muir woods, san francisco

"Look, and it can't be seen.
Listen, and it can't be heard.
Reach, and it can't be grasped.

Above, it isn't bright.
Below, it isn't dark.
Seamless, unnamable,
it returns to the realm of nothing.
Form that includes all forms,
image without an image,
subtle, beyond all conception.

Approach it and there is no beginning;
follow it and there is no end.
You can't know it, but you can be it,
at ease in your own life.
Just realize where you come from:
this is the essence of wisdom."

~tao te ching [14]

copious offspring, waiting for wind's breath

creation's tilak

Tilak indicates the point at which the spiritual eye opens.

"I am the one non-dual Brahman free from all duality. May my eye
of intuition open soon."

mutual intrigue

this is not a weed; it's a flower, AND.....

....in fact, it's edible! take a closer look at these beauties sometime - see the insect world appreciating them, which we need more than we know, and enjoy them while they're around [you know, after a few mowings each spring, they pretty much stop coming up in such numbers - "honey, i mulched the dinner"].

click here to google some recipes, or try these pages to go directly to one:

http://www.mariquita.com/recipes/dandelion.html

http://frenchfood.about.com/od/vegetablessidedishes/r/dandsaute.htm



another groovy idea is to look for books focusing on edible wild plants. you'll be amazed as well as amaze your guests when they actually dig - what you dug!

flying insect hangars

purple passion

journal entry: april 5, 2006 thunderstorm symphony #4

waiting for the rain.

in typical rhythmic random style, the drops begin falling only sparse and spare, an orchestra warming up before the symphony. all begin taking their places in the pit; the occasional augural drops hinting at imminent deluge. wistful virginal moans of brass, wood, and strings, all finding their breath and the right notes - tuning in, settling upon my soul, preparing me for the show. not many, just a taste.

then a short pause - only a few moments - the tweaking of knobs, dialing in adjustments; more clouds building.

another breath, deeper than the first, and again to the lips, hands, bellies go the instruments, ever-building crescendo teasing my bristling senses.

more rain, stronger than the initial drizzle; not yet the full pounding symphony i await, yet certainly as important. can the perfect show exist without practice – and is practice not perfect within itself? i watch and listen in earnest. inspiration building, tempting my spirit to plunge in, join the drops from earth to clouds to earth. the beautiful cyclical song, made and played in unison. tempo increasing, sounds beginning to meld together to form familiar, calming patterns which ease my longing to certain point and measure.

then, again, silence. delicate mixture of the frustration of impatience and the peace of knowing what is to come.

a bit more tuning, only minor adjustments are necessary now.

then – finally – in walks the conductor, striding bright and tall, full of pomp and grace like none other. all the wisdom, innocence, and bliss of the universe in a single lightning strike – the maestro bowing to greet the audience.

solid, unyielding rain.

perfectly tuned, infinitely powerful symphony brought to life by the simple eternal boom of thunder.


earth and i are wetted to the core – soak us, mystery of the heavens!
let it rain – open, sky, and whisper to me your obscure secrets;
i will quietly listen, and i will only tell if you lend me a voice.
but always, let me hear first, and understand to the fullest before i speak for you.


the puddle is full. my face is mirrored in her glassy surface; yet simultaneously, easily i see all depth and space within the mere. colours most vivid, glare and uncertainty removed - purity in all, revealed when saturated with rain. oh, glorious rain!

clouds envelop my reflected outline, blending with dampened tresses, encompassing me to the point i no longer recognize where sky ends and i begin. as i sit and watch for hours on end, expectedly, cyclically, the erstwhile overcast sky begins to clear, the pool empties – some into the earth, the sky, plants, or thirsting beast passing nigh; the rest splashed on my face and hoisted to my parched mouth to quench ravenous thirst, revive, send me high. now i sit refreshed, renewed, drying – bidding adieu to the passing band of clouds, and awaiting the jazz of the sun.

tomorrow's forecast: more music, rain or shine.

where two or more are gathered

never ceases to make me chuckle

hi there - need some more cat food?