make it new

Blindness exchanged blue ink for a dark shade of forest green.

A hand-held dryer waved hot air over a recently shampooed head.

A mirror whispered secrets.

Elements of silence said farewell.

A series of eyes investigated decompression while swallowing fresh yogurt with peach slices near afternoon's languishing empty promises intent on discovering new, make it new day by day, make it new, explanations have to end somewhere.

Explanations are a well-dressed mistake.

In her village she threaded new beginnings as her loom waited for the pressure, the tightness between notes.

Feeling sunlight dress saliva beads blend a weave, texture, design. Hello Beauty.

the center cannot hold

Blindness danced on through late yellow faltering light penetrating bamboo leaves spreading themselves over banana baskets impaled on swinging posts. Literally.

Nearby, a quiet young girl watched the Vietnamese girl do her toenails. Cutting, trimming, lemon/lime soak, cuticles, clear before applying a silver-hued glossy glean.

Nail by nail.

In a Fujian, Chinese university classroom an angry undersexed, overworked teacher yelled, "the bent nail gets hammered down." - 80 comatose students understood her implication. Keep your mouth shut. Do not express your individuality and above all do not question authority.

Authority will SHAME you in public. They will execute your parents and burn down your house. They will exile you to a Reform-through-re-education work unit where you will haul shit for years and tears.

Blindness solved the mystery of sight, crying tears of silence.

A van of blank faced stupefied white Europeans trapped behind stained glass held their rampant desires and expectations on laps. Fidgeting as uncomfortable languages floated into inner ear canals.

Assaulting their long painful strides navigating tomorrow's promise.

Blindness resolved to practice the subtle art of Tai-chi with precision.

Movement.

A dance.

A watermelon. Circle, sever center.

Slowly push the edges out from the center.

The center cannot hold.

My new little life - TLC 69

Whew, what a first week it was for my little existence, my little humanoid adventure. I began a new strange scary awkward weird and transforming evolutionary experience in two big human’s lives.

I begin at the beginning. It’s a start.

I fell out of my mom a female production company last week. Talk about letting go. She was big and fat and released me after pushing and pushing and she exhaled an infantile projection of freedom feeling her painful release and my pleasure with shock and awe as I came slathering, slipping through some universal ectoplasm fluid, like a gusher, whoosh, into millions of bright shining suns.

A crescendo of angels, luminous spirits, formless forms and shapes swirled like whirling Sufi dervishes in light waves and particles. Such splendor. My last nine months did little to prepare me or allow me to know anything.

I was born dead and slowly came to life.

My tiny black eyes welcomed light energy into my being. I am a galaxy.

Mesmerizing.

I am an Eagle nebula, a gathering of space dust melding, morphing into a solid state, a unified field theory. I am beside myself with wonder and delight. I joined seven billion in the stream of life.

Did you know that the world is made up of 98% helium and hydrogen?

The remaining atom particles are life and inside these atoms a very small part of that is intelligence.

The rest of the pyramid is garbage. Existence precedes essence.

What was your original face before your parents were born?

The Language Company

immediate direct

Curious beginnings determine her artistic sense of form, coloring stories of her village.

Cutting. Planting. Harvesting.

Complete slow rhythm of life. Her skill radiates every new expression. Her heart sings.

Her simple, immediate direct feeling experience.

Art enables her this Beauty.

She describes what she draws.

Her words fly through forests with resplendent peacocks, birds of paradise.

A blind conversation developed a through line.

Turn a blind eye.

Blind heard muted laughter before intuition gestured pink floating word worlds.

Laughter danced with exhaled attachment.

mask eats face

He broke down.

He returned to the bamboo shock shacks in deep rutted fields. Under cover. She wasn't there. Massage love called a sprite of 25 wearing flower ring on her finger. Silver with seven petals. Open. Consternation in his weak heart. He felt the sense of loss. Accept loss forever.

This symbol, how it transformed men's eyes into want.

This silent metallic flower only now, under a weak light as mama smiled through her destined crooked teeth, saying, Money.

Ling's 25-year young friend is beautiful, they all are, in an immature, petulant way.

Lack of confidence met betrayal.

Betrayal knew the stranger desired L.

The sensitivity of seeing the future with Awareness - Attention – Non-attachment.

Transference - emotions - an instinctual way of living objectively.

POWER

Masks - good or (d)evil?

           - money or sex

           - relationships

           - life and death

           - beauty and truth

The mask eats the face. 

Maybe, she said, being a Player. Lying in her Ling heart. No intention. Intention is karma.

She got what she needed. Money. Traded her passion for cash. You can't put passion in the bank. You can't eat passion, it eats you. Grasping is suffering.

Solvent with clear heart. Heart had nothing to do with passion. Passion sang its joy describing her minor character.

The 3-act play ran five weeks in Luang Prabang.

On opening night her love opened like a flower. It rained flowers over a lonely man.

Mutual needs were satisfied.

Intuition augured well, laughing.

It's difficult to take any of this seriously.

Posture. Breath.

Plant heliotropes. Night aroma in gardens.