A time to return home
and be alone
has arrived

And despite all appearances,
deep down we have always been
and aware
between thoughts



On a low grassy hill
on a dark blue summer night,
twenty-nine kalimbas were played slowly and gently,
with plenty of space between notes

Made from oak and teak,
walnut and neem,
they sang

in harmony with all of the crickets and toads
while lightning bugs wove through the song



Crow pheasants sang in the morning,
gently waking other beings,
as butterflies danced in the air

Thoughts dissipated in the calm,
while flowers stood guard,
keeping drama and din at bay

Homemade music,
wordless and gentle,
flowed from porch to porch,
as desires and identities fell away

Stars and lightning bugs filled the sky,
while crickets and toads sang lullabies
in the garden of peace and calm

a place to simply be

a japanese dimension

A Japanese dimension

The town had the good fortune to have
a community of Japanese stoners,
who displayed all of the wonderful
and none of the terrible
aspects of Japan

They were calm and quiet,
peaceful and respectful,
honest and polite,
comfortable with silence,
and when they did something,
they did it well

But then conditions changed,
most of the Japanese moved away,
and the town was no longer as sane without them

And as the year came to an end,
it was clear it was time to go
and make a new home
somewhere with a contingent of Japanese



A gathering of tumbleweeds roamed the land,
leaving seed here and there,
pausing now and then,
making no decisions
and going
wherever the wind took them

Detached from their former identities,
empty of thoughts, opinions and mind,
they were free
to simply be