You find a seed shop, plants, flowers and a one-eyed cat begging to be scratched.
Winter snow coats golden domes, spires and mosques.
Seeing through peacock feathers, two children make & throw snowballs below a sliver of blue laughing moon
a sky bird song
cold dawn, clear light
winter shadow
big snowfall - white flurrries obscure peaks
bamboo refraction in water.
What did a philosopher say? "Existence precedes essence."
You shuffle life's zen cards and spread them out.
1. Existence - here and now. Lift off.
2. Adventure - resistance and fear?
3. Playfulness - response
4. Awareness - intuition and support
5. The Rebel - intelligent action
6. Thunderbolt - relaxation and acceptance
7. Sorrow - arrival at a new level of awareness
You will be happy to know the Zen Diamond company is near the Cosmic Magic Bowling alley. No lie butterfly.
So, you set up your cosmic pins made of diamond dust and roll the dice, I mean roll the heavy orb of planet Earth along a wooden incline inside a spiral galaxy. Strike!
The diamonds explode into a sky wearing a full moon. The healing energies manifest themselves into wisps of sage cleansing a small room where a sick person once lived. He suffered greatly and we won't go into his neural nervous neuron condition here except to say he was ill. So we saged past schizophrenic lives away, out of the room opening winter windows allowing full moon light to mix with embers from a Kiva ceremony.
We have serenity, sanctuary and simplicity evolving into new space place, teaching, - learning, helping others realize their language potentials, while spashing ink on paper. This gentle kind transition welcomes peacock feathers, mountain visions, snow, clouds and elevations.
We enjoy Snow White blizzards cascading from a bright blue sky.
Well, it's time for me to open the little Moleskine and share some musings. A work of art is never finished. It is abandoned.
Once upon a time last week to be exact a traveller went to the main bus station in city A. Sticking out of his worn green satchel was a single bamboo. It was green with a fine strong shoot near the top. It's root structure was in the early stages of escaping from the base.
Anyway, he was taking the bamboo to city B, his new home. It was important, having given away bamboo, roses, ferns, cactus and flowering life to friends in city A to carry one along with him. Now, the normal idea of taking the bamboo was really about beauty and nature and companionship. He'd nurtured bamboo, roses, palms, violets and growing species for the last six months after moving to A from China.
Before leaving the Middle Kingdom for the country of Turnkey he gifted twenty plants to Chinese teachers and friends. People who'd be staying. Naturally, he was leaving - he was continuing his wandering ways, his adventure. So it goes.
Obviously, people in the bus station stared at this vision of a man carrying bamboo. This sense of green life, growing amazing beauty allowed and created a magic feeling to permeate their being. Maybe it gave them some comfort.
He got on the bus, took seat 16 and propped the bamboo into the meshed seat container so it could rest against the window in the light.
They travelled west together for six hours. They passed snow fields where brown thick feathered hawks waited, then passed astonishing silver-white trees on a hill sparkling in light wearing crystal-like diamonds back lit against a clear blue sky. It was a scene of mysterious clear magic - all the white and blue!
After the winter they continued through steep mountain valleys into landscapes without snow, like autumn. One leaves seasons, the winter becomes fall in reverse; green moss, fields of fruit trees, a farmer plowing soil - "Ah," whispered spring - "I am coming, I am ready for the turning. I feel tires and weight and blades in my furrows..."
Then the pure joy of seeing distant mountains with silent snow peaks, where we will live. They are high and rolling as late afternoon light plays with red wispy cumulus clouds. They easily remind him of the Colorado Rockies and more recently the Himalayas in Tibet.
The bamboo is happy in it's new home where it can grow free.Now you are in a train dining car rolling to some glorious ancient city near a sea and snow covered mountains seeing wide open snow covered fields stretching to infinity. Inside, on the table are wild yellow flowers with pink and green stems. Click, clack.
Shine the light. Be light about it.
The train passes through memories of a Starlight domeliner and C.C. reading your palm - head line and heart line - rolling metaphorical memory. Sweet contamination. Dancing elemental rivers, sagas and oral transmissions near empty bright cold winter fallow fields as children stand bundled, waving goodbye at a station.
Long ago and far away in a language of land, ancestors, wants, needs and desires lived a heart filled with soft eyes and a wisdom mind of intent.
Wnterhawk wingspread read air above winter's glide. I am free to live wherever I want. My only small imaginary fear is leaving the sky. As long as I stay below it I am safe. Do you remember flying when you were little, like now?
When, once you let go, how the air filled with wind welcomed you, how the calm air created endless space because you had no memory about it? How it was all instinct and feeling,
this bliss, this sensation
of being in the air passing through a long black tunnel and how a small white light waited for you and it was easy this glide like a smile or an echo
sensing the crisp vapor of rising steam off a river, the blue-green liquid of your dream landscape zooming over rising red rocks inside winter groves of tall quiet Aspen trees singing their bark, branches wavering
as your quick flick of strong delicate wings brushed their knowing, their patient reflection
dancing inside star trails because in your vivid Winterhawk reality you are destined to remember everything as the sky welcomes your wingsing.
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