So...

What happened?   Is there any kind of answer?  Does there need to be?  Of course there does.  And every person has a different answer.  Why?  Because we are each and every one unique, one of a kind, different experiences, different beliefs, different work, different cultures, different religions, different educations, different vantage points, different point of views, different perspectives, genetics, traumas,  fears,  loves, joys, creativity, happiness, longing, vision.  Longing vision.   We all project our own hologram out of our own holodeck.  And they all overlap but what is even more important, they are all very intimately interconnected.  Very intimately.  So intimately that  the tiniest part fully interfaces with all others on every angle and every angel.  What the hell is that anyway?  Without a vision the people run wild.  The mind runs wild.  The imagination runs wild.  The heart runs wild. 

Then you grab a whip, chair and pistol tame the beast.  I did that.  Jarring bangs of pluming smoke.  Once you have the snarling lion, then what do you do?  Do you imagine what really happened?  Do you imagine what really happened and the screaming?   Do you imagine what really happened and feel the ripping tooth, the terror, frozen in fear the horror as your flesh is torn,  life gushes and fades? 

Grow food.  Tend the garden.  She is the Living Library, you know.

My biophysical friend discovering Life Physics says the entire Universe is infinite energy and intelligence.  So does the Dali Lama and hundreds upon hundreds of thousands.  Intelligence?    Does that mean cognitive intellect?  Yes it does.  What else?  A whole whole lot more.  Consciousness with intention.  What intention?  An intense conspiracy for Life in all its forms.  And the angels proclaim peace on earth and goodwill toward men.  Epigenetics.  Interconnectivity. Mindfulness.  Fullness of mind.  Fullness of travel.  Fullness of creative projection.

Food.  Food is the basic gift of Mother Earth because, while water and air are always there the gift of food yearns for  vector intention.  Coagulation,. Concentration.  Creative Cognition.   Pick up the mattock.

And, if you do these simple things, happiness will be the result, but not just for you.

namaste,

Rob

Galveston

I remember your wind blown face. The wooden dock, weather worn by many years of salten sea, sometimes the wild surf lapping over the pier.  It was gray with misty rain.  The smell of baked red snapper mingled with sunbaked intestines and fisheries.

And in my dream there you are my darling-one to rush together in happiness, the embrace, we kiss for the first time and I melt in the blowing rain. 

My heart is broken now.

When I was eight, I saw the ocean for the first time. I never knew before what big truly was--seaweed at my feet, the primal pull.  Watch that undertow my Mother said.  What’s that clinging to the seaweed?  Oil from the ships, mama winced...careless ships.

I came down with double pneumonia that time and after that, asthma ensued for many years. Emotional, the doctor said, a botched circumcision done too early.

And later on at fifteen, I was there for music.  Our group of boys exploring the beach and piers one night entranced by African rhythms from the wild black man making twenty gallon oil drums come alive.

Time has never been the same.

And today, the projectile black vomit of Gaia blood, mile-down volcano of spewing darkness and death comes to all.  

So,  all the fishermen, shrimp boats, oyster-lover’s restaurants, bells clinging on waves of black tar, stench of diesel cloak and rust of old despairing ships drown in the sea of tar.  Like sabre tooth cats and mastodons wallowing in terror through thick black ink, the sucking doom of our greed.  Storks and pelicans and gulls cry across the gulf and, on the wind,  whalesong shrieks into the night.

Goodbye my happy dolphin.

Woodchuck Buffalo

Woodchuck stood at the edge of porch,
two feet tall and grinning,
finishing off my kale.

"Ohh, my beautiful salad," I groaned.  "Couldn't you munch the dandelions instead?  Must I whack you one to get through?"

Woodchuck smiled a toothy and spoke with British accent, "you are a Buddhist, it is said."

With my jaw agape and eyes like dinner plates, I stuttered, "uh...uh...cou...could we make a deal?"

Woodchuck closed his eyes for a moment of quiet contemplation,  pearly whites still agleam.

"Uh...uh..." I breathed, my heart pounding like a jackhammer.

Finally, Woodchuck opened one eye and then the other, vectoring into my soul like a royal laser, "ok geezer, here's the deal...I eat anything and everything...and...you get nothingness."

I stumbled backwards to avoid falling down and gasped, "uh...uh...okay."