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,
Astronomers have just seen tremendous light energy released by a black hole 3.8 billion years ago.
The organic black hole captured a star larger than the sun in the constellation Draco. A rare event.
As someone said, putting our puny existence in perspective, If the sun were the size of a period (.) on a page, then the Milky Way would be the length of a country from L.A. to N.Y., and a million Earths would fit into the period on that page. Death of a star.
Welcome to Earth humans. It's round, wet and crowded. It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter.
At the outside you have maybe 100 years. Be kind.
Metta.
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.
Relaxing on white sand,
swimming in crystal clear tourquoise
infested waters
feeling intense sun on your face, back,
thighs,
shadow reading pages of far east stories.
Dream Divers, small skiffs, lie at anchor
waves sail past young Europeans boys
preparing their clown flippers
floating into deep dark blue.
Mr. Fat talks about blizzards
in Chicago as waves
repeat a timeless long wash
tumbling memories.
Metta.
Around 9:11 a.m. on a fine soft morning promising to be tropically hot by high noon and after washing three green long sleeve cotton teaching uniform shirts and hanging them out to dry, stabbing a tall beautifully formed naked bamboo pole into the back garden brown soil next to a strong climbing pink flowering plant needing support under dancing green, blue, yellow, white, and orange Tibetan Lung-Ta prayer flags, watering ten orchids on the front porch gathering early sun and visiting with sparrows I watched a middle-aged Javanese woman working for a family across the street feed soft rice to an old woman sitting in her wheelchair, feeling the sun on her wrinkled face.
We are all death deferred.
So it goes. Finished with the feeding program the Javanese woman gently wiped the old woman's mouth. placed the spoon in the bowl and wheeled the woman back into the room out of the sun. She closed the brown door.
The old woman said, "Thanks for the food, the warm sun and your love."
She closed her eyes and dreamed.
Metta.
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