Meditating in the garden, I empty out
My too-busy mind for a little while -
It's not nirvana, but it's not bad.
No nirvana is nirvana, I decide.
Look at me! I'm the Buddha
Of Blackburn Drive in Davis, California.
My too-busy mind for a little while -
It's not nirvana, but it's not bad.
No nirvana is nirvana, I decide.
Look at me! I'm the Buddha
Of Blackburn Drive in Davis, California.
**
A dragonfly, black
and gold, circles my window.
Life - perfect, gorgeous.
and gold, circles my window.
Life - perfect, gorgeous.
**
When did I open the door?
I put my arms around her that first time
and hoped for a world that felt the same way.
It was close to midnight
with a bright moon above Haight Street, San Francisco
- it cut right through the wisps of fog -
and I was thinking that I could love her,
that it would be easy to love her, like opening a door
that had been long closed for no reason.
I smiled and she smiled back,
her face was in the 'kiss me' position.
That's when I opened the door, and it's still open
right now, even as I write.
I put my arms around her that first time
and hoped for a world that felt the same way.
It was close to midnight
with a bright moon above Haight Street, San Francisco
- it cut right through the wisps of fog -
and I was thinking that I could love her,
that it would be easy to love her, like opening a door
that had been long closed for no reason.
I smiled and she smiled back,
her face was in the 'kiss me' position.
That's when I opened the door, and it's still open
right now, even as I write.
**
Lake Solano, Putah Creek. A ghost picnic.
Early afternoon, passing the dried corn stalks
in the fields that reached across the flat lands
to the hills drained by the green water creek.
We drive with the sun straight overhead
and Emmylou Harris sings through the speakers,
this in a car so old it creaks and groans
from the labor of driving us, both in our sixties.
We find a place to be and spread out
our picnic lunch under an old oak with bees
and blue jays investigating our food.
A beautiful day, an old husband and wife
eating and chatting in the shade near a creek.
The ghost of the son we lost is here, too,
and when the food is done, we break down
as we do everyday, everyday, everyday.
Early afternoon, passing the dried corn stalks
in the fields that reached across the flat lands
to the hills drained by the green water creek.
We drive with the sun straight overhead
and Emmylou Harris sings through the speakers,
this in a car so old it creaks and groans
from the labor of driving us, both in our sixties.
We find a place to be and spread out
our picnic lunch under an old oak with bees
and blue jays investigating our food.
A beautiful day, an old husband and wife
eating and chatting in the shade near a creek.
The ghost of the son we lost is here, too,
and when the food is done, we break down
as we do everyday, everyday, everyday.
**
by james lee jobe
Willie Nelson, GRAVEDIGGER
Please support this blog with a small donation through the the Buy Me A Coffee link at the bottom of the page. Thanks.
_____________
BY THE FRONT DOOR
Rain through the morning
and in the long pool a toad singing
happiness old as water
_____________
This dewdrop world.....is but a
.....dewdrop world.....and yet
--Kobayashi Issa
_____________
Resist much, obey little.
-Walt Whitman
*
Remember, no effort that we make to attain something beautiful is ever lost.
-Helen Keller
*
The past is our definition. we may strive, with good reason, to escape it, or to escape what is bad in it, but we will escape it only by adding something better to it.
-Wendell Berry
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james
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