The
Conversation
of two
with
all already said
and all
said and said again
as if
there is nothing more to say
is
silent.
Yet…
so
painfully
Unfinished.
Showing posts with label Unfinished Conversations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Unfinished Conversations. Show all posts
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Unfinished Conversations - Sally Huss
"From the Dyslexic Mind"
The man said, "Write on 'Unfinished Conservations'." It seemed illogical to her, but she proceeded:
Do you think there will ever be a time when unfinished conservations are finished?
Do you think there will ever be a time when protections and savings will be unnecessary -- when we live in such harmony with ourselves, each other, and nature that conservations of any kind will be unthinkable because they will be unnecessary?
Too much use of too many things, too much work, too many of us to pay attention to what is being lost. Thus our conservations come into being, grabbing at the things we'd like to save, if only we could. And, they remain unfinished. Wherever you look another is needed.
Will there ever be a time when unfinished conservations are finished? Not in our lifetime or even in a hundred lifetimes, but some day -- yes. And when they are, life with be golden!
Then she thought about the subject again. No. No. He must have meant, "Unfinished Conversations." So she proceeded again:
When he started to say what he was about to say, I said, "Stop!" I knew before he finished, actually before he really began what he was going to say. It made no sense to me to continue. Words are a shallow expression of knowing. Feeling is deeper and silence is deeper still.
And so he stopped. I stopped him. But, I knew he needed to say something, if only to speak. It was wrong of me to stop his thought, even if I knew his meaning.
And so the conversation remained unfinished. No words were spoken; an exchange was lost. I will be silent next time, I promised myself.
Good, she thought. Either way, "Unfinished Conservations" or "Unfinished Conversations," she would be covered. After all it was just moving a few letters around.
The man said, "Write on 'Unfinished Conservations'." It seemed illogical to her, but she proceeded:
Do you think there will ever be a time when unfinished conservations are finished?
Do you think there will ever be a time when protections and savings will be unnecessary -- when we live in such harmony with ourselves, each other, and nature that conservations of any kind will be unthinkable because they will be unnecessary?
Too much use of too many things, too much work, too many of us to pay attention to what is being lost. Thus our conservations come into being, grabbing at the things we'd like to save, if only we could. And, they remain unfinished. Wherever you look another is needed.
Will there ever be a time when unfinished conservations are finished? Not in our lifetime or even in a hundred lifetimes, but some day -- yes. And when they are, life with be golden!
Then she thought about the subject again. No. No. He must have meant, "Unfinished Conversations." So she proceeded again:
When he started to say what he was about to say, I said, "Stop!" I knew before he finished, actually before he really began what he was going to say. It made no sense to me to continue. Words are a shallow expression of knowing. Feeling is deeper and silence is deeper still.
And so he stopped. I stopped him. But, I knew he needed to say something, if only to speak. It was wrong of me to stop his thought, even if I knew his meaning.
And so the conversation remained unfinished. No words were spoken; an exchange was lost. I will be silent next time, I promised myself.
Good, she thought. Either way, "Unfinished Conservations" or "Unfinished Conversations," she would be covered. After all it was just moving a few letters around.
The Lake Camp, Unfinished Conversations -- Mary Westcott
I think of all the muddy bottoms of lakes
Like the one outside Troy, New York. I remember
My Grandmother’s camp there with linoleum
Floors and the musty smells of wicker
And rollaway beds. I remember getting tangled
In seaweed in that lake I learned to swim in,
the rowboat that took us far out and my fear
of the black snake on the path to my aunt’s
Cabin. I can taste the blackberries by the side
of the road we picked that pricked our fingers
For that tart fruit and black smudge on our hands
And tongue. I remember the pine smells, the acid
Taste of lemonade, bitter yet sweet.
Like the one outside Troy, New York. I remember
My Grandmother’s camp there with linoleum
Floors and the musty smells of wicker
And rollaway beds. I remember getting tangled
In seaweed in that lake I learned to swim in,
the rowboat that took us far out and my fear
of the black snake on the path to my aunt’s
Cabin. I can taste the blackberries by the side
of the road we picked that pricked our fingers
For that tart fruit and black smudge on our hands
And tongue. I remember the pine smells, the acid
Taste of lemonade, bitter yet sweet.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Unfinished Conversations - Tom McCabe
I always have an unfinished conversation ringing in my head --- look at this, where are you, are you having fun -- always with a friend as reference point, a running dialog --- a reinterpretation of the past to explain the future, an interpretation of the future that fits the past.
Where am I, why am I here, what’s going on, --- I carry an ongoing conversation with my best friends, lovers, close relatives, --- a running dialog sharing the present. They’re all here. I watch their faces as new scenes unfold. Echoes of the past coloring and shaping the road ahead. Not in the slow moving evolutionary sense but in the direct personal sense --- they’re present, riding shotgun looking out the same windshield, sharing a running dialog.
All these conversations are unfinished, separate streams of consciousness, threads of discussion that connect my past with my future. Threads that bear witness, laugh, love, cry, and most importantly rejoice. Threads of storytelling, threads holding ongoing dialog that become stories. Stories whose chapters still unfold, but when concluded become my life stories. Our stories.
The conversation threads are more than dialog, they form the prism through which I see the world. I feel love because I have loved. I see the wonder of nature because nature opened me up. I love good poetry because of Rumi and Yeats. I share great conversations because I talked with Wardell.
Everyone of the things that move me -- love, wonder, poetry, music -- I share in a conversation with a friend, and unfinished conversation.
I have gone back -- to revisit the beginnings of my unfinished conversations. Went back to the University of Connecticut where my spark of entrepreneurship was lit. Gave a talk trying to recreate the experience and ignite another generation. It’s now the yearly ‘McCabe Mathematics/Entrepreneurship Lecture’. Got the UConn mathematics department to buy in -- it’s an unfinished conversation of following a dream. The accounting period for growing an entrepreneur is way too long to assess at this point, but the unfinished conversation of following a dream is revisited and reinforced and made even more strong and vibrant.
I went back to visit old High School buddies and it was wonderful. Got to reconnect with my best friend and fill in some fifty years with a person that knew me so well. Sat face to face -- more like elbow to elbow at a bar -- to catch up with erstwhile kids and fill in fifty years. Unfinished conversations re-synced, laughing once again like kids, rekindling friendship with ‘kids’ you knew o so well, who are now graying adults you really didn’t know. And we left, with more steam and grounding for our ongoing unfinished conversations.
Thomas Taheny was an inventor who would sit on the road side curb in front of his home knocking around a new idea with a fellow inventor. My mother told the story about a heavy rain storm that broke out and my grandfather Taheny and his friend kept right on talking, the downpour unable to dampen the excitement of their idea. Living that kind of excitement stuck with me; I sought it out. I found my own invention and followed it. I often pictured explaining it to Thomas Taheny, right there on his curbside – neither of us distracted by the driving rain.
That rain soaked curbside conversation was unfinished across three generations --- to this day I tell the story, it’s still not finished.
My son Tim and I have an ongoing conversation --- we see beautiful scenery together and hear love songs together. I lost Tim in 2001 but our conversation has never left. I feel Tim with me everywhere I go.
There’s no way to wrap this up. No conclusion here, this is yet one more unfinished conversation…..shared among my fellow Artist Connection storytellers as captured by Najwa:
Where am I, why am I here, what’s going on, --- I carry an ongoing conversation with my best friends, lovers, close relatives, --- a running dialog sharing the present. They’re all here. I watch their faces as new scenes unfold. Echoes of the past coloring and shaping the road ahead. Not in the slow moving evolutionary sense but in the direct personal sense --- they’re present, riding shotgun looking out the same windshield, sharing a running dialog.
All these conversations are unfinished, separate streams of consciousness, threads of discussion that connect my past with my future. Threads that bear witness, laugh, love, cry, and most importantly rejoice. Threads of storytelling, threads holding ongoing dialog that become stories. Stories whose chapters still unfold, but when concluded become my life stories. Our stories.
The conversation threads are more than dialog, they form the prism through which I see the world. I feel love because I have loved. I see the wonder of nature because nature opened me up. I love good poetry because of Rumi and Yeats. I share great conversations because I talked with Wardell.
Everyone of the things that move me -- love, wonder, poetry, music -- I share in a conversation with a friend, and unfinished conversation.
I have gone back -- to revisit the beginnings of my unfinished conversations. Went back to the University of Connecticut where my spark of entrepreneurship was lit. Gave a talk trying to recreate the experience and ignite another generation. It’s now the yearly ‘McCabe Mathematics/Entrepreneurship Lecture’. Got the UConn mathematics department to buy in -- it’s an unfinished conversation of following a dream. The accounting period for growing an entrepreneur is way too long to assess at this point, but the unfinished conversation of following a dream is revisited and reinforced and made even more strong and vibrant.
I went back to visit old High School buddies and it was wonderful. Got to reconnect with my best friend and fill in some fifty years with a person that knew me so well. Sat face to face -- more like elbow to elbow at a bar -- to catch up with erstwhile kids and fill in fifty years. Unfinished conversations re-synced, laughing once again like kids, rekindling friendship with ‘kids’ you knew o so well, who are now graying adults you really didn’t know. And we left, with more steam and grounding for our ongoing unfinished conversations.
Thomas Taheny was an inventor who would sit on the road side curb in front of his home knocking around a new idea with a fellow inventor. My mother told the story about a heavy rain storm that broke out and my grandfather Taheny and his friend kept right on talking, the downpour unable to dampen the excitement of their idea. Living that kind of excitement stuck with me; I sought it out. I found my own invention and followed it. I often pictured explaining it to Thomas Taheny, right there on his curbside – neither of us distracted by the driving rain.
That rain soaked curbside conversation was unfinished across three generations --- to this day I tell the story, it’s still not finished.
My son Tim and I have an ongoing conversation --- we see beautiful scenery together and hear love songs together. I lost Tim in 2001 but our conversation has never left. I feel Tim with me everywhere I go.
There’s no way to wrap this up. No conclusion here, this is yet one more unfinished conversation…..shared among my fellow Artist Connection storytellers as captured by Najwa:
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