Sometimes

Sometimes we walk randomly in distant places visiting townsquares,
straying in fisherman’s dock loitering in public parks

Sometimes we meet strangers, randomly in booksstores and get into conversations

Sometimes we exchange informations, ordinary and simple notes

Sometimes we extend invitation to continue the conversation

A short walk becomes long, morning extends into evening
Randomness becomes a purpose and goal

Goes on and on and offers an option
an awareness of feelings, association of certain thoughts

Cutting sentences into fragments and rearranging randomly
We feel distance and attentiveness of each other

We are not walking dictionaries waking up tired words
We are solitary walkers walking randomly and meeting

Where do you want to go?

The Little Things

The Little Things

To search a question is not to find an immediate answer
But to hear a voice that may lead to an understanding

Unfurled, uncoiled, unchained
free like a kite unleashed
You glow while saying each word
as if they are sacred

She goes out with her camera
anxious to discover a world,
new and independent from her mind

Where do you start
When you want to piece together a broken bowl
You will learn from the small pieces
Opening the closet and selecting a new pair of slacks and blouse
Which scarf to wear on a misty day
What to prepare for dinner
The little things like learning to love again

Vanishing point

Pearls of laughter, precious and soft
The laundry hanging, rhododendrons of peach and purple
Photos of them together next to a giraffe
Arranged themselves in her mind
While she walks on the beach
with no vanishing point
Where children are playing,
Two are chasing the gulls
and laughing
They will not be at the tea ceremony
dainty mountain of gestures and formalities they want no part
One day the memory will rise
And remember one own’s happiness
Like a child waking up
Her eyes looking at her mother
Her mother smiling at her

She turns around and walks back
The children and the birds are gone
The sands are changing colors
Someone waves from a distance
She continues her walk on the beach
With no vanishing point.

Pilgrimage

“To set on a pilgrimage is to throw down a challenge to everyday life…The naked glitter of a sacred mountain stirs the imagination; the adventure of self conquest has begun…. pilgrimage is always an inward journey— …You needn’t don a hairshirt for obstacles enough will erupt. But by attending to them now—openness, attentiveness, and responsiveness are the essence of pilgrimage—you will be able to surmount them by yielding to them in the way that life always requires that we yield to it.

Dawn is breaking. It’s time to head out.”

by Huston Smith, from his Foreword to the Art of Pilgrimage by Phil Cousineau

A pause

Secluded under the palm tree
a bed of autumn leaves
I’ll lie down and sleep.

Time

Enhance your experience
The wastebasket is not full yet
Symmetries are abundant in sounds and numbers
Difficulty shall not be the first step
A tribe can lead to the next
In darkness you can hear whistling
Interruptions are shadows between lights
The liminal spaces, glimpses of returns
The mind brings and scatters, the bees and the butterflies
The neurons connect the patterns and coincidences
Learning to see not only with one’s eyes
Lots of questions and the search for truth and beauty
I will learn to sit still
The universe is expanding
The garden is lovely in spring.

My afternoon walk

A child’s bicycle
pink with bare handle bars
abandoned among autumn leaves.

note: I’m sorry I did not realize I posted this blog with a different title.

Abandoned

A child’s bicycle
pink with bare handle bars
abandoned among autumn leaves

Remembrance

Lift the veil of early hours
Look at the mirror
to see what you want
You see not what you need
You have to remember the instructions
which key, which book to open
The best songs once lodged in loneliness
rising with the first light
You are not a star that fell from the sky
But a stone picked from a dry riverbed
You are experiencing difficulty of change, fragmentation
13 dishes from the blackbirds to feed the masses
the song birds are gone, problems remained
You return to the room
sit next to someone in a lotus position
hearts beat in silence.

note: I finished reading Circe by Madeline Miller. Entertaining,flowing prose.

Thursday

Thursday in October, I walk to the river

everywhere is bursting with colors

go out, waste your waist away