opening day

baseball is quintessentially american
in that it tells us that as much as you travel
and as far as you go,
out to the green frontier,
the purpose is to get home,
back to where others are,
the pioneer ever striving to come back
to the common place.
a nation of migrants always, for all their wanderings,
remembers what every immigrant never forgets:
that you may leave home
but if you forget where home is,
you are truly lost......
~ a. bartlett giamatti

seattle mariners / oakland a's
3:10 am
tokyo japan

GO MARINERS!

kool-aid orange bandit

that's what i named the seagull flying overhead
with a round orange orange in his beak ~

walking the myrtle edwards trail yesterday..
the jodphurs of mt. rainier showing..
the air fresh and warming, warming
as the sun kept on coming, coming
a homeless person had snuggled up under a tree..
all cozy and wrapped in a bright blue sleeping bag..
three oranges lay in waiting for the wake-up call..
snestled nearby..

on my return route..
the above said seagull flew
clumsy-like..top heavy..
above me with a full fledged orange
encircled by his too small beak..
plop!
he dropped it atop the stopped train ..
and commenced ice-picking his way
into the deep, juicy center of citrus..

hummmm?
i wondered..
does the sleepy head
still have three spheres
parked nearby?

no way, jose..
the stealth wing-ed thief
got away with it..


this much i do remember

it was after dinner.
you were talking to me across the table
about something or other,
a greyhound you had seen that day
or a song you liked,

and i was looking past you
over your bare shoulder
at the three oranges lying
on the kitchen counter
next to the small electric bean grinder,
which was also orange,
and the orange and white cruets for vinegar and oil.

all of which converged
into a random still life,
so fastened together by the hasp of color,
and so fixed behind the animated
foreground of your
talking and smiling,
gesturing and pouring wine,
and the camber of you shoulders

that i could feel it being painted within me,
brushed on the wall of my skull,
while the tone of your voice
lifted and fell in its flight,
and the three oranges
remained fixed on the counter
the way that stars are said
to be fixed in the universe.

then all of the moments of the past
began to line up behind that moment
and all of the moments to come
assembled in front of it in a long row,
giving me reason to believe
that this was a moment i had rescued
from millions that rush out of sight
into a darkness behind the eyes.

even after i have forgotten what year it is,
my middle name,
and the meaning of money,
i will still carry in my pocket
the small coin of that moment,
minted in the kingdom
that we pace through every day.

- billy collins

lunula

crescent...new moon..
fingering her way into the night sky
keeping good company
with stars, with planets..

with that moon language

admit something:

everyone you see, say to them, "love me."

of course you do not do this out loud, otherwise
someone would call the cops.

still, though, think about this, this great pull to connect.
why not become the one who lives with a
full moon in each eye that is always saying

with that sweet moon language,
what every other eye in
this world is dying to hear?

love me.

~hafiz

raise your hand

we were asked last night
by a musician..
who's in love?
raise your hand..

i didn't..

that's not true..

though i don't have a sweet heart,
lover, s. o., main squeeze, boyfirend,
husband, partner, beau, paramour...
in the flesh and bone~
i am in love..
not only that..
i am love..

beam me up!

a spirit that lives in this world
and does not wear the shirt of love,
such an existence is a deep disgrace.

be foolishly in love,
because love is all there is.

there is no way into presence
except the love exchange.
~ rumi

spring king

everyone knows
that spring is the king
of all the seasons..
in the gita, lord krishna
tells us so...

i am the soul in the body,
the eagle among birds,
the lion among animals..
among all the trees,
i am the sacred bodhi tree
and of the seasons,
i am spring..


no praise, no blame
what have the clouds been up to today? you can't
blame them, you know. their edges just
happen, and where they go is the fault of the wind.
i'd like my arrival to be like that, alone and
quiet, really present but never to blame.

and i'd never presume or apologize, and if anyone
pressed me i'd be gone, and come back there
only some harmless, irresistible presence
all around you, like the truth, something you need,
like the air.
~william stafford

where one flower blooms, it is spring everywhere ~

spriiiiiing!

pop goes the easel
all the artists in heaven and earth
have been sprung from the
winter of their discontent
into the vast
where there is no content
but contentment ~
the daffs have gone daffy
with the yellow unknown to the gods of colour
maybe van gogh had an inkling
a twitch in his ear about
the sound that yellow bellows..
the cloud sky of rain one instant
bursts of sunrays the very next
the chill moving down the railway line
cold now bolder
the breeze of boisterious bliss
the warmth, where did that come from?
shopping for shoes that have no toes
for chicks and bunnies that coo
to our childish hearts
the starts of fresh buds
that pop
goes the easel
into spring begin
again

tao sutra diamond light

you have heard of flying with wings,
but can you fly without wings?
you have heard of the knowledge that knows,
but can you practice
the knowledge that doesn't know?

consider a window: it is just
a hole in the wall, but because of it
the whole room is filled with light.
thus, when the mind is open
and free of its own thought,
life unfolds effortlessly,
and the whole world is filled with light.