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Monday
Dec082008

MK 62 is alive

Greetings,

We are approaching your destination. Please make sure your tray is in an upright position, your seat harness is fastened and your personal belongings are carefully stowed under your seat. 

In the event of a water landing, to avoid panic and confusion, turn your yo-yo

into a receiver

and listen to MK 62.

It contains a highly valuable mixture of sounds, noise and carefully designed meditative zonal pulses to alleviate bamboo moisture in tropical latitudes. 

Feel free to adjust the volume input source to meet your specific needs.

Metta.

 

Sunday
Dec072008

Hammers and chisels

Greetings,

Bamboo leaves float with birds. Lotus leaves the size of baby elephants wave hello from their repose.

Construction work on a habitat across the way echoes with hammers and chisels. Yesterday the worker ants installed two clear glass windows in a microscopic room. Function vs. form design mavens on drums. They sleep on cardboard beds. They use stereo foam for pillows to soften and enhance dreams.

Plural tight animal skins. One plays a Komodo lizard lull-a-bye-bye. A flute made from animal bone echoes off stem sell stellar star dust dancing in their artificial cave.

Grinding out a hollow form.

Paleolithic stone age tool styles evolved from fashionable operating systems. Nanokernal.

Enjoying "Elixir" by Marilyn Mazur and Jan Garbarek. 

Metta.

Friday
Dec052008

Bamboo

Greetings,

It's just another lousy amazing day in paradise, oh my, such a comedic tragedy, such an oral transmission.

Such is the way of planting. Digging soil, edging out the supporting cast, red clay, stones, pebbles, harvesting snail shells, rusty musical instruments, soundless bird wing music on piano keys at dawn, pink light. 

Bamboo hustled in at twilight. Seven twined secure groups, some exposing green leaves. Ah, the joy of bamboo. Inherent resilient, dignity and calm way. This resilience, factored by leaf. Root word. A stem. Resiliency.

Metta.

 

Saturday
Nov292008

Feeding Warmed Over Death

Greetings,

Around 9:11 a.m. on a fine soft morning promising to be tropically hot by high noon after washing three long sleeve lime green cotton teaching uniform shirts and hanging them out to dry, stabbing a tall beautifully formed naked bamboo pole into the back garden brown soil next to a strong climbing pink flowering plant needing support under dancing green, blue, yellow, white, and orange Lung-Ta prayer flags, watering ten orchids on the front porch gathering early sun and visiting with sparrows I watched a middle-aged Javanese woman working for a family across the street feed soft rice to an old woman sitting in her wheelchair, feeling the sun on her wrinkled face.

We are all death deferred.

So it goes. Finished with the feeding program the Javanese woman gently wiped the old woman's mouth, placed the spoon in the bowl and wheeled the woman back into the room out of the sun. Then she closed the brown door.

The old woman said, "Thanks for the food, the warm sun and your love."

Then she closed her eyes and dreamed.

Metta.

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