That Dark and Twisted Little Laugh

Communication by e-mail and instant messaging can be the casual flounce of words screen to screen, ideas tossed lightly, loosely, telegraphically. The mediums seem to encourage the immediate and impulsive. Of course the words can also go deep and convey hard thought; the exchange can have the feeling of a serious conversation. The other day I received a wise and beautiful e-mail from a high school friend, Tom. Here's a brief excerpt:

... my learned lesson that I attempt to abide by these days is this: There are really only two things that for me warrant any prolonged concern - love and health. Everything else takes a distant back seat and ultimately is of fleeting value. This of course is not to say that other things aren't good, fun, sad, debilitating or something else; but they don't really alter life very much or at least should not be afforded the opportunity.

Here is part of my response:

I like your philosophy. Love and health. How about creativity/art (in the broadest, most inclusive sense)? What also surfaces in my mind: truth (yeah, even if it hurts), and, strangely, humor. Somehow the dark and twisted little laugh is what saves me again and again. I see a strong link between comedy and poetry ... they can work the same way. Metaphors and jokes ... think about it. Disparate things magically/absurdly linked. The way they cinch together the far edges of the universe. The way they turn things inside-out. The beautiful surprise of both. (Back in time, during an author interview, the interviewer asked me if there was anything I had left out in our discussion of poetry. Yes, humor! I've been meaning to revisit this topic on my blog. Maybe you've just helped me write the post.) How about Soul and Spirit? (Soulful and spirited?) Compassion? Yes, and hope, that flickering flashlight. And back to that word, magic. The sudden bursts of sparks in life. But I agree, love is the top item, and possibly the overlord of them all.

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Note: I decided not to edit this exchange, since in its direct and unpolished way, it conveys the ease of communication ... and tells the truth.

Tom's words were reprinted here with his permission. The photo of bark was taken up the hill from my house. Click on image to enlarge.

Troll, Raku, Orkney Islands

Poor old troll, her skin is crackled and split from being left out in the entryway in all seasons. It gives her a fascinating texture, though, like a raku pot. Hence the photograph. There's something wonderfully satisfying about finding matching patterns in such different objects. There's a little thrill in placing them side by side, like distant cousins, and looking for a glimmer of family resemblance. When they're compared, there's both dissonance and strange harmony, which generates some interesting energy. Like a good metaphor. A little current of electricity. A surprise. Or a joke.

I have a collection of crackled raku pots, which are low-fired ceramic pots that have been removed from the kiln while still hot. I love the "crazing," or patterns of fractures in the glaze. It goes perfectly with the troll's complexion. Once inside the house, she had her eye on one of my favorite pieces, a small turquoise and ivory vase made by David Holmes, a potter from Shapinsay in the Orkney Islands, off the north coast of Scotland. She slipped into it like a hermit crab into a new shell. A perfect fit.

It's been a long-standing dream of mine to visit the Orkney Islands, but so far this little vase is as close as I've come. It's a very earthy and human piece. When it arrived in the mail, I was delighted to discover that it still smelled like smoke. The scent of my dream destination hovered like mystery and adventure in my kitchen. I still pick up the vase and sniff it from time to time, summoning standing stones, Vikings, runes, and migrating birds. I think of names like Skara Brae, Ring of Brodgar, Brough of Birsay, and Orphir. The smoky perfume has faded, but I can still detect a faint hint of the Orkney Islands.

The green raku pot (edge visible in lower photo) was made by Robert Briggs of Corvus Moon Ceramic Art Studio in Springfield, Missouri. Photos taken 6/11/08.