Namaste,
The Bayon from the 12th century at Angkor Wat features 48 faces. All directions.
Immense and powerful.
This slide show also includes images of detailed carvings from the main Angkor temple, depicting "Churning The Sea of Milk," an ancient Sanskrit Hindu story.
Metta.
Namaste,
The crazy geniuses at Squarespace just made Earth a safer environment with visual impact.
They added a new dimension.
It can be revealed here for the first time in recent history, like three days ago in the long now, that SS designers, engineers and artists using electromagnetic pulsars from the Large Hadron Collider (LHC) in Switzerland have created and released the highest energy-particle slide shows in the web community.
Here's a gallery entitled Laugh. Art. from Laos.
Enjoy.
Metta.
I dream the Sun Dance of the Plains people.
Nations gather in late spring celebrating a four day cycle of rituals and creation dances.
Dancers choosing self torture will have their chests pierced by skewers.
They will hang under the weight of buffalo skulls for 24 dances.
Their sacrifice will be successful if they have a vision during their trial.
The sun is going home to the earth.
One vision is all you need.
Namaste,
The machine world in Banlung roared, reversed, revered and resounded with the musical machine opera.
Chugging down the street, old trucks recycled from devastating and catastrophic wars, death and suffering with bombings, genocide, insurrection, forced labor, starvation, land mines and descriptive historical footnotes blended black diesel dust, billowing forgotten memory into the breeze. It danced in swirling red dust.
The remote wild west red dust town, smaller than a city, bigger than a village welcomed smaller. The dexterity and fortitude of thousands in a flip flop world of opportunity, risk, chance, fate, and destiny ate pastries and delicious yoghurt, in many flavors. Ambiguity, contradictions, paradoxes took everything for granted.
Assumptions wore Blue Zircon seeing harlequins.
Destiny rested as noon heat reflected anxieties. A bored mistress washed her red underwear in a river. The exhilaration of washing introduced her to a cloud. Lightning flashed.
Children in red and white dusted Santa caps dragged their expectant mothers toward dusty chrome plated display cases.
This one! This one!
On main street a happy girl of 13 sawed ice. She sold blocks of ice from a large portable orange plastic box. Her smile and pronunciation were perfect, I am a seller.
Metta.
Namaste,
Dreaming of ice a boy sawed crystals of clarity in a tropical kingdom. He saw but didn't see.
He stood in the back of a blue hyperventilation dumptruck with his rusty trusty bladed saw.
Blocks of ice disguised as solidified water were longer than a flowing, overflowing, flowering Mekong river feeding Asian lakes.
He unwrapped blocks. He sawed. He tapped a hammer defining worlds into melting scientific serious sections.
His friend loaded condensation on thin shoulders. He carried melting weight to a bamboo shack. He dumped ice into a waiting orange plastic box. A smiling women frying bananas over kindling gave him some money, Thank you for the cold.
Carver carved. Tap-tap-tap.
The woman assaulted ice with a hammer, shimmering blocks, refreshing beverages.
Ice blocks in shadows melted latent desire.
An old woman in pajamas sweeping dust heard ice.
Metta.
Nam iceman cometh.
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