I spent last week in Vancouver at Kely’s place while he was in central Canada visiting relatives. Vancouver city is something special; I don’t know if I could describe what I love about it so much; or if I could do it justice if I tried.

I’m back on Saltspring now, stocked up for a long haul at the house, but it’s strange being alone out here – part of me really craves company and after a while and I find myself making excuses to go into town. Mmmm coffee…

I am unemployed now, and using the next couple months (short of a brief trip out east) to work on some personal projects, to see more of the gulf islands, and to get back to meditating. Three weeks in and I’ve made a lot of progress on the paintings and gotten a good start on the first of the two applications I want to write. I’ve even managed to sit for half an hour every day. Which is a pretty good start I think.

Upcoming Plans:

• During the last week of July I’ll be in Toronto.
• During the first week of August I’ll be in Saskatoon.
• During the last week of August I’ll be in Ottawa
• In September I’ll be moving to Calgary , probably for just a year.

I you want to come visit before I leave, make plans now!!!

It’s raining, and there are baby deer in my yard this morning; so damn cute!

Vertigo in the dark. Depths spinning between these hutches of glass and light. Vancouver cityscape, a self referential precipice, divine and infinite.

“These,” it’s eyes twinkle, looking up from a kit model of the golden gate bridge, “are the ghosts of old friends, waiting upon the hour of their reunion.”

Gibson reflects “Every object of desire is a found object.“

And your voice echoes down the razor wire, through the tin cans of your childhood, “Everything about it is love…“

the sun sinks through grey skies into a grey sea
lights glisten from the boats in the harbour
and these towers of glass

distant purple mountains
and the hulks of oil tankers
loom against a peach sunset

cherry trees bloom on vancouver’s streets
affirming every brush stroke
of every poet

through the window
the sea is tranquil
and the city quiet
we live in comfort
and shed our troubles
with each breath

there is room in our hearts for great sorrow
and there is no comfort we would not trade
even if sometimes all we can do is weep

cold and wet.
distant sirens.
cloud enshrouded mountains.