a bed made from stones and branches

Amedeo Modigliani

"There is nowhere to arrive except the present moment."

– Thích Nhất Hạnh

In the end it is our eyes that have dried up and crumbled into dust. It is our lungs that have been filled with concrete. Our vocals once made lovely sounds, but now? Just these sad croaks, like a very old and lonely frog, whose end is near. When you no longer wish to think or feel, you close your dry and dusty eyes, pull the blanket up over your head, and let out a croak. Be patient, fool, your own end is near, too. Such is life.  

James Lee Jobe 

Massoud Arabshahi

"I have just three things to teach: simplicity, patience, compassion. These three are your greatest treasures." 

- Lao Tzu

It was a stranger’s bed, and it was made out of stones and branches, but it was empty and you were tired—you slept there anyway. Forty days and nights passed before you woke up again, and when you did, you discovered that you had a new name and a new face.

You had walked a long way to get to that bed, across a valley that spelled fresh and clean, and the stranger who owned it was a woman fresh from a shower. She wanted you as much as you wanted her, and so you answered to whatever name she called you.

After making love, you are hungry, nearly starving. You ate the grapes, you ate the bread and hummus, and you licked your fingers clean one at a time. There was no clock. You did not know the time or where you were. What is the difference?

It was a stranger’s bed, and it was made out of stones and branches, and this time you were not alone. Still naked and bearing your touch and your seed, she lay down in the middle of the bed, and you climbed on to join her, circling around and around like a dog.

- James Lee Jobe

Anthony Armstrong

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James