when you died
even the sacramento river became still
with empty eyes i watch
waiting for the river to flow once again
silence is my only balm
a mother and father with their child on a leash
dirty windows on an old house that needs repair
a fallow field
as muddy as my life
widens across a flat lowland
and my life widens as well
from this creek i emerge
I dreamed I was in a house in England, where one corner of one small room was in France. This room had a table where wealthy French people met and ate, and one little door that let out into France. In the English part of the house, no one liked me, for I was Welsh. They weren't mean, just cold and standoffish. Perhaps the French would like me, they kept saying. So I went into the French room, and they did like me! They loved me! They gave me ancient books written in script that seemed flowing and lovely. There was laughter, fine dining and music, and when it was time to go, they led me to the small doorway into France, not back to England. I walked into a rolling, sunny countryside of grapes. Suddenly, I could sing in French.
Do your little bit of good where you are; it's those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world.
There is no such thing as paranoia. Your worst fears can come true at any moment.
-Hunter S. Thompson
Maybe this body is a jail cell; have you ever considered that?
We have within us the seeds of despair, of anger, but we also have the seeds of compassion, awakening, Buddha-nature, and mindfulness.
-Thich Nhat Hanh