In a dream a friend carried his baby on his back and pointed a DP-12 shotgun at me, I didn’t laugh enough at one of his jokes or because that’s just what is done in these days of deconstruction.
Conflict resolution doesn’t mean what it used to.
Right to bear arms doesn’t mean what it used to.
Friendship doesn’t mean what it used to. Read More
Once upon many a callow night I would make myself lost amidst the darkness of the Rampart Range ponderosa pine forest. I romanticized the mystery I exuded and the closeness I felt, alone, to the towering trees and the midnight pin-pricked vault above. “Why did she suddenly run off like that?” new friends would ask around the campfire, its hallowed light. Read More
Remember how after Tsewang and I wrote the bilingual love ballad with the first line being so intentionally cheesy because I only wanted to hear Karpu’s passionate ten year-old heart sing it, but his sister stated as a matter of fact, “No. He’s badly tuned.” And remember how after tea and before our long, bumpy cab ride to Swayambhu from the Nagarkot tower where Tsering Medo and Nima along with a couple dozen college kids hopped the barbed wire to stand on the gravity station to get the ghosts to come out, Joshua suggested to our party that we find a toilet. And Tsering asked with a naughty smile, “Little little or big and long?” Remember how on the sunny laundry day in Kathmandu, Read More
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
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
The bus dropped the five of us exchange students at the far end of Tagong town on the Tibetan plateau. Packs on backs, wide open grasslands laid before us like our certain bright futures as Mt. Yala rose up Read More
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
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
He is a living God, so we don’t need your laws of nutrition and insurance: Whatever we consume with a prayerful heart, we get what we need Read More