Izzy and I went to Kinney Road tonight to chase the sunset, and we caught it. It’s what I call a talking sky, and it spoke to me of life, and like the poet said, the moving finger writes, and having writ, moves on, nor all your piety and wit can change a word of it.
Live moves, all the time, and the choice is always whether to move on with it, or watch it go by. I am finding more and more peace these days, in a number of things, and Kinney Road is always a spiritual place for me to go and measure my life, as it was here, on this spot, that I took my first photo, and I knew I had to change my life, and saw the work I had to do, and the trouble I was in, and here that I asked for help, and I fell in love. On Kinney Road, I looked for God, and did not find him, not really. That’s a powerful stretch of real estate.
I find peace in the notion that our fears and troubles are not significant, in the scheme of things. That peace does not come from other people, or from news, or from the conflicts and fears that fill our minds. Peace comes from knowing who are, being honest with yourself, faithful to the ones you love, and to friends. From doing the hard work of knowing yourself and changing. From understanding that fear is a space through which you can put your hands or fist, and walk right on through.
On Kinney Road, a voice inside me, a life inside of me, emerged, came out of hiding, into the open air. He is still finding his way, still reveling in love, still chasing sunsets with Izzy on Kinney Road.
I have to say how much I love Izzy and am grateful to this remarkable dog. We first went to Kinney road in the cold and the dark, and stood out on the road together, and I can’t even begin to recall how many times I was nearly run over. A couple of times, passing trucks and cars hit my tripod or ran over a lens I had dropped. Izzy was always out of the road and off to the side, always watching me, always present, always comforting me when I was falling fast. For once, I called him out onto the street, to record his presence, always in my mind, but never shown there. I owe him that, for the record.
