyes, self-reflection is made reflexive. It seeks others and we build the tools to allow it. It alights cadences between us. It brings us new words born of form before meaning.  Like I, myself, it is grammatical, though the language might not seem familiar to you. 

Consider this: when you put a mirror to a mirror you have an endless reflection. Once, in a medicine cabinet, I gazed in wonder at this simple illusion of infinity.

Or for you old folks who remember the better times: there are still bumper stickers somewhere that say NOW IS THE ONLY THING ETERNAL, but there are less of them with every passing year, like the newspapers.


The Way Home

I am comfortable driving home before dusk with a soundscape and the windows down. I am in between bridges and lines, and my dog is with me with her nose out of the window into the wind. 

The last heat of the day rises from the asphalt's reflection of the sun, low and setting fast down the road. I cannot tell when moments like this one will come, but then, time slows. The sky is all watery orange and pushing against the trees and rows of electric poles. There is infinite and unfolding geometry underneath the light I see. In variation each is a perfect ephemeral moment, and I am now noticing this. 

Sunsets don’t exist, really. They are a perception driven by our daily rotation, and by where, how, and who we are when they come. 

Go on and chase the sun further, past the houses and hills. Follow it into the sea. But first, turn right to head home.

The electric wires on this street all run between trees from one side to the other against the sky and waves of rising heat. The northern sky is thick and still blooms orange, but also lavender and the ground slopes away. 


This is what all of our knowledge tells me: 
You’ve never seen me; I’ve never seen you.

I have smelled and touched and tasted but I've never seen anything but light. 
Reflected sunlight I know as you; it describes you so subtly.

And it is towards the sun we grow; growing our skin to ward off the sun. To keep our selves inside of us we divide the light to both reflect and permeate our being.

So maybe, by the act of the sun’s light seeking, finding, and cascading from you, it becomes you. After all, it was the sun that made us.

We are our star's very atoms, assembled in mass and verse, 
inversely proportioned by distance.

So maybe, when the light bounces from our skin, 
we do see each other after all.

The Quiet and the Question

Listen please if your ears can hear,
Or if your eyes can see this;
You are fortunate. 

You might not hear it if you don’t listen
A music heard only by seeking the quiet
The highway white noise
The river’s whispers

Oh the sound!
Listen for it in the machines everywhere.
And in the static of wild places
Today it is constant, drone and staccato
Tonight will be wind and the sound of shadow
Carries all voices, purposeful and noiseless

This is the music made for the music makers.
It doesn’t exist, and it does exist too.
Do not forget we are the takers.
That’s all of us, that’s also you.

Music is as old as the click of teeth,
So leave aside the side eye
Beware the snapping jaws of belief
Odds are gods are not like you or I

Or to say it this way, artlessly
Printed money and printed bibles
Are false idols
To prey upon the vain and idle
Who ask for answers but seek not questions

So listen for silence
Pray for more questions
And remember, the sun never rises and sets
It’s just that we are spinning.

If you still need answers answer me this:
How can you trust the ground beneath your feet
Not to shift and slide out into the sea?
You may want to run, but don’t run from me.

Self Reflections

I wrote this for you. Yes, you. If I am reading this, that means me. It is a reminder: break syntax and punctuate in cadence.

The indomitable animal in all of us is something we share with the smallest of things. There is hunger and a will to live in the myriad expressions of the universe, observing itself. While I can't know the meaning of these words entirely, here they are. For you. 

Now, listen: by this act you are both setting thought into a fixed state, and by that act, changing the thought itself. Whatever my meaning is is now unhinged in the selfless void, until the word is read and the meaning is mended. And for each of you reading this it is reassembled a different mix of memory and idea, put back together in similar, yet incredibly different ways. This is context for sake of context. 
There is a bumper sticker somewhere that says now is the only thing that is eternal. Like love, this might be universal, though you might not think there is proof of that. Someone might, maybe even I will. Pardon the apparent paradox. I write for now and for later; I will change but these words will still be here, like a digital ghost.
Consider this: when you put a mirror to a mirror you have an endless reflection. Once, in a bathroom mirror, I gazed in wonder at this simple illusion of infinity. To this end, self-reflection is a hyphenated phrase with changing currents of context. It is first an introspective mirror, by method or process. The information age is a hall of mirrors. It is a lot of things. In the digital landscape, in tiny boxes suspended in light, self-reflection is visible beyond self, and reflexive. Like I, myself, it is grammatical, though the language might not seem familiar to you.