awareness

There are  absolutely no metaphors, just observations. 

The artist maps reality.

That's the cat-and-mouse game between the artist and the world. And it's just not the artist who plays it. Each of us is in the cat-and-mouse game with our perceptual life. Do we really see ourselves?

Or do we see only what obtrudes in daylight?

Do we crash through our nightlife, scattering subtle things that abide there?

Or do we simply watch without judgment, in the expectation of learning something? - John Cage

 

red dirt

Once upon a time there was a sliding, sweating, swearing happy tennis player in Paris.

Terra battue, red dirt. Clay. Crushed rock. Players try to crush their opponent.

Flame and glory.

Work the ball. Patience. Determination. Run and slide. Run and slide.

Get dirty playing dirt ball.

Dust gets in your eyes. Long exhausting rallies.

Drink water. Lots of water. Eat a banana. More water. 

Mental toughness. Savy guile. Sweet touch. 

Play percentages; in, direction, depth, spin, power. Consistency.

Make them hit one more ball.

Dirt negates power. 

Work the ball. Grind it out, said a weeping elephant.

A bubble girl story

Greetings,

A wise traveler named Hugo, the Director of a Life Improbability Research Center near Paris dropped me a comment asking for the story about the Laotian bubble girl. 

Here it is. One day I walked through Luang Prabang and reached a dirt path leading down to the river, a bamboo bridge and distant weaving villages. At the top of the path three young girls were selling, or hoping to sell hand made colorful wrist bands, small wooden beads and bamboo dolls. Same as at Angkor temples.

In the afternoon when I returned they were playing with thin plastic air filled balls. Her eyes held all the secrets of the world.

Like many kids they attend school either in the morning or afternoon.

It's the same universal story, "We need money for our families." 

Keep it in the air.

Metta.

A new gallery of Stung Treng town and area is live. It features the Women's Development Center (Mekong Blue), primary school kids, the wat and flags at Thala Bovivat. Enjoy.

http://tmleonard.squarespace.com/stung-treng-cambodia/

wash orange

Greetings,

You have to love your mystic lover. She said GIANTS in five. True. Nothing like a little fall ball in the heart of Texas. Drawling with their mouth full of chocolate cow patty cake.

Playing the blues with misfits, rag-tag, excellent pitching and stellar defense. Goes you show ya after 56 years. Handling pressure with poise.

Rookies, veterans and a merry bunch of pranksters. Dancing in the streets.

Manifesting their destiny. Heart. Ya'll come back now ya hear!

Metta. 

Full count

Greetings,

Runners on 1st and 2nd. Two outs. Full count. 55,000 negative charged cream cheese people yelling at Brian. He steps off the rubber. The rookie catcher gives him the sign. Down and low. Low down and dirty. Dirty and clean. Howie stands in menacing his weight, leveraging timber.

Play by play announcers speak drama. He hasn't had an extra base hit in the series.

The crescendo of weeping white towels, shrieks, anguish, and the pitch. They pitch insurance and insurance runs, cars, stock houses, horses escaping gravity, Formula.

The stare in. The windup. The pitch. At the knees, called 3rd strike. Howie never took the lumber off his shoulder. The catcher screams, jumps, runs to celebrate. Howie turns silent staring at 55,000 stunned people.

Their season is over. Finished. Happy Hallowed gallows. The thrill of defeat. The agony of victory.

Hello S.F. bay. Water music and multiple planes of reality.

Metta.