Summers Almost Gone

Still In The Game?

2010-02-25T12:22:00.000-08:00

Why does it seem like such a dispersion to write to oneself? Yet it happens and happens again? Well trying to keep a conversation of one going is odd at best. Yet while one persists... so does discursive thought.

Dont stop!

2009-11-01T07:43:00.000-08:00

Absence makes the heart grow fond?

The true student of life stumbles but never falls?

The real artist is not merely a professional salesman.

Embracing the many false masks and then setting them down.

Not afraid to be in the moment with what is.

Just continue let the past be past and future be future

dont worry.

What have you got to loose or gain but illusions and truths.

So I paint. I hate myself and I meditate and I love myself and the universe.

I paint and I love every breath and molecule. I meditate and feel nothing. This is not a problem.

It is a puzzle perhaps. But like a crossword I can put it down and not be beside myself.

Not torture myself for next weeks answers from some invisible mastermind. whose games I am reduced to playing.

Not do I need to claim to be the mastermind who has authored

my existence with great aplomb.

I am just going on being and adjusting my sails.

Feeling the wind.

The sun the waves and tides.

But not even just that for we sale in spirals.

we cry and rage against our thoughts and despair and petty pains and inconveniences

like feudal kings or desperados.

take bake my child like joy from the buzzards of judgement

always circling waiting for one to break down and die of heart break on the road

with their vicious I told you so's

and your not better than me.

But the fool dances on

emperors' new clothes or not

in drag but not dragging.

Not in measured steps not wildly just

naturally

unselfconsciously

aware

at ease

like a deer in the woods

unseen unheard

unknown

unbounded

Afternoon pages poolside Anna Maria Island 7.26.09

2009-10-10T12:27:00.000-07:00

Well finally getting off the hook and on line out here on Anna Maria Island.

No Not because things are that remote.

despite the end of earth feeling of hours on the beach in yogic bliss

But vibes here are in the swim by the pool.

Although I could go with a some "coolibah" shade

Towel canopy will do.

Kicken' back on the laptop Bob and Stevie etc " No Woman No Cry""Sir Duke" "Dock of the Bay"

surrounded by the cougar yoginis of serenity stream!

Hot Fresh brick Paversunderfoot

lots of bright white shellgravel everywhere.

Battery fading...time to log off........into the sunset.

Ciao Peace Brothers and Sistahs and gentle people of the webverse!

! Om Mani Pemme Hum.!!!

This Precious Life

2009-09-29T07:05:00.000-07:00

If I can contemplate how fortunate I am to have this precious life

to work on accomplishing my own and others happiness

how rare how great!

It is easy to take for granted.

So easy to take for granted

so many precious resources

we require to survive and be happy

water

food

air

the earth itself

our homes and clothes

and cars

and computers

electricity

roads

family

friends

pets and all animals

that have there important role

to play in natures

balance

the seasons

the vast ocean

clouds

rain

all the libraries of knowledge

the laughter of children

the smile of the elderly

our own breath

that connects all these

precious things

Back In the Studio

2009-09-28T11:05:00.000-07:00

How hard it is just to let go and let be and do what is right in front of youHow many lifetimes minutes in just this day week month year has it taken just to get to this point

a threshold

a stage

a scene

a picture plane

a roadside

a gallery

a store

a labratory

a museum

a feel good place

a room

a spot

a niche

a garrett

Raga surges

sitar bites acerbic plaintive notes into the thrumm of tabla drum

thum tAK TAK TumbS

AND THE FLUTE WAShES OVER WITH SILKY light

sitar dances like a snake in the cool grass

head and eyes in rapture

beyond hope beyond fear

beyond beyond

and simultaneously even more here at hand

The Eye: Older Blog Still Open

2009-09-17T07:07:00.000-07:00

http://thirdeyegallery.tripod.com/themuse/

To flashback to original blogposts over a year ago!

Afghan 'Indiana Jones' hunts lost Bamiyan statue

2009-09-10T20:41:00.001-07:00

Afghan 'Indiana Jones' hunts lost Bamiyan statue

Lyse Doucet meets the man on the trail of the legendary lost Buddha

Lyse Doucet
BBC Newsnight, Bamiyan

Dr Zemaryalai Tarzi is an Afghan with a big dream. To be exact, this archaeologist dreams of a giant - a 1,000ft (300 metre) sleeping Buddha.

Try to imagine a stone statue reclining across the length of three football fields.

A Buddhist civilisation once flourished in Afghanistan's central highlands

But it is more than a dream. Dr Tarzi is trying to make it a reality.

"At first, people told me I must be mad," he recounted, barely concealing a smile, as we stood at his excavation in the midst of potato fields in the ancient Afghan city of Bamiyan.

"An archaeologist needs proof. We need to keep searching."

Dr Tarzi, who has been mapping the landscape of Bamiyan for 40 years, is renowned world-wide for his knowledge of the Buddhist civilisation that flourished centuries ago in the central highlands of Afghanistan.

Bamiyan was a storied destination for travellers journeying on the Silk Road between East and West.

Ancient text

In the 7th Century, a Chinese pilgrim, Xuan Zang, marvelled at a colossal reclining statue: "To the east of the city there is a monastery in which there is a figure of Buddha lying in a sleeping position, as when he attained nirvana. The figure is in length about 1,000 feet."

The Taliban destroyed the giant statues leaving just a hole where they stood

His detailed journal piqued Dr Tarzi's curiosity.

It read like tantalising proof because Xuan Zang also wrote with passion, and precision, of two magnificent stone Buddhas which stood guard over the valley.

The Taliban smashed those statues, the world's largest standing Buddhas, in 2001, denouncing them as un-Islamic idols.

That gave further fuel to Dr Tarzi's drive to find the third Buddha. It was an archaeologist's revenge.

"A country's history cannot be destroyed," he fumed.

I first visited Dr Tarzi in 2005, during the summer months he spends at the dig.

It was hard not to find myself willing him to succeed. He confessed, his voice breaking, he still could not bear to look at the gaping niches in the stone cliffs towering over the place where he was working.

Stunning finds

He is still there, looking for all the world like an Afghan Indiana Jones of the epic films, with his chino apparel, floppy hat, and air of scholarly adventure.

Dr Tarzi demonstrates the repose of a sleeping Buddha statue

The earthen cavities are hives of activity. Afghan archaeologists trained by Dr Tarzi and French colleagues from Strasbourg University gently tap picks and trowels in the dust and dirt, backed up by a small legion of labourers.

His team's diligent search for hidden treasures has yielded a stunning array of stone remnants from the remains of Buddhist monasteries - small feet from statues, chiselled folds of monastic robes, sacred stupas.

Then, last November, a cry of excitement rang out across this verdant valley. At last, a sleeping Buddha had surfaced.

But it was not the fabled giant. Their persistent digging had uncovered fragments of a reclining figure estimated to be 62 feet (19 metres) long. One hand protruded visibly, without a thumb. The head was destroyed.

Bigger prize

It was still hard for a novice to visualise.

Dr Tarzi gave it his best, stretching himself sideways along a flat hard surface, one hand tucked neatly under his head. Indiana Jones could have done no better.

I ask whether this smaller statue may be all there is. It is, after all, a wonderful find.

Afghans trained by Dr Tarzi work alongside students from Strasbourg

"I will persist," the sprightly 70-year-old declared with a firm shake of his head. He guided us to another area running along the foot of the sandstone cliffs where he believes a much bigger Buddha still lies sleeping.

Dr Tarzi does not want this remarkable history to be forgotten.

In the middle of the day, when a hot sun blazes in the sky, he teaches a master class for young Afghans training to be tour guides at an eco-tourism centre set up with the help of the Aga Khan Foundation.

Bamiyan is one of the few places in Afghanistan now safe enough to dream of tourists too.

Playing the role of a would be tourist, I asked enthusiastic students to convince me to visit.

"Welcome to Bamiyan, historical place, safe for tourists," was the practised but heartfelt reply of an earnest bespectacled woman.

An older male student shouted from the back row, "Bamiyan is exceptional in Afghanistan".

All the students nodded in agreement.

When darkness descended, Dr Tarzi was honoured at a musical evening attended by a gathering of Bamiyan residents who wish him every success. A trio of musicians sang of destroyed Buddhas that are still very much alive.

The legend of a giant still lives in Bamiyan. He has slept through centuries of conquest, a quarter century of war, and the end of Taliban rule.

If he ever wakes, it would be a dream come true for Dr Tarzi, and countless other Afghans with their own dreams of a lost past and a brighter better future.

Watch Lyse Doucet's film in full on Newsnight on Thursday 10 September 2009 at 10.30pm on BBC Two, then afterward on the BBC iPlayer and Newsnight website.

Letter to a friend about Travel in Nepal

2009-09-10T09:01:00.000-07:00

Yes there is a lot to say about Nepal but when I went in 04. You just get a tourist visa at the Tribhuvan airport as you check through customs. Usually 30 days and then you extend it as needed up to 5 months. I assume it is the same but better to double check. Also you can get a much better exchange rate for your money in town from black market money changers. It is a common practice and I did it with out any worries. It is best if you have cash$100 bills for best rate but travelers checks are ok I didn't bother because I am careful with my money and locked my suitcase or baggage or had money belt. I never had any problem but sometimes westerners get targeted. But don't worry too much. just be mindful of your purse wallet etc! esp. in crowd or bus. It is always important to haggle and find a fair price! Ask locals what the going rate is and just be friendly but firm and go to another cab or whatever if they don't meet you at least half way! You can always give a small tip after for good service! I tried to develop relationships with the best grocer, barber, restaurant, butter lamps, beggars,cabs etc it is like being a bit of a big shot but if you aren't rude about it it is ok. Always try to get small change bills this is like the monopoly money game and it gives you bargaining leverage because if you don't have it then they will say sorry no change and you have to pay more or else waste time haggling down another guy. so have to pockets and dont be flashy so they will not be upset and think you are not a rich westerner but a dharma pilgrim :)

Look to rent a room or an apartment for a month is cheaper than a hotel at a daily rate! Everything is cheaper if you ask and agree to stay longer or make it easier for them. Have a cab wait for a round trip if you are only going a short stop or take the local mini bus if you don't mind crowds and have time to go native. Always ask directions of people who are not going to want to become your tour guide unless you want one! Ask old women not young boys! Be careful to only drink boiled or bottled water and no street food unless you are very sure or brave. Be aware that many Sadhus and locals will want money for photos some don't care but better to ask if they make eye contact often with just a gesture like camera is ok? Also people love to play the what country are you from guessing game. They also appreciate a few words in Nepali and Tibetan. bathrooms are few and fare between and clean ones are like an oasis in a dessert especially for women who don't want to squat over a filthy hole! So find them be it a restaurant or cafe and make friends with those people! So if you need it in transit somewhere you can pop in smile and they wont mind if you don't order something because you'll be back for your regular thukpa soup and big tip at diner etc. Book shops can be quite good for certain publishings' of indian or malaysian tittles but western books will be the same or more expensive. Ask local ex-pats about everything and nod as if they are the most savvy person you ever met but then double check with many others to find out who really knows who to talk to and how much to pay and were to get etc.

Always double check all details before you strike a deal because once the money leaves your hand its not coming back short of an all day argument! Also don't appear to knowledgeable or to gullible its like a poker game there and everybody watches and talks about everybody its like a village which is good and bad. Bad for your privacy and wasting time gossiping but good in that you meet friends everywhere and they usually stop to say hello and compare news and even have tea. Don't take tea unless your prepared to spend some time and probably get a life story and perhaps a request for financial help! Also I found that people are less ecumenical over there. So I try to keep my Rime' mind set to myself unless in certain company. People want to know your root guru and if he is the same as theirs then great if not..then ok your not so cool. Anyway It is all good! You will have an amazing time it is so inspiring and photogenic and rich and diverse and unpredictible and you will meet amazing people and make lots of life long friends even if you only see them once or twice you will always remember their warmth and humor and the smells and sights etc etc! I love that place! Oh and don't neglect to visit some of the Hindu holy places even if your Buddhist friends look askance! Pashupatinath cremation ghats are very special and there is a naropa cave down by the river and so many little shrines and rock emanations! Also You must promise me that you will take the couple hour bus ride to Guru Rinpoche cave in Pharping or Yangleshu as tibetans call it! Its a great day trip leave in the morning from the bus park with a friend or two and enjoy the drive out of the smoggy valley into the clear mountain air you will feel a weight lift off your shoulders! You may have deep stirrings of dharma thoughts like I want to spend my last days here practicing or I was a hermit here in some life or Ahh the holy Himalayas Im home and such things all to the happy din of hindi bus driver music and bus horns and local people with there BO and chickens and beautiful saris and magical glint in there eyes! Also I recommend Namo Buddha as a nice day trip where the buddha offered himself to the pregnant tigress in a previous life! Also good day trips and half day trips to Changyu Naryan and nagi Gompa the nunnery up there is inspiring and of Course Ani Choying in Pharping at Arya tara nunnery. Lovely nuns who I volunteered and taught some art! Bhaktapur is like a living museum and how nepal was at its golden age of architecture! It is a bit of a tourist trap expense wise but I think it is worth it for everyone to go once because it is spending rupees for a once in a lifetime thing. I spent the night there which people usualy dont due but if you haggle you can get a fair price and be hosted by the family guest house complete with meals. so if you have time you must do this and the main thing is to walk around at dusk in Bhaktapur because you have no cars and motorcycles and street lamps and blaring disco so it is like going back in time to when it was the age of the buddha or something and just a quiet threshing and pottery town the water wells the cows the villagers a different pace of life! I will always remember this night! then to come home at dark so my host wouldn't worry to tea and some meditation with one candle inthe old wooden house and windows my mosquito coil for insence and my mantras vibrating like the earth itself and the calm clear meditation like the sky ornamented with the sunset and stars! Ahhh !!!

Of course you will wake up early!!! to puja bells and people clearing their throats and rolling up the metal shutters on their shop fronts like a cacophony of maras! and only after a few precious hours of sleep when the street dogs werent wailing and barking and howling! Yes earplugs helps but somehow it is just easier to get used to it and the rooster crows and the sense that the whole valley is waking up at once! People getting up to pray and make offerings and pursue their livliehoods like they have for thousands of years and now little girls going to school in their bright clean yellow and blue and white uniforms little scarves and ties and big square book bags and old people walkin them hand in hand and the splashing of water to keep the dust down and sweeping the store fronts and sacred cows in the middle of it all chewing their cudds' and insence wafting and eyes staring and glancing so as not to get run over in the narrow streets!

Ok Offer a big butter lamp for me and a prayer for all sentient beings!

and spin those giant prayer wheels!!!

Where is the Love?

2009-09-08T09:03:00.000-07:00

Where is the love?

Where is the wine?

Do I sit back

waiting for my vineyards to ripen,

cows to bellow,

flocks to lay,

cheese to curdle,

roses to bloom,

hay to harvest,

wood to split,

Ashes to sift?

Where is spiritual poem

that will flow into

all cups

and

spill over into

all walks of life?

How to make better questions

for the Lama Guru

Deity Mother of Wisdom Womb

Open fist of truth?

With Explosions of Color, Tibetan Art Flourishes

2009-09-04T13:06:00.000-07:00

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/30/world/asia/30sengeshong.html

SENGESHONG, China — Sitting on the floor of his monastic chamber, Lobsang Lungtok pointed to the canvas with the thousand-faced goddess.

Enlarge This Image

Shiho Fukada for The New York Times

A painted scroll.

Enlarge This Image

Shiho Fukada for The New York Times

Lobsang Lungtok works 10 to 12 hours a day in his monastery in Sengeshong, in China’s Qinhai Province, an area famed for its thangkas, or painted scrolls, depicting Tibetan deities.

The New York Times

The valley outside Rebkong is a center of Tibetan art.

It had taken him three months to finish the painting. Her many faces, all gold, were stacked atop one another in a pyramid. A thousand arms fanned out in a radiant circle.

There are rules, he said, that have been handed down from one Tibetan painter to another through the centuries: The head and body must be perfectly proportioned; the gold paint goes on after the pencil outline; this particular deity has a thousand faces and a thousand arms — no more, no less.

Out of that had emerged Chenresig, the bodhisattva of compassion.

“Why do we draw this god?” said Lobsang, 33, who, like many Tibetans, goes by his given name. “If we don’t, in the future how will people know what the gods look like?”

The monasteries in this mountain valley are some of the most important centers of art in the Tibetan world, famed for the creation of painted and cloth scrolls called thangkas that depict Tibetan gods and other religious iconography. In 1999, artists in the area finished the 675-yard-long Great Thangka, which Guinness World Records certified as the biggest thangka in the world.

The artists here practice the Rebkong style of thangka painting that has flourished since the 17th century. Thangkas from this part of northwestern Qinghai Province are commissioned by monasteries as far away as Lhasa, the Tibetan capital. In recent years, thangkas have gained a following among some ethnic Han Chinese, and individual collectors from Chinese cities and foreign countries have driven up the prices. (For his painting of Chenresig, Lobsang was asking 3,600 yuan, or about $530, a fortune for most Tibetans.)

The commercialization will “drive thangkas far from their origins, from their use as religious objects,” said Zhang Yasha, a teacher of fine arts at the Minzu University of China who specializes in Tibet. “We see more young people learning the art because it’s lucrative.”

The paintings hanging in the back room of Lobsang’s chamber show the range of traditional thangka subjects: Gods like Padmasambhava and White Tara and Green Tara, and the circle of life with people reclining in heaven and roasting in hell.

The thangkas are explosions of color. The paint powder comes from grinding materials like coral, agate, sapphire, pearl and gold.

Of the monks in the two monasteries in Sengeshong, about 60 can paint with some skill, said Lobsang, a compact, cheerful, Red Bull-drinking man who entered the monastery at age 7 and began studying thangka painting seven years later.

“There are only a few good ones, and a lot of ordinary ones,” he said of the painters.

This valley outside the town of Rebkong, known in Chinese as Tongren, offers the kind of isolation that artists often crave. The upper monastery is set against snow-covered hills. The sweet smell of juniper incense drifts through the air. On a recent afternoon, a steady drumbeat emanated from the dark recesses of the main temple, while dozens of monks sat on the temple steps wiping brass yak butter lamps.

Lobsang’s chamber is plush compared to rooms at other Tibetan monasteries. The carpeted living area has a central stove and a framed portrait of the Dalai Lama, the exiled spiritual leader of the Tibetans. There is a photograph of Lobsang standing in his red robes in front of the Shanghai skyline; he lived for five years in Shanghai and Beijing painting thangkas for a businessman.

A safe in the rear room contains some of Lobsang’s more expensive thangkas. The front wall of the foyer has wide glass windows, and it is in this sun-drenched space that Lobsang paints during the winter.

Skilled thangka and mural painters are valued across Tibet, with artists sometimes traveling thousands of miles to do commissions for prominent monasteries. Many monasteries and temples were destroyed or sacked during the Cultural Revolution, and those that have begun rebuilding are in need of painters.

“That’s meant the painters of Rebkong are wealthy compared to other groups in Tibetan society,” said Mark Stevenson, a senior lecturer in Asian studies at Victoria University in Melbourne, Australia, who has studied the painting community here.

Painting thangkas is simply one component of an array of artistic skills among monks, Dr. Stevenson said.

“Every monk has a need for artistic talent,” he said. “They make and assemble tormas, which are offering cakes. Many may have to work on mandalas as well. This is part of being a monk. Every monk needs some manual skill dexterity in designing ritual objects.”

The first monastery in the Rebkong area was founded at the start of the 14th century, when the Mongols ruled China and turned to Tibetan religious leaders to guide their practice of Buddhism. But the distinctive Rebkong school of painting, with its brighter colors and finer lines, did not emerge until the 17th century, when the Gelugpa sect became dominant. The Dalai Lama, believed to be the reincarnation of the thousand-faced Chenresig, belongs to this sect.

Rebkong achieved fame in modern times because it was home to several notable artists, in particular a monk named Shawu Tsering.

“Watching him paint was remarkable, as if the lines were already there, and he was just moving his hand to bring them forward,” Dr. Stevenson said. “It was just so effortless, and the skill and memory were there to allow him to do that.”

The art tradition here suffered a break from 1958 to 1978, when Chinese authorities shut down the monasteries, first during the suppression of a rebellion, then during the Cultural Revolution. Monks were persecuted. Shawu Tsering, for example, was forced to wear a dunce’s cap.

In the 1980s, the government opened up an art research institute in the town of Rebkong, eventually converting it into a gallery. The gallery supported local artists. After the revival of thangka painting, monks took up the art in large numbers again.

In warm weather, Lobsang sits in his front yard with a brush in hand, working 10 to 12 hours a day.

It is an art that he now teaches to others, some of them laypeople from nearby villages.

“We want them to transmit Buddhism,” he said. “We want them to teach people that the gods are kind.”

Scope!

2009-09-03T08:15:00.000-07:00

I have tuned in to your yearning for resolution, O Seeker. I know that your heart fervently wants the riddles to run their course, the mysteries to be revealed, the uncertainties to be quelled. And I have ransacked my imagination in search of what consolation I might provide to appease your quest for neat, simple truths. But what I have concluded, O In-Between One, is that any solutions I might try to offer you would not only be fake, but also counterproductive. What you actually need, I suspect, are not answers to your urgent questions, but rather, better questions; more precisely formulated questions; more ruthlessly honest questions. Dig deeper, please. Open wider. Think fatter.

The Decades Roll

2009-08-29T15:05:00.000-07:00

The decades roll

I look back

from 36

to 26

16 to 6

I am now sitting in A COMFORABLE GREENCOURDUROY chair

it is circular

concave like a satellite dish

It folds in half and has a green carrying case

I bought it at Target for 39 bucks

At 26 I would have been sitting in a different spot

maybe crosslegged on a bean bag meditation cushion

at a buddhist temple or retreat tent

weathering cold november nights

breath steaming

to keep the chill from the tip of my nose

or in the summer heat walking around a two story high golden reliquary monument

chanting the sacred sylables and watching my mind wander from past to present to future

in a slight of hand to keep my ever present yet ellusive core self concept intact by a constant soap opera like round of mental chatter and cognitive fabrications

At 16 still mushrooming out of adolescence with a vengence

the calm quiet bright eyed child

mutated like a buterfly into a lupa caterpillar and verging on larvae grub

that suddenly awoke to suburban enui and wanted to shock

the walls of social and personal compartmentalization

to wake up to complexitiy with the simple rages and naive lust and uncertainty

clear confusion and mistake making as a grand gesture of insolence

NOW i begin to think about the health of my aging parents and watch with

proud excitement at each new step my young nephews take

I am preparing to be married again next summer

and am settling into a very comfortable and reasonably appointed

home in the west central florida suburbs

unemployed

unencumbered

unhurried

underestimated

but not undone

Flute plays softly in the background

a fresh Himalayan breeze

blown across the dig-iverse

I must go witness the virtual

bloodshed

of community theater

from the distance of

an arm

and the breath

of the Rio Grande

Whatever that portends

Epic Writing Excerpts II-Moral Climax of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

2009-08-24T08:02:00.000-07:00

After watching the Robert Burns PBS documentary on Mark Twain I was very moved by this excerpt and the story of Aunt Rachel the ex-slave.

So I decided to re-read Huck Finn and start this new thread to this blog on Epic Writing. One of the key observations made was that the difference between American writing and the previous Euro-centric literature was the impact of "Space and Race" This places Huck and Jim at the epicenter of the birth of American literature.

In my search for images I have serendipitously encountered a blog by Neil Moore a modern day Oddesey on the Mississippi at http://flashriversafari.wordpress.com/2009/08/21/islands-in-the-stream/#comment-113

3. It was a close place. I took . . . up [the letter I’d written to Miss Watson], and held it in my hand. I was a-trembling, because I’d got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and I knowed it. I studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then says to myself: “All right then, I’ll go to hell”—and tore it up. It was awful thoughts and awful words, but they was said. And I let them stay said; and never thought no more about reforming.

Explanation for Quotation 3 >>

These lines from Chapter XXXI describe the moral climax of the novel. The duke and the dauphin have sold Jim, who is being held in the Phelpses’ shed pending his return to his rightful owner. Thinking that life at home in St. Petersburg—even if it means Jim will still be a slave and Huck will be a captive of the Widow— would be better than his current state of peril far from home, Huck composes a letter to Miss Watson, telling her where Jim is. When Huck thinks of his friendship with Jim, however, and realizes that Jim will be sold down the river anyway, he decides to tear up the letter. The logical consequences of Huck’s action, rather than the lessons society has taught him, drive Huck. He decides that going to “hell,” if it means following his gut and not society’s hypocritical and cruel principles, is a better option than going to everyone else’s heaven. This moment of decision represents Huck’s true break with the world around him. At this point, Huck decides to help Jim escape slavery once and for all. Huck also realizes that he does not want to reenter the “sivilized” world: after all his experiences and moral development on the river, he wants to move on to the freedom of the West instead.

http://www.sparknotes.com/lit/huckfinn/quotes.html#explanation3

Epic Words-A Timeline of Great Writing. I. Gilgamesh

2009-08-24T07:18:00.000-07:00

I thought this would be

an interesting jumping

off point for the exploration

of Epic Writing. To compare and

contrast with later ones.

Try to imagine the world

that this was created out of

in 2000 BC approximately.

the address below will connect you with

the extended text and commentary.

http://infomotions.com/etexts/gutenberg/dirs/1/1/0/0/11000/11000-8.htm

and http://www.sparknotes.com/lit/gilgamesh/quotes.html for quotes below.

Plot Overview
The epic’s prelude offers a general introduction to Gilgamesh, king of Uruk, who was two-thirds god and one-third man. He built magnificent ziggurats, or temple towers, surrounded his city with high walls, and laid out its orchards and fields. He was physically beautiful, immensely strong, and very wise. Although Gilgamesh was godlike in body and mind, he began his kingship as a cruel despot. He lorded over his subjects, raping any woman who struck his fancy, whether she was the wife of one of his warriors or the daughter of a nobleman. He accomplished his building projects with forced labor, and his exhausted subjects groaned under his oppression. The gods heard his subjects’ pleas and decided to keep Gilgamesh in check by creating a wild man named Enkidu, who was as magnificent as Gilgamesh. Enkidu became Gilgamesh’s great friend, and Gilgamesh’s heart was shattered when Enkidu died of an illness inflicted by the gods. Gilgamesh then traveled to the edge of the world and learned about the days before the deluge and other secrets of the gods, and he recorded them on stone tablets.

Important Quotations Explained

 
2. What could I offer

the queen of love in return, who lacks nothing at all?
Balm for the body? The food and drink of the gods?

I have nothing to give to her who lacks nothing at all.
You are the door through which the cold gets in.

You are the fire that goes out. You are the pitch
that sticks to the hands of the one who carries the bucket.

You are the house that falls down. You are the shoe
that pinches the foot of the wearer. The ill-made wall

that buckles when time has gone by. The leaky
water skin soaking the water skin carrier.
—Tablet VI
Explanation for Quotation 2 >>
 
4. As for you, Gilgamesh, let your belly be full,
Make merry day and night.
Of each day make a feast of rejoicing.
Day and night dance and play!
Let your garments be sparkling fresh,
Your head be washed; bathe in water.
Pay heed to a little one that holds on to your hand,
Let a spouse delight in your bosom.
—Tablet X
Explanation for Quotation 4 >>
 
5. And so they traveled until they reached Uruk.
There Gilgamesh the king said to the boatman:

“Study the brickwork, study the fortification;
climb the ancient staircase to the terrace;

study how it is made; from the terrace see
the planted and fallow fields, the ponds and orchards.

One league is the inner city, another league
is orchards; still another the fields beyond;

over there is the precinct of the temple. . . . ,
Three leagues and the temple precinct of Ishtar.”

Measure Uruk, the city of Gilgamesh
—Tablet XI

morning pages 8.23.09

2009-08-23T05:29:00.000-07:00

Time and time again

coming back to the moment

left off yesterday and not quite over

waiting for this and that and coffee

no urge for much

of anything

just percolating

toward tomorrow

the last day of summer

everything shifts gears

and the hamster wheel cranks up again

like a the cotton candy spinner

squeezes out the fun from green to blue and white

yellow artificial joy

I am just happy for toast

good toast if a bit dry

and the butter chunky

wanting nothing in particular

just wondering when the waves of desire

will turn tide and the storms

of emotion will turn back

for landfall

perhaps I will be in the

mountains by then

or in a cell

or just driving up the coast

to escape the bad paintings

and poems

that follow and the mediocre meditation

that always gives way to giddy statements or errant

questions and dull clock watching

smelling the incense as if that is all the difference

but its no fun getting down on oneself that just

the flip side of the same narcissistic coin

the common coin of our realm

I me mine and not

thou you yours

Feung sway mirrors

babbbling fountains

unread newspapers

unanswered messages

no schedule

to rot to grow

to fornicate

to garden, eat

fall asleep

wake, shower

change into

fresh clothes

or watch tv

never mind

talk of plans

and the

travels of

dreaming

let the dew drops fall or dangle

I want to dance...

Mount Kailash Thangka by Andy Weber

2009-08-19T11:02:00.000-07:00

"Just a little person" theme song lyrics from Synechdoche NYC

2009-08-17T09:31:00.000-07:00

I'm just a little person,

One person in a sea

Of many little people

Who are not aware of me.

I do my little job

And live my little life,

Eat my little meals,

Miss my little kids and wife

And somewhere, maybe someday,

Maybe somewhere far away,

I'll find a second little person

who will look at me and say,

"I know you You're the one I've waited for.

Let's have some fun."

Life is precious every minute,

and more precious with you in it,

so let's have some fun

We'll take a road trip way out west.

You're the one I like the best.

I'm glad I've found you,

Like being around you

You're the one I like the best.

Somewhere, maybe someday,

Maybe somewhere far away,

I'll meet a second little person

And we'll go out and play.

written by jon brion, sung by deanna storey

You're Bob Dylan? NJ police want to see some ID

2009-08-15T08:30:00.001-07:00

You're Bob Dylan? NJ police want to see some ID

Email this Story

Aug 14, 8:49 PM (ET)

By WAYNE PARRY

Rock legend Bob Dylan was treated like a complete unknown by police in a New Jersey shore community when a resident called to report someone wandering around the neighborhood.

Dylan was in Long Branch, about a two-hour drive south of New York City, on July 23 as part of a tour with Willie Nelson and John Mellencamp that was to play at a baseball stadium in nearby Lakewood.

A 24-year-old police officer apparently was unaware of who Dylan is and asked him for identification, Long Branch business administrator Howard Woolley said Friday.

"I don't think she was familiar with his entire body of work," Woolley said.

The incident began at 5 p.m. when a resident said a man was wandering around a low-income, predominantly minority neighborhood several blocks from the oceanfront looking at houses.

The police officer drove up to Dylan, who was wearing a blue jacket, and asked him his name. According to Woolley, the following exchange ensued:

"What is your name, sir?" the officer asked.

"Bob Dylan," Dylan said.

"OK, what are you doing here?" the officer asked.

"I'm on tour," the singer replied.

A second officer, also in his 20s, responded to assist the first officer. He, too, apparently was unfamiliar with Dylan, Woolley said.

The officers asked Dylan for identification. The singer of such classics as "Like a Rolling Stone" and "Blowin' in the Wind" said that he didn't have any ID with him, that he was just walking around looking at houses to pass some time before that night's show.

The officers asked Dylan, 68, to accompany them back to the Ocean Place Resort and Spa, where the performers were staying. Once there, tour staff vouched for Dylan.

The officers thanked him for his cooperation.

"He couldn't have been any nicer to them," Woolley added.

How did it feel? A Dylan publicist did not immediately return a telephone call seeking comment Friday.

moring pages 8.15.09

2009-08-15T08:07:00.000-07:00

Inspired by Neruda's poem A Cat

shared by Aunt Linda

too much milk in my tea

too much food from last night

too much clutter

too much entropy

too much peace

Tracey plays piano in the next room

dogs pacing to go out and hunt lizards

I am poised to go to my meditation room

and hopefully my studio

not feeling touched by the muse

at all but perhaps just to play and pretend at it

spill and splash some colors

like an idle child

when did that adventuresome imagination grow up
where did it falter

what will come of its sound effect sword clashes

it rock and roll growls

its horseback rides through the woods

its journeys to the himalayas

its loves and hates

its chores and escapes

what of the striving student

of the earnest conversationalist

the curious ardent observer of art

the thirst of new musical sentiments

calloused over

sated?

Perhaps just pausing as a still pool

waits for a leaf of gold to leap to its heart and set a ripple in motion

toward god in a universe of swirling gem dust

Free Will Astrology

2009-08-13T08:38:00.001-07:00

Visionary philosopher Buckminster Fuller said that "Pollution is nothing but resources we're not harvesting." If that's true, Cancerian, you've got a lot of resources available to you right now, although they will have to be converted from their smoggy and effluvial state. So for example, if you're a songwriter, the noxious emotions floating around could be raw material for a sparkling tune. If you're a lover, the peculiar vibes you're dealing with could inspire you to prevent a dumb pattern from repeating itself.

just before noon pages 8.8.09

2009-08-08T08:10:00.000-07:00

Thanks to the noon day sun

and breeze gently fluttering

and the dogs settling

and pacing

and my mother and father

up north

and friends and family everywhere

and my fiancee still sleeping

sweetly upstairs

and the overly milky cup of tea

I am sipping

it is no great adventure

but it is a peaceful interlude

in the present moment

that does not push or pull

away like a leaf

just resting on the lazy current

of a sun speckled stream

row row row your boat

gently down the stream merrily

merrily merrily

life is but a dream

so taken in a small snapshot

before the gusts of business stir

this tranquil saturday

Afternoon Pages 8.5.09

2009-08-05T14:41:00.000-07:00

King Procrastination
next lifetime
my math scores
will still be like pulling teeth

from a jack-o- lantern
yeah and spiting seeds of frustrated contempt
perhaps not so bitterly
as before
and will my art be better?

Will I fall like a ton of bricks over Niagra
for romantic songs
and come hither
eyes

another body
breaking like a barrel
on the rocks

silent cry of bubbles
and no more fidgeting
with belt buckles and bra straps
just water filling in the nostrils
and behind the eyes

dreaming of
a paper cup
outstretched to
a giraffes
tongue
cold fries
and a blue balloon
of helium
on my wrist

the silent movie
laughs
as the child me
does his Chaplin-esque
stagger

to old age and wisdom
the grandparent
the elder
the master
of illusions and traditions
gauze and gleam

I want the circus peanut
to be good for ever
but it can't
taste that way for ever
even if it never decays

because my tongue will

like ginger bread
ever slower
and more convoluted simpleton
eye buttons
to weep sprinkles
and cough marshmallow
just in
time to leave the afternoon
and drive into
evening
like a commuter
who is feeling the pang
at another day slipping through fingers

working for someone else
with his heart
not in his desk
but lost somewhere in the paper clips and attachments

between the drive way and the parking lot

and all the coffee
and bagels
and early morning radio laughter
can't coax the acid in the gut
to abate

as the roar of routine
deafens
like waves
that wash skulls like shells

and abrade our glass edged
hearts into granny glass
thoroughly salted

chewy
tough
tender
calloused

euphamisms
for life
like
slow motion popcorn

that night butters up
and hungrily devours
from all recall

of calendar days
blog entries

a digital
farting breath

to wiff on after we die
or kill off the coders
with wry vernacular

Morning Pages 8.3.09

2009-08-03T05:40:00.000-07:00

wash the dogs under the hose

wake up to bugs

and yoga

and breakfast at the table

ready for monday

off on my own two feet

try to keep the crack in the lid

open to the sky

don't procrastinate

just take small bites

and chew

taste

digest

It is all going up on the

screen of life

with 6 senses

dont edit too much

or force thoughts

watch them pass

like clouds

keep blinking

breathing

move toward

being

with

everything

even if your not

looking forward to the garden

and groceries

and lawn and laundry

and a song or a painting

and studying for math test

yuck

it is just another

language

of numbers

a game really

just play

and be amused

keep blinking and breathing

laugh a little

smile

nod of sleep for a moment

and back for more

of less

is more

Sisters Birthday!

2009-08-01T09:54:00.000-07:00

Little snopes, H/ O, the curmudgeon

Pinky, Hopeless the hope of the world

penut in her nose, staple in her finger

removed with my pocket knife

afraid I would take her whole finger

two peas in a pod, pink magenta silver markers

bubble paint, stickers

the tike

cat lover, super mom

swing spinner

early riser

knee skateboarder, roller girl

big heart

eating andys mints tiny nibbles

vanilla slender bars

strawberry short cake, She Ra and My little Pony.

Bastet, PETA, Smashing pumpkins and Bananarama

Tina Turner, Debby gibson, Madonna, repeat and half song mix tapes as a kid

leg warmers and sweat pants

peering out behind long bangs

soccer mom, saftey mom,

librarian to Congress

world traveler, Europe, Kazakstan, California

body shop shopper, Gap,

Baretts, Kudos bars and

sharing sleeping her dry bag

in Shenandoah on

family camping

Military road room mates

Checking up on our parents

like secret agents trading info

Being proud of our little sister Maggie

seeing things the same but differently.

Teasing, threatening to shave her cats,

kicking, nuggies, gwampums, laughing hysterically

white wicker furniture, joan of arc poster family painting gallery

goal oriented, athletic, not eating well frozen vegetables

pretending to listen to her older brothers questionable advice

Trip to France together with Mo and Da

not guilting me about being a bad older brother

giving mom her old clothes

connect four, clue, monopoly always being the little dog

Russian scholar, academic, Emma, Emily Bronte

Leo the lioness, Big cat

Bannockburn, Pyle, Whitman, Mount St Mary's

UMD, Georgetown. Talking till past bedtime

the bear chair, having three holidays at moms dads and mo and das'

Laughing about Mom being right about us being best friends when we got older

even though we both swore it would never happen!

Love Ya Sis,

Big Bro

morning pages 7.30.09

2009-07-30T06:29:00.000-07:00

Its!
Terrsday!

and we are wanting to make love
to the day
in a new way
a fool drowning in his coffee and morning news
while the dogs chew
and the dream tide subsides
like ice cream on a hot day
at the zoo
thoughts smell like elephants and hippos
plans are cries of the howlers and gibbons
a spray of peacock feather day dreams

to clear my head for business
of priorities and fantasy
with mowers already roaring
and indoor fountains trickling
and altar open for the blessed ones
and sleep dirt still in my eyes

the republic of one is open for business
the desires of many coursing through it streets
and the guru is just out of reach
so what will we teach ourselves
about infinity
on a thursday
without alms
or an order

just wind
to stable
inside our hope chest
and a deck of fresh cards
to soldier

along the backyard fence
gardens
and undercover
barter
routes
that lead past rope swings
and redneck swimming holes

card board went out with the recycling
like ginger bread
spread with creamy salt water taffy
and pickles
still fresh in their juices

pressed up into a cuban and coffee
always back to coffee

and meditation
on the senses
senslessness
pick a card
joker

wooo hooo

Afternoon pages 7.26.09

2009-07-26T13:35:00.000-07:00

Grabbing a quick slice of an endless rainy day

thunder breaks like a bomb overhead

lightening deters us from our kayak plans

shoulders sore from two hours of Yoga

plans for the evening

dogs are restless

then there is the perenial question

what is today

what is it going to create

meditate on

permissions and prohibitions

lineage masters

heating up last nights indian food

echoes of Millie

drawing in the bedroom

watching soccer

napping

ignoring the rowdy dogs

procrastinating on cleaning.

what am i going to create

who cares

painting to painful

write poems books etc nah

music? cant sing

books blah

pictures video

cartoons crap

sculpture shit

dreams conversations lost

just blank living

like a silent child

lost to everyones view

no garden just dirt

no plans just time

no joy just relax

no talk just words

flat ginger ale afternoon

in July slipping by

ignoring friends

and family

and listening to the rain

time to clean up

Morning pages 7.25.09

2009-07-25T07:09:00.000-07:00

Saturday morning

weekend without fanfare

astral weeks

crampy fiance

sleeping naked

dreams of longing nubile

stood strong

the muses world shifting

beckoning the artists date

putting ribs on

and chandy

red zone gentle leader

squeals to be crushed

regret frustration

neighborhood walk

tv comedy

today is new

escape the house hold and studio dichotomy

with video camera?

or balls of thread

to make poetry

with each breath

sailboats

yawning

in and out of dock

scraggle of parking lot

paintful heat

lapping up like flames

I am looking for that place that person that thing

that that state of mind

that is untouched by time and place and its troubles

the fortress of samadhi

Milarepa's castle

which has white stones

and green moss

rising from the crags' of suffering

to the heights

kissed by conditionless

loving kindness

back down on the keyboard

fingers

pause

mind and heart bicker

over logistics

intent

wording

meaning

of happiness

unsought

comes hither

unbidden

finds one out

so play and work

untangle

in sweet rain of seconds

into a stream of minutes

a swelling of hours a

crashing of a day

like a gently turning page

in my unwritten book

Sir Sir

come sir come finish this finish this chapter

tell us

what next

what's next?

I dont know

I really don't know

Morning pages

2009-07-22T07:09:00.000-07:00

Dear Reader,

I have returned from an unannounced unspecified hiatus. There is too much too report about the interim and that is not even the point. As you know this morning pages entries are spontaneous and unstinting unedited and supposed to be in long hand and not likely to be read again it is to clear the head and spirit for the good stuff to get passed the river of complaints and chorus of mini thumb violins that accompany me everywhere well not really. Oh you have them too? Maybe they are a chorus of harmonicas or oboes kettle drums. Well if I can think through such noise it is surely not to punctuate well. So be forewarned these are not for the faint of heart and they are supposed to be approximately three pages and done every morning before much else which i have already cheated on a bit as I have checked email and had breakfast etc but it is a start none the less.

now switching from prose tooo?

If it is odd is it uneven?

I guess this is to clear the random voices that natter in the creative cafe of ones head. to tune in to something more close to your own voice. And then as the air condition kicks on and the coffee is wearing off I feel like I need to do something in the garden yes the lawn needs a mow but the exciting news is the start of a garden not what one would expect from yours truly as I always swore I would forgo dogs and gardens as my mother was very preoccupied with them perhaps obsessed for a good long part of my upbringing and so I had had enough second hand pollen and dog hair perhaps too much for my liking. Not that I don't like canines or plants and their very real quality of life enhancing ways but it is a participatory sport that I have only recently embraced trying not to hold my nose but to enjoy for its rough and dirty messiness much as I enjoy painting or traveling, meditating etc. In fact all the better that one has less overt control and must have a different level of ownership and labour of love invested in such things.

So in a burst of afternoon activity brought on to escape little children singing scales in the next room I took the terriers out for a trek around the nature trails and of course became distracted by taking pictures much to the amusement of neighbors who found me staring into bushes of crape mertle by the side of the road as if impersonating a bee of perhaps getting ready to relieve myself. It doesn't help that my cell phone is green too. Pictures are forthcoming I promise you wont be disappointed. the dogs of course both aid and disrupt this process so it becomes a strange collaboration which they only distantly grasp. " Oh why id dad stopping again? he is pointing that green thing in the bushes or at the sky or ground again. oh damn." pant pant. oh crap he is pointing it at us again." and i am cursing them for wrapping the leashes around my legs or their legs or around the bushes or straining to get a wif of armadillo.

And so the time passes as the sun sets and the children practice there scales. and instead of making diner like any normal person at 8 pm who is ravenous I start to dig the weeds and errant grass clumps from a patchy plot of yard under our bay window. yes I now feel the urge very pressing i might add to start a garden! Not just any garden mind you but a sort of memorial garden to be dedicated to the passing of Tracey's and my grandfathers three of whom departed this year. Of course it need not be that alone lest we forget all relations as the native elders would say. so future generations must be considered and of course the four directions and the earth itself well when one is ravenous and the sun is setting and it is very humid and all you have is a shovel and a little hand tri-prong thing-a-ma-gig courtesy of Tracey's folks you can only get so far before your back is sore your fingers and shoes are filled with black sand and ants and the dogs are on your last nerve for rooting around or laying around in the work zone.

So fortunately I saved by the great voice of reason(she shall remain nameless lest it go to her head):) and so all that was quickly curtailed and remedied over ambition with carry out chinese from the panda and soccer reruns of US vs. Panama see previous blog post.

Ok in the interest of the morning pages not bleeding over into afternoon digressions I will stop here and bid my fervent reader adieu.

US U.S. Men Move on to Gold Cup Semifinals With 2-1 Overtime Victory Against Panama

2009-07-21T19:13:00.000-07:00

Kenny Cooper Buries Penalty Kick in First Overtime to Put U.S. Through to Semifinal

Kyle Beckerman Scores First International Goal With Equalizer in Second Half

U.S. Will Face Honduras on Thursday, July 23 at Soldier Field in Chicago at 6 p.m. CT, Live on Fox Soccer Channel and TeleFutura

PHILADELPHIA (July 18 2009) — The U.S. Men’s National Team got a stunning strike from Kyle Beckerman and a penalty kick in overtime from Kenny Cooper to defeat Panama 2-1 this evening at Lincoln Financial Field and advance to the semifinals of the 2009 CONCACAF Gold Cup.

The U.S. will face Honduras in the semifinals on Thursday, July 23 at 6 p.m. CT at Soldier Field in Chicago. The match will be broadcast live on Fox Soccer Channel, TeleFutura and the Futbol de Primera Radio Network. Fans can also follow the match live on ussoccer.com’s MatchTracker and Twitter.

The U.S. fell behind when Panama capitalized on a corner kick during injury time of the first half, but Beckerman struck back early in the second half for the equalizer. Cooper, who came on for Davy Arnaud in the 77th minute, was fouled inside the penalty area late in the first overtime. Cooper took the spot kick himself, placing it just past the outstretched arms of goalkeeper Jaime Penedo, off the post and in for the game-winner.

“It was a challenge to the team to be in that spot at halftime and I still felt good that the response was strong,” said U.S. Men’s National Team head coach Bob Bradley. “When we didn't finish the game in regulation, you still got a sense the mentality was "we're going to take care of this thing. The players deserve a lot of credit for that."

The match, which was a rematch of a 2007 CONCACAF Gold Cup quarterfinal, saw several starters from the first two matches return to the lineup, including Beckerman who had only come on in reserve against Haiti.

“The ball went out wide and was sent across. I gambled a little bit just thinking it may pop out to the top of the box,” said Beckerman. “Sometimes you gamble and sure enough the ball finds your foot.”

http://www.ussoccer.com/articles/viewArticle.jsp_15237132.html

Use Time Wisely-Slack Off

2009-07-21T14:02:00.000-07:00

http://www.latimes.com/news/opinion/la-oe-weiner11sep11,0,2618052.story

(Just for laughs) Everything I Need to Know I Learned in Corporate America-Not!

2009-07-21T13:46:00.000-07:00

Everything I Need to Know I Learned in Corporate America ...

1. Indecision is the key to flexibility.

2. You can't tell which way the train went by looking at the track.

3. There is absolutely no substitute for a genuine lack of preparation.

4. Happiness is merely the remission of pain.

5. Nostalgia isn't what it used to be.

6. Sometimes too much to drink is not enough.

7. The facts, although interesting, are irrelevant.

8. The careful application of terror is also a form of communication.

9. Someone who thinks logically is a nice contrast to the real world.

10. Things are more like they are today than they ever were before.

11. Anything worth fighting for is worth fighting dirty for.

12. Everything should be made as simple as possible, but no simpler.

13. Friends may come and go, but enemies accumulate.

14. I have seen the truth and it makes no sense.

15. Suicide is the most sincere form of self-criticism.

16. If you think there is good in everybody, you haven't met everybody.

17. If you can smile when things go wrong, you have someone in mind to blame.

18. One seventh of your life is spent on Monday.

19. By the time you make ends meet, they move the ends.

20. Not one shred of evidence supports the notion that life is serious.

21. There is always one more imbecile than you counted on.

22. This is as bad as it can get, but don't count on it.

23. Never wrestle a pig. You both get dirty and the pig likes it.

24. The trouble with life is, you're halfway through it before you realize it's a do-it-yourself thing.

25. Youth and skill are no match for experience and treachery.

26. No amount of advance planning will ever replace dumb luck.

27. Anything you do can get you fired; this includes doing nothing.

28. Money can't buy happiness; it can, however, rent it.

29. Never pass a snow plow on the right.

30. If you can smile when everything goes wrong, you probably don't understand the problem.

Pema Chodron Quotes

2009-07-21T13:09:00.000-07:00

• The truth you believe and cling to makes you unavailable to hear anything new.

• We work on ourselves in order to help others, but also we help others in order to work on ourselves.

• When you begin to touch your heart or let your heart be touched, you begin to discover that it's bottomless, that it doesn't have any resolution, that this heart is huge, vast, and limitless. You begin to discover how much warmth and gentleness is there, as well as how much space.

• A further sign of health is that we don't become undone by fear and trembling, but we take it as a message that it's time to stop struggling and look directly at what's threatening us.

• Gloriousness and wretchedness need each other. One inspires us, the other softens us.

http://womenshistory.about.com/cs/quotes/a/pema_chodron.htm

Thich Nhat Hanh-Quotes

2009-07-21T12:54:00.000-07:00

“In order to rally people, governments need enemies. They want us to be afraid, to hate, so we will rally behind them. And if they do not have a real enemy, they will invent one in order to mobilize us.”

“Life can be found only in the present moment. The past is gone, the future is not yet here, and if we do not go back to ourselves in the present moment, we cannot be in touch with life.”

“If our love is only a will to possess, it is not love.”

“Breath is the bridge which connects life to consciousness, which unites your body to your thoughts.”

“We have more possibilities available in each moment than we realize.”

http://thinkexist.com/quotes/thich_nhat_hanh/

Flashback Blog

2009-07-21T11:24:00.000-07:00

The Eye

Monday, January 10, 2005

Temple Of Dendur, MEtropolitan mUseuM, Man-hattan
Topic: Travel Musings
New York City Day Dreams
All we have are Fragments in Space

Held like the remaining pieces of a jig saw puzzle,
in the palm of civilizations childish hand.

Close your eyes imagining these Temple stones at the MET to be but a few pebbles in the Nile of time.

An afterlife played by a few lonely pieces on fates chess board.

Players playing themselves paused between move reverie.

I wish these thoughts into a game of coins tossed across the slack ebony pool.

Ripples barely reach the papyrus stands, like my gaze floating toward the statuesque guard ladie's implacable expression.

She stands like a flesh and blood goddess immobilized by the museum blue suit.

Long neat cornrow braids, silver hoop ear rings eyes glint through glasses at the crowd of children lining up in formation to approach the inner sanctum.

An island on and island on and island a brief glace around at the spirit door before which the offerings are placed by processions of bare chested icons barring all manner of worldly wealth for the afterlife's royal occasions.

Does our generation have any inkling of the vastness and pressing weight of the yawning jaws of time.

Will the futures children imagine us if they stand in line to experience a revolving door wrested from the skyscrapers of yore?

"Life is not a problem to be solved but a mystery to be experienced"

Goin ta die...

2009-07-21T10:36:00.000-07:00

Going to die goin ta die

great god almighty Im going ta die

might not be today

nor tommorow

or next week

but good golly ill surely die

one bright morning

dark day or quiet night

till then let me smile let me cry let me dance,

sit and sweep up joys and sorrows like a child

whose dancing to a tune of rightousness

under an open sky!

Desire's Jester

2009-07-21T10:33:00.000-07:00

the map of my mind's desire is like a jester at the fair

he is giddy with nauseous colored grimacing features

and his lithe body dressed and twisting with loud patterns

his voice caterwauling with half baked ideas

his fingers writhe like copulating snakes

as he directs my attention to obscene stuffed prizes that pull at unrealized desires

If only I could decipher the slight of hand that pulls me into the mire of losing wagers

the blood boils and the desire to triumph all at once at any cost

throws the mind into a dizzying spin

the bells the the rattles the horns the crowds

keep the eye on the bulls throbbing heart at the center of muscle and dark hide

and pop the balloon with the dart and ahhhh from the spectators

and ahhhh I have won clutching a prize from ignominiousness and mute death

the jester melts into the onlookers amused or jealous inquiring befuddled glances

until from a distant corner of ear shot a new voice rises above the din and the mind is captured by its promise and the carnival laughs as we conspire toward our next amusement.

Silent (AHHH!!!)

2009-07-21T10:31:00.000-07:00

In the stir and crackle of moment

the assembly blinks and settles

as the universe spins still at massive velocity

around a centrifugal point

the microphone stand

the sitting room

the afternoon breeze

the words that are plucked

like grapes

from the inner caverns

of vision

And passed around like sweet and sour

or picante hors d'oeuvres

steeped in life's hunger to know

meat from gristle

seed from rind

as the

pestle and mortar of heart and mind

separate food from foul and ash from ember.

we all breathe in as

the sentences breath out into the room

like a single organism.

yet so multifaceted

as to remain almost a continually evolving mystery

even to our own corner of the room.

our eyes shift and pause looking into one another

for the common ground and the boundary

till we weave a unity of cross purposes

and break and remake pacts with ourselves

and one another unless we disarm in weariness

over it or give in to the habit of battle or silence.

So as the curtains and the shutters and odd assortment of chairs and faces

take backstage to collective memory and we are emboldened to lay bare our

families founding grand/fathers foibles and follies we are able to alloy his glowing

strengths and it quickens us all to feel its pulse living still

stirring in our unbidden moments of grief and hope and confusion and calm that frame grasping for what we are and are not.

For I know all to well that I will cast off from this same stage all to soon

and the roles we have played will echo and fall silent

and be recalled and replayed

and forgotten again

till memories blood and myth

join like the dust of stars

and our unique mosaic of DNA

falling from the undertakers hand

into the silent

AHHHH!

Ragged Shirt

2009-07-21T10:14:00.000-07:00

A thin blade of grass

still growing toward viability

through the straw and clay

a new chick still wide eyed

beneath her mothers wing

a child trying to unwrap the summer heat

into a good game of tag

he's stumbling around the house

trying to tie all the loose ends

into a tapestry before going mad

as he watches the world

wrap tighter the spools

of contradiction.

His needles more dull

his pins bent

but his hand more sure

as they fire on the button holes

of desperation to connect

to the ragged shirt of love and loss

that dresses us all in humility and hope

and dry eyed searching need

that blisters our tenderness

Debut Posting (Air Drum Roll Please)

2009-07-21T08:10:00.000-07:00

This is the Debut Posting !!!

Drum Roll Please!!!

Chantilly lace had a pretty face

and a pony tale

ah hanging down

a wiggle in her walk and

a giggle in her talk makes the

world go roun roun round!!!

OK where was I ?

Yeah this is my forum for all

un-blocked art/creative musings

with various asides of spiritual dilemmas and dispensations

topped off with Visual,audio,video bar and dessert buffet

hungry yet?

Nauseous? pregnant?gassy?

already ate thank you very much

Great!

Dive in cause Summers Almost Gone!!!!