a room with a view

“i love a broad margin to my life.
sometimes on a summer morning...
i sat in my sunny doorway from sunrise to noon,
rapt in reverie, amidst the pines and hickories and sumacs
in undisturbed solitude and stillness..
i grew in those seasons like corn in the night,
and they were far better than any work of hands
would have been.”

~ henry david thoreau walden 1854


soon you will be sitting on top of the world
another fortune cookie on my way out of seattle....

always keep the view

benny and joonya

we began our conversation in the elevater..
going down..
to the metro tunnel..
both of us were heading to sea-tac..
benny heading to the florida keys..me to patmos, greece..
he called me joonya..
i said we could make a movie!
(watch benny and joon for me, eh?)

he said we were on the lamb..
what exactly does that mean?
benny ‘s definition was that we were escaping something..
heading toward something..
i would have to look that up to be sure..
however, i agreed with him..
we were on our way to an adventure..
escaping life as we had known it..

benny is 74, 22 years of sobriety..
tall, grey-bearded, silver earrings
rings on every finger..no socks..brrr!
heading back to a place he will call home..
he had a very large suitcase with FOLSOM
painted on it in oils..he was an artist..
numerous rectangle bags schlepped over his shoulders..
one was a billiard stick..
the others....?

we had both been models for art classes..
benny in the buff, me in costume~
we had both boiled down
our possessions to what we carried..
(never mind that i had a corner full
for the next rendering..watch for the garage sale!)
benny had carefully chosen what he would take
away with him..on the lamb..then he closed up his apartment
and walked away!

he told me he left it a bit of a mess..
i can imagine..though he also said
he left treasures for those who’ll clean it up!



as we were leaving the train ..
he mentioned he was getting a blister..
damn!
new clogs..no socks..

..do you have any in the bundle your carrying..?
nope!

hummmm..let me see..
i have a pair ..what size be ye?
12..eek!
wonder if we can win-angle these to your feet..
we figured...yep!
so he made off with my smart woolies..

then as i said my bless you good-byes,
he rummaged thru the mystery bags
and pulled out a flute? recorder? clarinet?
here you go , girl..look, it comes apart..easy for travel..
benny, benny, benny..
you know i am not gathering..
i am on the dispersing trail..
keep it..please..
offer to one who will play it brilliantly..
thanks anyway..
bon voyage!

heading off..
as i looked back, benny was seated on a ledge..
win-angling his toes into those wee woolies..
my heart popped wide open!

giving really is receiving ~

zorba and the fortune cookie

"......the highest point man can attain
is not Knowledge,
or Virtue,
or Goodness,
or Victory,
but something even greater,
more heroic and more despairing:
Sacred Awe!

"We are little grubs, Zorba,
minute grubs on the small leaf of a tremendous tree.
The small leaf is the earth.
The other leaves are the stars that you see moving at night.
We make our way on this little leaf examining it anxiously and carefully.
We smell it; it smells good or bad to us.
We taste it and find it eatable.
We beat on it and it cries out like a living thing.

"Some of us --
the more intrepid ones --
reach the edge of the leaf.
From there we stretch out, gazing into chaos.
We tremble.
We guess what a frightening abyss lies beneath us.
In the distance we can hear the noise
of the other leaves of the tremendous tree,
we feel the sap rising from the root of our leaf
and our hearts swell.
Bent thus over the awe-inspiring abyss,
with all our bodies and all our souls,
we tremble with terror.
From that moment begins poetry,
…begins the great danger, Zorba.
Some grow dizzy and delirious, others are afraid;
they try to find an answer to strengthen their hearts,
and they say: 'God'!
Others again, from the edge of the leaf,
look over the precipice calmly and bravely and say:
'I like it.'!"
~ nikos kazanzakis

you are attracted to things
with an exotic flavor
and will travel soon.


for me..
i know i chase virture..goodness..
it is a challenge ~ to be vigilant
and free myself from that chase..
true moksha/liberation is the
absence of anything outside/other than
the is of what is..


prayer
galway kinnell

whatever happens.
whatever what is is is
what i want.
only that. but that.

leaving a sheltering home....

wandering..
nomading..
a' journeying..
just plan traveling about..
is all about leaving the sweet safety net
of a sheltering home~

mark twain tells us....
strange travel plans = dancing lessons from god
take one away from the cozy nest ~
out..out into exposure..
exposure to weather, to airplane aire, to the general public !!
(all mother sentient beings...)
to our fellow man/woman/child/dogs, cats, parrots, etc..
exposure to food that is not the food of our family,
toilets that look very different than our tidy thrones,
beds that are lumpy, clerks that are grumpy...
exposure to the interior of ones very own self..

how do we dance with all that is given?

remembering my last trip to india..
arriving at my seat on the plane to discover that
i was placed on the aisle..thank goodness..
in the very last row on the plane..o woe!
you may well know that the seats do not..not..i repeat..
move back..nada reclining position nor reasonable facimile..
i looked to my neighbour, a young indian gent..
and began to exclaim that no! indeed not.. do our seats
move in any direction..growl, gruff, grrrr..
he smiled brightly..shaking his head..
"we are the lucky ones, dear..we are the lucky ones.."

this from rumi....

a baby pigeon stands on the edge of a nest all day.
then she hears a whistle, come to me.
how could she not fly toward that?

wings tear through the body's robe
when a letter arrives that says,

you have flapped and fluttered against limits long enough.
you have been a bird without wings
in a house without doors or windows.

compassion builds the door.
restlessness cuts the key.

ask. step off into air like a baby pigeon.
strut proudly into sunlight, not looking back.

take sips of this pure wine being poured.
do not mind if you have been given an unwashed cup.


there is some hidden delight to be free
from the sheltering home..
to test my murky waters of graciousness, willingness,
gratitude for seats at the edge of the nest..
twigged and ruffled and ready for yes!

deep listening

it's time to turn the tv off
and listen.
that noise?
what is it?
maybe it's only crickets.

maybe it's distant music.
maybe people are dancing
somewhere not far from here,
the beloved among them.

out into the street-
we need to investigate,
to find out what's there.

even if it's only crickets.

~ gregory orr

mediterranees ~ ranaud garcia-fons

"everything is music.
a painting, a landscape, a book
or a journey are worthless
unless you can hear their music."
jacques de bourbon-busset

in order to get cellular with the greek isles..
(i'll be on patmos for two months..)
this music was delivered on the wings of a raven..
may i suggest you find it..listen..eat..digest..dance..
the insert offers poetry to the cells..
the music nourishes the invisible places
that soon sprout weeds of love..
love weeds?
indeedy!

so peaceishealthy is launched once again..
listen.. i hear the music of great liberation..
shall we be?

there and back again

march 10th, 2007

that was the day..
almost a year ago,
that early overcast spring morning..
we all met at the mt. erie parking lot..
to embarque on a peace walk..

it was a practice stroll for me..
to see if i could, would, should (did i say should?)
walk the width of the u. s. of a.
with peace is healthy on my forehead..

the redwoods and rain..
as far as i got..
with a few more practice steps
from carmel to pacific grove..
from olema to pt.reyes

my project manager ~ the duck,
my heart of hearts,
the general counsel of the wise
set the pace..
the consensus..
the effortless effort..

after the walk, the walk..

i walked in three states
with peace on my brow..
washington, oregon and californ I A..
only 47 to go..hey ho!

the map changed astonishingly..
india..

after the walk..
there is only the walk..

every footstep landing lightly (or not)
on grasses and gravel..
the walk to the markets,
to the sweet coconut stand,
to the internet cafes...
to family gatherings,
to the great pujas, the teachings..
the walk to giant buddhas,
walking the circle of great stupas..
the walk to classes and away from classes,
the walk with dogs..
the walk with young children hanging on the ones' sleeve..
the walk with elephants,
with beggars, with harpy olde men..
the walk on miles of sandy beaches
in the early morning
when the locals come to the strand
for the morning toilet rituals..
looking the other way!
the walk to tea and dosas,
the walk to the bus,
the rickshaw,
the plane..

one foot in front of the other..
there and back again..

there is no there there..

my footsteps reveling on homeground..