Star

As the tropical sun sets on another day on paradise it was, "Wear a small bright star on your forehead experience."

Just to see what children might say with amazement and pure delight.

In class a girl asked, "Why are you wearing a star on your head?" Others asked the same question. Mind you it was a bit unusual.

"I get up early and this morning about 5 a.m. I was up and I went outside in my front yard to admire the beautiful flowers, amazing trees, say hello to Mr. Brown, the frog and see all the amazing stars in the clean black sky. One star in particular was dancing around and saw me way down below. And the star said, 'May I come down and go with you to school to meet kids and adults and have a look around Earth?'"

"Wow! Sure," I said, "that would be fantastic. Come on down and I will take care of you."

"Hmm," said the star. "Well, it sounds like I can trust you, however, I have one request. At the end of the day will you be sure and bring me back with you so when it's dark I can return to my friends and family in the sky?"

"Yes, I will."

"Ok then," said the star. "I will spend the day with you."

The star flew down and rested on my forehead. It was a bright orange and small. Small and powerful. All day long primary and elementary students asked about the star and I shared this story with them. 

In the afternoon while walking with a young man he turned and asked, "what happens to the star if you forget to go outside or fall asleep tonight?"

"Good question," I said. "I will be sure and go outside after dark so the star can return home."

Star light, star bright ... shine on

world dust

I’m broiling on the balcony of my Tacoma tree house. Getting down and dirty after years away from the typewriter.

Covered in world dust and needing oil it’s a small portable dangerous machine.  It transforms life energies by weaving adventures. Threads follow needle.

I am a peripatetic traveler and literary outlaw.

I’m lucky to get it down now and make sense of it later.

I’m a mirror in the mandala of my labyrinth. I am Labrys, from the Greek for a two-headed axe. I write with passion and vision. Short fast and deadly.

My mirror reflects everything. It absorbs desire, anger, ignorance, passion and suffering.

Beauty has no tongue.

I’m confident and self-reliant exploring the human condition. Human energies, frequencies and vibrations reflect languages, lives and attitudes. Dreams dance reflections.

Mirror reveals emotional trust, wisdom, peace and love with truth and compassion.

Meditate on the process of your death.

Suffering is an illusion.

Your mask eats your face.

My mirror is dust free.

Creativity dances in language.

Language is oral, gestures and graphic.

Oral and gestures dissipate.

Symbolic graphic is constant.

This awareness enlightens you after years of wandering. I have been here for 1,000 years so I can only imagine what they are going through.

Everything you know is a lie.

Keep a diamond in your mind.

To feel better, clean my heart, purge old fears and improve the quality of life I climbed down to donate a pint at The Blood Bank. Good old hemoglobin.

Suffering from cancer, a hospitalized child I will never meet, know, or love needs platelets more than I do. It’s been sixty-four clicks of Earth’s rotation between donations. It’s the best re-cycling program on the planet.

Give the gift of life that keeps on giving.

My calmness meets a scared mother pacing sterile emergency rooms at Sacred Heart Hospital wondering if her daughter will receive essential ingredients in time. 

A solemn-faced, stressed out cardiovascular lab tech with his personal set of challenges and opportunities, said to her, “At this moment we have no matching donors. We’ve released a global search engine to see what’s available on the market. People are selling short to cut their losses. It’s all about supply, demand and the fear of poverty. Scarcity. There are indications of further interest rate cuts to stimulate consumer confidence. We have no immediate indication of a stimulus. We will keep you informed.”

The mother doesn’t need to hear this prattle from a white lab coat.

Fingering her bone prayer beads, skeleton heads shake, rattle and roll. Fingers caress thorns. Everything happens by accident on purpose in her life, speaking of destiny, fate and chance. Life for her and millions in the land of the free, home of the brave and broke is free will versus random chance.

Everything’s already happened. People need to experience it while confronting their shadow and alienation, loneliness and loving community in a corrupt, cynical, hysterical greed-based world where people try to Control their fear.

Write FEAR & ANGER on a paper napkin.

Burn it.

Let go.

Citizen sheep believed in fear and unsustainable consumption because they were afraid of being lonely and poor.

Happiness is a myth. The wish of desire said so.

Humans were willing victims of their fear, healthy uncertainty, and doubt. Their amygdala, a small almond shaped brain structure creating fear and emotional response fired up. Fight or flight?

Are you the hunter or the prey?

ART

Genius

Describes the guardian spirit of a person or place, a spirit linked to a person or place and a particular fate.

Genius is your unique singularity, the spirit that follows you from birth to death.

It was your fate, your singular destiny.

It couldn't be taught or identified to you by others.

It could only be recognized by you.

You would know it when you heard it, surrendered to it and it would take you where you were meant to go.

Listening to others obscures its voice.

Luna

Trust your intuition

Trust your blazing intuition on a hot Saturday after walking along the green leafy river street. Walk down an old familiar broken unsaved path. You know left and right. Go forward. The road is made by walking.

Thread follows needle.

It's a small self-contained place. A room. A bed. Small kitchen.

She is in a plastic recliner watching tv. He has a feeling. It reminds him of the V woman in Kampot, with the massage sign. He stops. Steps past bamboo. She's maybe 30, lipstick, smile, good eyes. They talk money. She locks the glass door covered in old newspapers. Pulls a curtain closed. Kills the tv. She is not a chicken.

They shower. They scrub each other.

Her naked body is white. She caresses him and goes down slobbering, noisy, sensations - she moves so he can tongue her essence. He eats, saliva, lips, long luxurious. He discovers her need. She moves faster. Yes. Yes. Yes. She shudders, releases. He pulls her closer increasing the desire. She can't move, her passion flows again, again, until she's exhausted.

She turns over. He enters her, moaning her lips, her legs up, over his shoulders, her pain pleasure, joy - kissing his ears, cheeks, and he never comes. It's only about her pleasure.

She gives him mouthwash. He swishes it around and spits it out. They shower, dress and he hands her paper. She smiles. He leaves.

Tropical sun penetrates atmospheric conditions.

Trust your intuition. Yum-yum.

Trust

Hugs from Bon, all of 5, after his teacher said, T is leaving.
A small powerful hug from a dark haired smiling shy Lao boy.
Culmination.
A month of fun.
Dancing down 30 days playing, alphabets, songs, sharing, swimming, evolving, discovering inherent childhood joy.
Reading stories, drawing, hugs. Trust.

Lilacs purple green line the street dress
Silent theatrical gestures
Sent her home
Absorbing her tears, her art becomes alive
Stories, songbirds water the garden
Mindfulness in the moment
Ling sleeps off her sadness.

Letting go with emotional heart-mind awareness.
Blind eyes on a dark path at night.