Have been absent from this space for far too long. Rather, I have been present, just without words. Tonight, a sweet evening deepens. I'm recalling the "writing" and "sitting" day shared with Paris Wild Flowers on Saturday, in and out of the sun and shade. So many words emerging, floating, soaring, searing, singing, ringing, jingling [...]
At the office, a colleague likes to talk about "Buddhism" with me. He stops by my desk the other day. He's reading sutras, he says. There's a soccer match playing on the television nearby. He likes what he reads, he says, but he adds that he's discouraged because he can never remember what he reads. [...]
Amid all this busy-ness, round and round, only one thing to say, in honor of Joyce's bodhisattva, that hero of basic goodness: Happy Bloomsday.
A roundabout discussion in the rain with a friend who is passing in the street early this morning as I head to another day at the office. The subject of structure (or lack thereof) is addressed somewhere in the middle, or perhaps it is the end. We agree on the merits of structure in relation [...]
Afternoon is hot and lazy. Breezes rise and fall almost imperceptibly. I'm surfing it, mildly. There's a wedding party honking up a ruckus in the street, then a fire truck, a bus, a car in reverse, a woman with big headphones ambling along the sidewalk. Each has its sound and its silence. Almost imperceptibly. Louise [...]