Friday, December 14, 2007
I have stuff.
As a wantabee hippy in the 60s,
I thought I could reduce
my belongings to what
would fit in a duffel bag.
I even included the provisions
for a darkroom, and jumped onto
a bus to Oregon.
Now, if I only had two of everything,
I would not feel so excessive.
Somehow I've acquired multiples of
multiples, and only their inventory
list would fit into the duffel bag.
If my brain remained a mirror image
of the simplicity of
that old army duffel bag,
I wouldn't be so alarmed.
But no, as I look at my piles of papers
and stacks of computer equipment,
video tapes, and books, I can't
help but think that my clutter
must be a reflection of my noodle —
a dead ringer for the serpents of Medusa's head.
To Kim Mosley ’s “Meteor” on the Eve of the Election Ooh, coming right at us the slam! It hurls us upside down and sideways splas...
Pulse The pulsing sounds of color reverberate in kaleidoscopic bits that scatter in pieces of beat, strands of band, shards of bard,...
I was going to write something about the difference between grieving and compassion. If we are all suffering, as Buddha surmised, then w...