Born last week

Whew, what a first week it was for my little existence, my little humanoid welcoming.

I am beginning a new strange scary awkward weird and totally transforming experience in a couple of larger than life human's lives.

Let me begin at the beginning.

I fell out of my mom, a female production company last week. It was a Thursday. She was big and fat and she dropped me out, pushing and pushing and finally exhaled with joy like a baby, and I came slathering, slipping through some universal ectoplasm fluid, like a gusher, whoosh!

Into light, millions of bright shining suns. A crescendo of angels, luminous spirit forms, formless forms, shapes, spinning dancing, swirling like dervishes along light rays. Such amazing splendor. My last nine months did little to prepare me to allow me to know anything.

It was all sensation.

I saw galaxies and spinning particles of hydrogen and oxygen. It was awesome and totally mesmerizing. I saw an Eagle nebula, a gathering of space dust melding, morphing into a solid state, a unified field theory. I was beside meself with wonder and delight. I joined 6 billion others. I am an-other in the stream of life.

Tiny black eyes welcomed light energy into my being.

Metta.

Chimayo

Its been years since
I’ve thought of you
it occured now
just when I
smoothed out Two Gray Hills
wool carpet

lured into red sunsets
splitting pure white
dazzling yellow light
from the center
remembering cold january mornings
weaving our way past snow lined adobe

gathering blessed sand,

red chillis

seeing Navajo weave their magic

we purchased magic
rolled it into our passion
ate our dreams
carried it on our journey
toward separation

weft, woof, fibers glistening
sage induced fires
curling new mexico stars
pressing surface of our desires
smoothing out Chimayo
breathing shuttles click clack
memory sizzors escape their way
toward you screaming on fifth floor
suicide watch time

The Rice Farmer

Bali sunset light. A light of soft gentle music from a choir of painters. A tapestry on a loom of sky. Mountains stand strong and silent in the distance. 

Ducks settle down in their straw hut as a young waitress reads in an upstairs section of a bamboo restaurant. Business is slow.  Downstairs a child cries as someone slices dark green vegetables on a chopping block mixed with laughter. Motorcycles race along a twisted road blazing shrill horns. Birds and gekkos create twilight music as day slowly fades.

A narrow dusty dirt uphill path winds through the jungle. A woman with deeply lined brown skin wearing a purple sarong passes in and out of shadows. She maintains a steady pace balancing a stack of red bricks on a torn dirty yellow towel wrapped around her head. Her brown eyes glance down at the rocky terrain and up, straight ahead.

A gaunt rice farmer cleans debris from around rice stalks in a paddy near Monkey Forest Road. He wears faded blue shorts, a torn yellow t-shirt and sweat-soiled straw hat.

He pulls, smooths, and pats thick wet muddy soil in the water while tossing clumps on a pile of rocks at a construction project.

As daylight escapes he moves along a rice paddy terrace, stopping to splash water on his arms and legs removing the mud of his day with strong fingers and hands sliding up and down leather skin. 

Picking up an old hoe, he places it on a thin shoulder and continues along narrow edges inspecting adjacent paddies. Calloused feet trace a zig-zag pattern toward a dark horizen of trees and thick tropical forest. His figure becomes smaller and smaller.  

A slight breeze moves through green rice. Rice paddy water stands silent.

Metta.

Year of the Ox

Joyful Chinese New Year! It is the year of the Ox. Strong, conservative, patient, hard working, loyal.

We are in the middle of a total solar eclipse. 0606 GMT to 0952 GMT. It is traversing the Indian ocean toward Mindanao where it will open its light shade.

Birds sing dusk twilight songs. Bored children in a green field play yo-yo. They need solitude. Nature. They have 532 "friends" on a social network website. They feel strangely alone. They are alone. Authentic. Restless. Their televisions tell them to seek short attention spans.

They are Slumdog Millionaires. See it. Rotten Tomatoes more...

The sun spans the moon. Lotus leaves dance in piano winds. Rolling thunder.

Speak in silence. More...

Metta.

Bamboo

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.