Hobbling along, a boy described the song. Children followed. He is the poet.
Fairy tales - truth and wisdom.
The sentence finds a way to speak itself.
Writing is an adventure.
Hexagram #20. Examining. Washed but not offered. Confidence in discretion. What is w/o action.
A glimmer of clarity.
Foreign couples wearing polarizing shades of ignorance incredulous doubt and wonder stroll sand staring inland at strangers staring back.
Walking eyes survey tables, chairs, people and eateries.
Strangers all. Scarce few see sea.
No drugs. No weapons. Leave your ego at the door.
Sweating runners with pulse armbands tread grains.
Workers set up beach lounges, switch on espresso machines, fire up kitchen stoves, hack ice, replenish beer supplies.
Waves erase footprints. Sleeping canines cur into sand.
Beach orchestra builds its daily tempo.
A young Italian woman unfolds a blue towel on sand. She lies face down. Pushing up with her arms she assumes a yoga posture eyes straight ahead on a blue green sea. Her spine weaves vertebrae like a wave. Calm centered grounded and focused.
Visitors stagger from beds, walk foam, eat, stare at waves evolving from a flat lined horizon holding green island hideouts. People plan to sit or go. Yes go. Go for a walk, a swim adventure.
1) kick boxers attack mangoes, chop ice while shifting gears after school in the wind
2) six month cradle infants wail at the hospital for a blue placebo pill
3) oven fired waffles scrapes a boy pedaling his bike seeking recycled trash before wicker baskets say hello
4) spare change searches for user value collecting cardboard images in a squall
5) red ink meets onion paper at an intersection whispering secrets without speaking sparrows
“I want to know the truth mother. Living safely is dangerous.”
“The truth,” she said, “is that life is an absurd comic process. If you laugh you last. Our illusionary insecurities and real authenticities evolve. Life is a celebration, a dance and process of becoming. It is a beautiful harsh short messy dream come true. It’s magic. We adapt, adjust and evolve. There’s no rhyme or reason. Life is not a career, it’s a game.
"On the meridian of time there is no injustice
there is only the poetry of motion
creating the illusion of truth and drama." Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer.
Mandalay, Burma
I am a shaman. A storyteller embraces "what if?"
People chained to the earth to pay for the freedom of their eyes.
Free and easy. No past no future.
A blind man plays strings.
His daughter plays a drum leading him through life.
Music guides their quest. Music is the fuel.
Mindfulness breath ease god out.
In a Brave New World you shift
from truth and beauty
to comfort and happiness
I ate civilization
Aha ha
A new notebook deciphers emptiness
The fisherman
In a long blue boat
Cuts the engine
Drifting with current
Cool cornflower silk red ink
Slashes memory's fascination
Forgetting
Letting go
Be silence inside the labyrinth
Dancing shimmering red blazing wisdom seeks wisdom
In Laos
Wats glow golden
A sleeping Buddha
Dreams of compassion
Direct immediate experience
I am twinkling
You shift from truth and beauty
To comfort and happiness
I ate civilization
Aha ha
A new notebook deciphers emptiness
The fisherman
In a long blue boat
Cuts the engine
Drifting with current
Cool cornflower silk red ink
Slashes memory's fascination
With forgetting
All the letting go
Becoming silence inside the labyrinth
Dancing shimmering red
Blazing wisdom seeks wisdom
In a Lao motorcycle culture
Wats glow golden
A sleeping Buddha
Dreams of compassion
Direct immediate experience
I am twinkling
Fujian, China
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