::imaginative introspection::

Imagine that all life is an illusion. All that exists is this moment. No past, no future, each memory, every plan, a part of the illusion. Life, in a photograph.

Do you like the image of yourself?

Monday, January 24, 2011

finding elegance: micro

an entire world
             and grows
                   and fights without conciousness,
 each moment,
         each motion a response to instinct,
                                                     programming alone

eat. grow. divide.
eat. grow. divide.

where competition abounds, with enemies swarming all around
                                            and change a constant, chaotic force.

survive. survive. survive. 
survive. survive. survive. 

where in mere days,
                      sometimes hours,
one species becomes two, and so on. 

eat. grow. divide.
eat. grow. divide.

where chemistry reigns supreme,
          and physics underlies all forms,
                            in motion, structure,
                                                 sometime random and spasmotic,
                                                 often smooth and elegant.

all contained in a drop of pond water.


Sometimes my days are full of studying, figures, memorization and I forget to look for the beauty in everything.  Sometimes the beauty comes screaming from the pages of my textbook and I sit up and gaze around in wonder at this world.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Simplicity (Just an Idea I'm working on)

is lovely.
is easy.
is elegant.
is free.

Delighting in the little pleasures and surprises.
Going without.
Choosing to fill life with experience instead of things.
Sharing with those in need.


Even the most complex secrets of the universe can be explained by many simple steps.

Saturday, January 15, 2011


Light, bright and glaring, prompts tears as I step out into a world of harsh cold, biting winds, and striking beauty.

Bright white light, reflected from every angle, illuminates a landscape defined by shifting shadows.  

Screaming winds sweep up ice crystals that tear the skin and block the sun and all falls dark
                     ---only cold and the harsh wind, with hope to guide the way. 

Winter, fiercely delicate, a force that simultaneously makes one want to weep for the beauty, run for the terror.  

Friday, January 14, 2011

1.22.04 Journal Entry

"Try not to become a person of success but rather a person of value." -Einstein

First, I really like Einstein because he was not afraid to be different.  Second, I love this quote! It is basically saying this: you can be successful but that doesn't mean that you are valuable.  If you are not valuable than tell me, what is the point of success?  Value is so much more important!


Oh lil Klaire.  Trying so hard to understand when you barely knew yourself.

Ideally society would define the successful as those who have made contributions to mankind.  Far too often they define success (and value) in terms of dollars.  One of the topics I touch on with my environmental science students now is the idea of instrumental and intrinsic value.  How different cultures and societies value things shapes the environment surrounding those communities.

Those who believe that THINGS are more important than people will surround them selves -- with the latest technology, the hottest new fashion, the shiniest car, the newest awesome thing that they must absolutely have before everyone else! And they build up all this junk around them until it collapses on top of them-- society fills landfills with discarded THINGS that were used once and thrown away.

How can a person learn to value themselves, understand that success is not based solely on dollar signs, in a society where everything is disposable?  For shame.

I only hope we learn before we bury ourselves in our own disposable lives.

Monday, January 10, 2011

From the Past (November 2005)

ice crystals form overnight
making windowglass sparkle
in morning light
waking warm, smell of cobbler
is such a sight a simple pleasure
a child's delight


Sunday, January 9, 2011

From the Past (March 2005)

The night is alive with
sound as I drift to sleep
Its constant serenade
better than counting sheep
I hear the sirens blare,
the planes fly overhead,
the shouts of drunken men
and I smile in my bed
snuggled deep under the covers
I hear a pair of fighting lovers
and know that all is right
in this place so full of life.

Saturday, January 8, 2011

From the Past

Dusty broken eye piece
forgotten on my desk
I see the world through broken eyes
which tear in loud protest
Dusty broken eye piece
waiting for repair
when eyes determined not to see
will see again quite clear


Friday, January 7, 2011

05.12.04 Journal Entry

I recently found a stash of old poetry and reflections from high school.  I have an entire collection of journal entries of a quote and my interpretation or response to it.  I'll share some of these-- it's funny how looking back gives a such a clear picture.  

05.12.04 Journal Entry

"What a grand thing to be loved! What a grander thing, still, to love!" -Victor Hugo

Grand?  No.  Love is not always easy, nor is it always beautiful.  Love can be these thing at times, but usually it is not.  When we love someone we expect them to love us back -- which is simply unfair.  It is unfair to expect a person to "give back."  Such a thing happens -when it is sincere- quite spontaneously.  To be loved and to love -these things are difficult.  To love and receive love in return -true, pure love- is a miracle.  


Well.  I had the concept right.  Looking back at this quote I think I'll agree with it.  Love is grand.  I've loved a few in the few years since high school.   Love is complicated.  You can love someone with your entire being-- where all you want in life is to make that person happy, keep them safe, and spend as much time with them as possible.  

Funny, how life can change things so quickly.  

Monday, January 3, 2011

Instinct (Character Development: Everest)

I've been working on this for awhile.  I'm not sure I like where it's going quite yet, still trying to shape the characters a bit, feedback would be greatly appreciated! 

A note if anyone is keeping tabs on the story-- I changed Matthew's name to Everest--- for now.  Still figuring things out, slowly.  

IN THE FOREST—Everest’s Story

“Well, the forest once told me a story, though I didn’t know it at the time.  A story of the rest of my life.  I walked down a path in the woods, weaving my way through the trees, breathing in the clean, fresh, earthy air you find only in a forest nowadays.  Birds darted among the trees around me, singing their song and hoping to find a mate, critters shuffled in the underbrush, scampering around as I made my way deeper into the forest, slowly working my way home.
Oberon was making his way behind me.  Now, had we been anywhere else the bear would have been right at my side, even in front of me, checking constantly for threats.  But we were home,  in the deep forest, where the trees are ancient, towering, their trunks creaking, as if they were whispering,  they swayed, pushed by the wind coming off the great sea.  The goof had lagged behind, off chasing butterflies and had to run to catch up when I shouted for him . . . .”
Elisesofia sat, transfixed by Everest’s story—she knew the old man had some magic in him, and could feel it pulling her in—suddenly she was standing in the forest, and a GRIZZLY BEAR was running towards her.  Barely stifling a scream she stepped out of the bear’s way, seeing a much younger version of Everest standing a few feet away she shakes her head – did that bear just wink at her?—and steps closer to Everest and his bear, listening to--is the bear talking?--No, thinking.  Listening to the bear think to Everest. 
Now what’s all the fuss about?  I was just about to catch this giant --oh.  Is that what I think it is? 
On the ground, pooling at Everest’s feet, is a dark green liquid.  Everest picks a twig from the nearest tree and drops it, carefully, into the liquid.  As the twig lands on the liquid it sprouts, leaves leaping out, roots digging into the earth and branches reaching higher and higher--- In a matter of seconds the pool is replaced with a massive tree. 
            “Something killed a wood nymph.” 
Everest reached his arms around the new tree, measuring its growth—the trunk continuing to expand even as he shouts numbers to Oberon, who scratches them into the dirt. 
            “It must be one meter—no, two—no, three” 
The tree shakes and Everest is knocked backward into Oberon—and then, somehow, it turns, twisting its trunk around, and stops--- the tree is. . .looking? Looking at Everest.  Slowly a knot forms under what must be eyes.  It opens. . . it. . speaks:
“Thank you, son of Kitra.”  It waits a moment, nods at Oberon, who is lying flat on his stomach, terrified.  Everest glances over at his companion—some protector—and looks up at the tree. 
“What happened to you, spirit?”
“I was killed.  Surely that much is clear?  Oh.  How was I killed, you mean?   Horrid men, with weapons I have never seen.  They got into the deep forest, invaded my home, killed my sisters--- I fought.  I killed eight of them, but there were too many and I was injured.  I ran, calling on the forest to protect me, but somehow they found me, hurt me….I landed here.  They tried to take my body but the forest wouldn’t allow them—the trees reached out and lifted me high above, where THEY could not reach.  When you found me the forest used your magic to transfigure my spirit, so I could warn you.” 
            “Warn me?  Warn me of what?”
Everest was now keenly aware of how close to his home they were—sure, it was protected by ancient magic, but if these humans could kill a wood nymph surely they were working with some other ancient race.  The tree spirit ignored him, instead reaching up with its branches, retrieving its body from the forest.  Elisesofia gasped—the nymph looked strikingly similar to her.  Except that its skin was a light green and its hair had somehow sprouted flowers.  The tree spirit cradled its body for a moment before opening a knot on yet another side.  It deposited the body into the knot, which sealed up and disappeared. 
            “The humans are working with an ancient evil.  I do not yet know what evil this is, but it is growing strong.  It was able to walk through the ancient seal surrounding my home, bringing its men with it.  It was looking for something.  It picked up each child, examined them, destroyed them…
Here the spirit paused, its leaves seemed to shiver, the forest silent and the wind still. 
            “In my new form I have a message for you.  There are two humans and a child running from this evil.  You will encounter them before you reach your home.  They will ask your help.  You must help them.  The child must be protected.  Humans, before they became the greedy, slovenly beings they are now, once walked the forest with the ancients, and some possessed different skills in magic.  This child, it seems, holds the key to that magic.  She is a remarkable little thing.  You MUST help them.” 
Everest looked at the tree spirit.  He had heard the story of the humans before.  He had even seen and worked with humans in his travels.  But why him?  His magic was only minor, healing, vanishing, his ability to understand and speak with Oberon. . . how could he help this child?  Still, here he was, standing before the spirit of a wood nymph, one of the more powerful forest creatures, and it was asking for his help. 
            “I will do all I can.” He offered.