Path

Meditation breath
Kindness
Diamond mind wisdom

Women lay out golden chains
Men yak in phones
Gleaming significance weighs potential

rubies, sapphires

Glittering like a million stars

Path leads past mannequins
Wearing fashionable silent plastic splendor

facsimiles of prayers flow from a woman's mouth

Answer stirs ice

formless form

Shy beyond description
    a girl weighs lettuce hills
    cucumbers whisper adjustments
    cell phone eliminates an old man's loneliness
   a sharp hatchet congratulates bloody meat
   a woman stabs ice memories

Ice coffee is bitter sweet my sweet
Hammock infant swings high/low
Contemplating an old woman
Stepping through puddles carrying a plastic bag

two tomatoes, mushrooms, onions, daily bread

Eye contact dissolves in the wake up

Make it new

Greetings,

Yes, well, he said, here I am patrolling another planetary manifestation.

It's a random act of kindness to find the "correct" letters to say this.

Some humans take themselves way to seriously. Hang around listening to some of the anxiety and fear and trepidation and...

To express the sensation. How do you express a sensation? Is it an expressed gesture, a fleeting momentarily lapse of reasonable consciousness? Perhaps a main manifestation of the young girl watering the dust. Now as sunlight filters through the palm trees casting long shadows, golden rays.

Did I ever tell you I am a dust collector? It's a fact. Of life. I've collected dust in many places - in Vietnam, in the Sahara, climbing toward Drepung outside Lhasa one brilliantly frozen morning, in Korla, a well known far Western crossroads oasis along along the Silk Road where yellow is the original color produced by the silkworm's saliva.

The swirling red January dust here in Cambodia is a sweet deep rusty red. The path is a watercolor, traced by bike and motorcycle treads, grooving new tributaries of passage. Walk softly as if your eyes are on the bottom of your feet.

Metta.