White bread

Greetings,

On the day before he died of starvation the old man wearing his poverty overcoat above broken tennis shoes walked slowly down the street.

Besides the small white plastic bag hanging from his dirty brown fingers, his right hand, open, held a huge slice of white bread. On the bread were chunks of brown meat. Inside his slow pace he bent a grizzled face down flickering a tongue, capturing a morsel, pulling it into his mouth.

He then continued walking past chickens turning on gas fired flames, a bread lined bakery window and a freshly squeezed orange juice shop. He danced through pigeon shit and across the street of perpetual dreams balancing his one good meal and endless essential hunger.

Peace.

 

Spin them wheels

Greetings,

Delicious ice coats the streets as drivers spin their anxiety wheels. Trying to get somewhere fast or last. 

Pedestrians slow down or fall down.  

Speaking of down, it's worth mentioning a recent vision.

You were in a taxi heading to old Roman ruins filled with bones. An army car with flashing lights entered the highway. It was followed by an army truck filled with bright flowers. It was followed by another army truck carrying an olive drab green casket draped with a red flag. The odd yet true thing was that the red color was blood, and, as the truck roared along the highway it left a trail of blood in its wake. It coagulated quickly in the frozen light of dawn as the trail grew longer and longer until it disappeared into the faint glow of a dull faint stain edging into secret stone passages where memories saluted fallen heroes.

This convoy of memories was heading to a cemetery where family, friends and strangers waited on a bitter cold day. They were holding hands and wearing frozen tears. They cried, "Goodbye. We hardly knew you."

Peace. 

 

New year, new face

Greetings,

One amazing reality about a new moment, day, year, life and so forth is evolving your appearance.

Here's my new look this year.

Peace. 

Year's last day

paying no mind
to the year's last day . . .
a floating bird, asleep
- Kobayashi Issa

Existing and laughing

Greetings,

How did it feel to wander into work after six peaceful days?

A stranger in a strange land. A wild animal trapped in a zoo filled with melancholic humans, desperate to pass...desperate to get a life. How, as a small Zen monk comfortable with the consciousness, shifting into a zone of peace, I was a ghost in the floating world.

How when someone asked me how I was I replied, "I am existing. Here. Now."

How, maybe this awareness, this small utterance connected their reality with an image, a feeling of inner stillness. How, like a bolt of lightning, my voice articulated the reality allowing them to see the futility of grasping.

"Yes," I said, "I find it peculiar to see and hear people still trapped in their own personal fear, anger, manic behaviors, and attitudes. How I dreamed some of them might have, during the recent retreat, used their time to meditate, to slow down, adjust, adapt, and evolve their direction, motivation and intention as a new year, a new beginning allows everyone the freedom to develop deeper meaningful and beautiful relationships.

Peace.