The Earth is Round.

Kermit cradles the guitar
and mocks us with muted tunes;
Sitting on a rock the shade of earth,
now become mud as lightning shatters stone
to pieces and rain, air and light
decompose pebbles into moist sand.

Between the frog and the crooning fat piglady
a cactus displayed unashamedly stands;
It provokes you into scrutiny.
Its threadlike spikes point to all directions
as if to scold and insult the Chinese for
inventing mahjong tiles with only four
wind directions – north, south, east, west.

Look here, the spikes say,
what have you been thinking?
One dimensions are not for round planets.

Woman

A record of things to come.

A record of things to come involves a host of stuff.

One must prepare. One must be willing to die for a moment, for a lifetime, for a future that is bright.

One must deliberate and empathize with the journey of all.

One must strive to write, to dance, to sing, to bless

with grace and belief and faith in the unknown,

that which has yet to be known,

that which has yet to see.

To revel in the goodness of all

and in the unity , connectedness of life.

In Truth, one must believe.

In Prosperity, in Life and Death and life after death.

One must do all this.

Fountain of Being.

I have just read his words and I am struck with knowing. He gave an account of his journey, a mere glimpse of the indescribable though not unfathomable. I am stunned by recognition.

There was another entry, an FAQ, but I merely scanned through it. Did not read. I did not want ideas getting ahead of me. I want to know the answers to the FAQ myself. This way, I will have no doubt, no single doubt that what I will discover and echoed by many others is TRUE.

Since this morning, I have been in meditation. Meditating while doing everything I needed to do. I got up and flowed with the energy. The energy that’s ever-present. It was like I was my self but not really my self. The movements, the routine was familiar. I moved according to how I move. I know the movements to be mine. But they were not mine. And they were mine. They were me and not me and me.

I am one, two, three and one. The triple and the one. They are manifesting. You know them.

It’s here, there, everywhere, up, down, under, beside, over, by the sidewalk, in the canteen, along the road, in bed, out of bed, in the playpen and garden and walls and cities and floors and moonbeams.

Hope of the Monks.

Monks are leading protests in Burma. Monks, spiritual advisers and teachers, are showing the world that dissent is fine. That dissent is desirable. That dissent is needed.

Time and again, the world has witnessed miracles of a possible kind. Miracles of struggle, of strength, of collective bargaining. It’s as if people finally find themselves saying No to how things are, how things have been, and change is necessary, inevitable, must happen now. We start to be actors, to be active, to be instigators and demonstrators of change.

Gandhi’s famous words: Be the change you want to be. And the monks are doing it. Doing it for humankind, for everyone and everything. They are leading, and their example serves as a validation.

We are to learn from this. We are to be inspired of this. We are to be hopeful.