Sunday, September 13, 2009


I-I-I-I-I-I-I (spoken sing-song like the Angel in Tony Kushner's Angels in America)






oolong tea

from a


and the wind

is blowing

-- or --

Is it the

leaves that are blowing?

A Zen master said

it is our minds that are moving...

Next to the teapot is a beautiful orange-y ripe peach with red markings -- but not for long -- 'cuz I'm going to devour this juicy wonder. I will take a photo of it first, Just in case I want to paint it. I read once that Mme. Matisse (Henri's wife) would become angry with Henri for bringing home beautiful fruits and vegetables when she thought they were poor. Instead of eating them, he'd arrange a still-life. By the time Henri finished the painting, most of the fruits had become soft and old. I like that story, first, because of the Spirit to create and the emanations of Light and Color that surged through him and the fruit, second, because Henri knew he was rich beyond measure to be so inSpired, enThused, and inFused with Light and Color, and thirdly, because I like to imagine Henri in his suit painting (he always painted wearing a suit jacket and trousers) in a stream of light at a wooden table where a bowl of fruit glowed for him.

Sunday, September 06, 2009

The Wisdom of Wind, the Power of Trees

Today is Sunday.

The air is different today than yesterday. The leaves are swishing more and it feels cooler and more like Autumn. As I begin writing this entry, I am listening to Krishna Das singing these words from his Door of Faith CD, "I have found a way to live in the presence of the Lord..." interspersed with the chant, "Rama Rama Rama Sita Rama Rama Ram...."

I feel relieved when the CD comes to an end, as KD's singing competes with my writing mind. Right on cue, the mower that's been droning nearby stops, too. Ahhhhhh, just the sounds of swishing leaves now, melodic wind chimes, and the scratchy lapping up sound of Yuki's tongue licking a bit of coconut oil from a plastic tarp.

There are other sounds, too -- high bird chirpings, voices of neighbors coming in and out of range, the metal on metal sound of screen doors opening and closing, crunchy leaves on cement patio being swept by a broom, the occasional car driving past, staccato tweet tweet tweet of a bird, and the swirling sweetness of wind chimes. The overriding sound I hear, though, is that of Autumn: the music that trees and bushes make as wind circulates around and through leaf and branch, down to their roots, massaging their trunks.

"Soon it will be time for us to be quiet," they say. "For now, let us dance and sing and enjoy the rush of wind on our stems, bark, and leaves."

Who's Kissing Who? (image from my 52 Weeks Set on flickr)