Secret Ingredient 

El Maestro

Backyard baby back ribs, and Carlos even let me in on the secret ingredient to his addicting barbecue sauce (and it’s not la coca!)

What does the world need? –To listen. And I looked up from my inner question and saw music, the answer. Music, the best tool for teaching us how to use our ears. Then comes prophecy: to hear the truth only when ears can discern harmony from discord, truth from deceit. Read More

A Day in San Bernardo

Carlos

Don Carlos, the professional classical guitarist from whom I rented a room in Medellín, asked if I would feed the five tortugas in the atrium paradise under the lime tree and bougainvillea, and then accompany him in singing Renaissance music. We spent the afternoon learning lullabies and laments, and after much digging through ancient sheet music, he found the treasured García Lorca song arrangements.  Read More

Cobbling

Photo by Beorn DuPont

Breakfast beating at the hunger hour. The cobbler ate clams and drank Meritage, and Charlie from California called us all ‘homies’ while the phones kept buzzing. Bzzz, and Tim with his mandolin and Levon with his grooving views on duty and Dao while the ball of sun-dried tomato/basil whipped butter sat there wuwei… They were billy goats gruff and I coveted their lack of sensibilities. Merv, that ancient free spirit of a shoemaker, wandered town as a troll at SnowDown and asked around about “them hill-billies.”  Read More

Tribal Land


Driving north of Ignacio, the blue star kachina and the angled faces of Chimney Rock, cabbage and carrots shredded into Planck-slaw: the frequency so low it twirls in no pattern.  Quanta emitted from this body therefore is great, hot, and feels like Read More

Theravada Travels

Painting by Marisa Darasavath

January and February of 2011, we spent our days walking along Yunnan back roads; paths intersecting the tea fields of Xishuangbanna, literally a stone’s throw to Myanmar; the dirt roads and jungle paths (barefoot, oh the leeches!) of northern Laos where we paid Read More

Fluorescence

“Redlight” by Katrin Fridriks

In the Tibetan mountains I retired to my little cot every night, happy to soon commune with my Lord. But these sallow eyes and wan complexion in this hive of ten-thousand street lamps, only want to escape, sacrificing prayer for distant and pale dreams. And the screen projects blasphemies, spitting them Read More

Loss and Viruses, A Train-ride to DC, Sisterhood

Glassworks

On the train to DC to visit Bek, a man came from a few rows up and across the aisle to tap my shoulder and hold up a screen that read, “Will you help me?” He is deaf and needed to call his case-worker, Mrs. Allen, to let her know that he is on the train. I called her and she told me that it was okay for him to go back to his apartment. I typed her reply and as I got up to return to my seat he leaned in and told me, “I just lost my family in an explosion.”  Read More

Uncarving Lines

spilled-food-art-giulia-bernardelli-36

Art by Giulia Bernardelli

Reading Crime and Punishment in the dark and wet rural Chinese winter and Joshua got sick with a fever on the border town.  Wanting to kill the nihilist prick, “Rodya,” I explored the streets alone and brought back a paper bowl of noodles.  The inherent problem with writing is that it delineates thought and action.  Can we write and free ourselves from further categorization, further erring by playing tricks that depend on the duality illusion? Read More