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Sunday
Jul062008

The Caves of Dunhuang

Greetings,

Here is a marvelous slideshow and NYT article on the caves of Dunhuang along the Silk Road.

Peace.
Follow the little arrow. Walking in the snow.

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Saturday
Jul052008

Exploring

Greetings,

He is sitting down in Istanbul for a couple of days staring at the Phosphorous blue seesaw. Seagulls cry their symphonies. Italians and Japanese shop.

His journey resumes next week when he shifts toward new realities in Southeast Asia. From Asia Minor to Asia Major, if such nomenclatures are identified.

Peace.

+
Full moon Hokkaido farmer
Ando Tokutaro (1797-1858) - orphan, woodblock artist
Edo period.

Collapsing kitchen utensils, steel reactionaries
fishes in moon reflection

Obstinate tyrant selves dressed as elves
7 dwarves gather delicious apples
secrets of repressed fear, anger, investigate
AIDS collusion secrets
collisions inside wild
stallions with maximum efficiency

monkey mind grasping attachment with desire
shake rattle & roll
noble suffering flaying corpses
for vulture’s lunch meet
spinning clay
eating fire

Sublime paradox

‘It was love & passion that made us suffer.’

“It’s not so much that there is something strange about time....the thing that’s strange is what’s going on inside time. We will understand how simple the universe is when we recognize how strange it is.”

the writer escapes the tyranny of what really happened
and begins to dream his fictional dream

calculating risk liability cost
estimating benefit analysis cost

loom rivers flow in silence of words

Peace.

grandmother and child.jpg

Thursday
Jul032008

Crow Forest

I speak in tongues, in ancient dialects about love. Pentian dialects of ancestors who lived here for 8,000 years before where you are now. In the forest near the river all animal spirits welcome you with their love. They are manifestations of your being.

I am blessed to welcome you here. You have walked along many paths of love to reach me.

My dirt path is narrow and smooth in places, rocky in others. I am the soil under your feet. I feel your weight, your balance - your weakness and your strength. I hear your heart beating as my ancestors pounded their ceremonial drums. I feel the tremendous surging force of your breath extend into my forest. Wind accepts your breath.

I am everything you see, smell, taste, touch and hear. I am the oak, the fir and pine trees spread like dreams upon your outer landscape. I am your inner landscape. I see you stand silent in the forest hearing trees nudge each other. “Look,” they speak, “Someone has returned.”

I love the way you absorb the song of brown body thrush collecting moss for a nest. I am the small brown bird saying hello. I am the sweet throated song you hear without listening. At night two owls sing their distant song and their music fills your ears with mystery and love.

I am warm spring sun on your face filtered through leaves of time. I am the spider’s web dancing with diamond points of light. I am the rough fragile texture of bark you gently remove before connecting the edge of an axe with wood. You carry me through my forest, your flame creates heat of love. I am the taste of pitch on your lips, the odor of forest in your nostrils, filling your lungs. It is sweet.

I am the cold rain and wet snow and hot sun and four seasons. I am the yellow, purple, red, blue, orange flowers from brown earth.

I am old Kalapuya Chemapho and Chelamela tribal language respecting spirit energies. I hear with my eyes and see with my ears. I understand your love for the spirit power guardian. You are the dream and power seeking, finding and following your song.

I am the ancestor speaking 300 languages from our history. Now only 150 dialects remain. Language cannot be separated from who you are and where you live.

I say this so you will remember everything in this forest. I took care of this place and now your love has the responsibility.

Peace.

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Tuesday
Jul012008

The Old Poets of China

Whoever I am, the world comes after me.
It offers me its busyness. It does not believe
that I do not want it. Now I understand
why the old poets of China went so far and high
into the mountains, then crept into the pale mist.
- Mary Oliver
whiskeyriver

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Thursday
Jun262008

George Carlin 1937-2008

Greetings,

George Carlin, the comedian, poet and social critic passed last Sunday. Here is a link to his last interview in Psychology Today.

He will be missed.

Peace.