Car Wash

Ball Bearing Self-Portrait

...spiritual Stuff was a Waste

Care

Repetition

The Dining Room Table

Navy Seal Succumbs to Cockroach

Selfile with New Pup

The Vast Dark Sea

Tranquility of Tranquility

Shedding Little Branches

In the Moment

Images as Signs

Impermanence

Perfect Landscape

Just the Fodder

Beautiful Poop on my Car

Mr. Fixit

The Sidewalk

I tried (and failed) to convince my students that it was better to be able to appreciate a sidewalk than to own a yacht. With the sidewalk there is no need to keep it from changing.

Where Do I Dwell?

 Where do I dwell?

In anger,

in forgiveness,

in peace,

in privilege,

in emptiness,

in self,

in stories,

in my house,

in love,

in confusion,

in Austin.

How can I be dwelling in so many places?

Where do I not dwell? In all the places where I’ve not been…

and not heard about. And in all those places I’ve rejected.

I wish to dwell in those places as well for they keep me alive

even as I reject them.

Or could I just dwell in mindfulness… and in no place else.

What would that look like?

How would that feel?

Who would be there to greet me? Me?

Being Lazy

We could be lazy, throwing to the wind any aspiration or ambition. We could lie on the beach, close our eyes, and listen to the surf. We could smile at the cactus sprouting new growth and a single blossom. We could watch our disabled squirrel land on the ground so awkwardly. We could watch the sun play hide and go seek with the clouds. We could hold our loved ones, steadily, lazily, without moving, where our breathing becomes one with theirs. We could just sit on a cushion like Buddha and do nothing. We could be lazy and who would notice? Others might be so busy that they wouldn't even see one doing nothing-one simply enjoying the fruits of their simple presence on the Earth.

Radiation Rodin at Chinese Tea House

Henry Moore's Mother

I was told the story he represented her with a small head because it was hard for him as a little kid to see her head looking up at her.

Not knowing...

Not knowing is most intimate (Zen koan). I am always making up stories. What is the story here? Is this a thing that others have seen?

My shadow meets Buddha

I screamed, “Please don't clean the baking powder spilled on the counter. It's the galaxy!”

 

Homage to Hokusai at the car wash

Hokusai

I said I didn't like art...

Two Dogs, Mollie and Joba, Waffling

Not Knowing is Most Intimate