Echoes in the Fog

Driving over Lighthouse Hill
the fog awaited like a long-lost friend.
The old road by Betty’s Cove,
cloaked with alders,
whispered remembered sighs
of lovers’ trysts,
now long past.

Roll Burke’s garage shimmered,
just at the edge of memory,
with a remembered scent of gasoline,
and the heady teenaged joy
of pin-up calendar girls.

Marion’s Whatnot Shop sang its siren song
of China-made curios
for the infrequent tourists,
and the exciting birthday purchases
of children, spending hoarded
nickles and dimes.

At Wilfred’s Store long-dead giants
sat on nail kegs,
and discussed politics and weather,
haloed by the smoke from hand rolled Zigzag tobacco,
sweetened by the odd “tailor-made”
of the more affluent fishermen.
Penny candy, a cheddar wheel,
overhead cone of string
for tying brown paper wrapped packages,
bags of chips, and chocolate bars,
gave forth a psychedelic glow
in the minds of the children
picking up packages for Shirley,
Aunt Maude, or Grandmother Lottie.

Down the hill, the ghost of Gammon’s Store,
with weather-worn orange shingles,
gave forth remembered smells
of handline, Leckie’s boots,
and oilskins.
A small boy rowed happily across the cove,
to tie up expertly at the end of the wharf,
speaking to Syd Burke,
and exchanging greetings with Jim Henderson.

The cove was full of boats,
and ringed with wharves,
each with its own unique boatshed,
and a constant miasma 
of creosote and barrels of lobster bait.
The trap boats flanked the fishplant jetty,
and adventuring boys clambered over them,
examining sea eggs,
and other exotica.

The lobster factory steamed its way
into our collective history,
with noisy bustle
and a fragrant cloud of boiling lobster.
The wooden breakwater was sturdy,
safely sheltering the industrious cove,
and the good people working there.

Off through the fog, the sharp sound
of a “one-lunger” single piston fishing boat
disturbed the gulls
preaching on the fishplant roof.

A sudden ray of sunlight
pierced the fog,
bringing me back to the present,
and the depleted village
that made all of us,
in very large part,
who we are today. 

The Nature of Reality

I have recently read "The Dancing Wu Li Masters (An Overview of the New Physics)" by Gary Zukav, an incredible book that presents an overview of quantum mechanics in layman's terms. It is an eye-opener that affirms some of what I have been trying to say with my work "Jim's Guide to Enlightenment: The Complete Sutras", e.g. there appears to be a strong connection between portions of some Eastern religions and quantum physics.
For example: Sutra 3: See your reality for what it is, not for what you think it is: this is the first step to making your reality what you wish it to be.

Sutra 52: Multiple realities are a fact. A different reality exists for each of us. I am not the same in your reality as I am in mine.

Sutra 93: Do not speak to me of Reality: it is a personal concept that varies with the Observer.

Imagine my joy, then, upon reading the following passage:
"The languages of eastern mystics and western physicists are becoming very similar.
Newtonian physics and quantum mechanics are partners in a double irony. Newtonian physics is based upon the idea of laws which govern phenomena and the power inherent in understanding them, but it leads to impotence in the face of a Great Machine which is the universe. Quantum mechanics is based upon the idea of minimal knowledge of future phenomena (we are limited to knowing probabilities) but it leads to the possibility that our reality is what we choose to make it." (Bolded italics are mine)

It is a joyous occasion when one discovers that conclusions that are reached after a lifetime of reading and observation have simultaneously and separately been reached by others. 

Peace, and

Namaste