Archive | Uncategorized RSS for this section

Ichi-go ichi-e, So They Say

Feeling less-than-accomplished yesterday, I looked up sunset time and determined I could summit Echo Mountain in about 45 minutes to enjoy some last light. Something in the air motivated me. And I needed an arbitrary goal.  It’s also good to clean the arteries and clear the thoughts.

Read More…


A Dream, a Succulent, a Little Prophecy of Rain

East Garden west slope-EFFECTSy

“Took this picture today on August 2, 2014, about three hours before rain finally kissed this parched Southern California township cradled by the San Gabriels. There was some instinct I had to run into “the garden where I live”–so I describe the place I inhabit and rent from–and take photos in the evening. My landcomrades (wonderful landlords who share space) called me outside when they felt the first droplets of rain later this evening. I told them how the night before I had dreamt a storm swept in and flooded the house and how the ceiling became a concave, soggy depression, and the rain gorgeously poured down. My small studio was the ruins of a skylit cathedral and the rain refracted various kinds of light. The architecture held up, and the only thing that mattered was the beauty of it all. There was no worry about shelter or finances.

“Without thinking of it today, I wandered the garden with the svelte Russian Blue-looking cat and took some pictures. I don’t think he and I have ever bonded so much before. Unconsciously–unconscious to my atheism–I prayed for rain. So the photo I share–remember, three hours before the little prophecy was fulfilled. Why not say my dream predicted it? Be playful with magical thinking. Why not say that the storm of the dream was the drizzle of Saturday?” he said.


They say a man’s home is his castle.
But all I’ve ever wanted was a turret,
some stairs, the sun
cracked in to bask my fortress of skin,
some friends on my horizon
before death sets.
No more do I need to own anything
than the river I run with,
where I scoop my thirst
and pass on to another
possessionless place.
So why do I slather on bricks
with windows so thick no arrows can come,
and no light as well?
What army comes to menace
but the grief I’ve built for thirty years,
that lives inside these walls?
(c) Timothy Tiernan, Dec. 31, 2013