They have no final essence

Ephemeral

Carefree

Like butterflies

darting here and there

Threatening

Like piercing eyes

and a clenched fist

They can be a source of

great joy or harm.

Vessels of love.

Bullets of hurt.

They hold no ultimate power

or meaning.

Yet, if allowed,

do both.

They can be remembered

as something real or

   forgotten as they are not.

They infect and affect my mind.   

Are illusionary

in delusional

and illusionary ways.

Ultimately, not to be trusted

      For their ability to be

      Misinterpreted.

I am...

                                                                       Self Portrait 6/17

  The best wisdom is to make no identification of 

“I am” with anything.                      

The Screwball

My latest piece of art is entitled 

The Screwball—an odd or eccentric person.

There can never be enough people like

this in my life. I find them interesting 

and for the most part highly entertaining. 

Some people might think they have a

few screws loose, but the alternative 

would be to have them tightened down.

Creativity abounds in them, which is the 

right brain stuff, depicted here in

green as opposed to the dark side 

where analytics and boredom reign.

Leaning towards the unpredictable is

what this character is doing. We just 

never know and that is always better 

than thinking we do. 

Coming and Going

The Realm of Absolute Truth does not exist

in the understanding of reality. There is no 

path to this understanding, no realization, no

awakening. There is no goal, no achievement.

All matter in the universe (if there is matter in

the universe and if there is a universe) does not

exist. For these are merely names and thoughts

and are part of what has been non-existent from

the start. There is no coming and there is no 

going, no being. Things are just as they are, etc. 

And, we call these by name. We label these. 

We venture from the absolute truth of everything

to the ignorance of everything; thinking that

everything exits, has a name, a purpose. In our

more delusional states we even want to hold on

to these in the vain hope that they are ours, 

possess some stability, can be counted on to exist

for us. We even have labels for birth and death. 

We call them birth and death. 

On our best days we say things are coming and going, 

we may claim to understand impermanence and 

embrace it. On our very best days we

do let go, accept what is, struggle 

against the habit of labeling, believing in

the existence of things which can be named.

I think, therefore I am as a conclusion

drawn from the great gift of a mind; 

a gift which is the source of so much ignorance and pain. 

There is no Truth, no Innate-Born Wisdom, no Karma, 

and no effect therefrom. Who are we now? When we die?

A current manifestation of what is, subject to change, never perishing.  

CONNECTED

The air is pure silk this morning. Last night’s storm left in it’s wake a gentle breeze, clarity of sight and sound, sharp relief. I can hear the most minute sounds; see the edges and contrasts of every existence. The leaves in the trees are barely whispering as they sway with the grass. The birdsong is content and happy. There is a definite celebration taking place here in this sanctuary. Where did the people go? The humidity? The anxious feelings? Grateful to be sitting here amidst this quietude alone, but hardly so.

 --Villa des Amis/August 1, 2016

CURIOUS

              Villa des Amis

Taking a walk in the garden can be a revelatory act. 

Or not. 

It depends on my state of mind, awareness, openness, curiosity. It saddens me to see how incurious I can be, moving through a space lost in my own story, thoughts, the next sentence, eager to add something while all around is being lost: the church bells, birdsong, the dying rose bloom, an aunt colony, my own breath, how that arbor is shading the hostas now that the winter months are gone, or that the leaves will fall like ripe fruit as the warmth of the days retreat in favor of another season, the wonderment of how many more seasons I have to appreciate the impermanence that surrounds me, while having a desire that this day last in the face of so much evidence it won’t. Look, there’s a blade of grass leaning in the opposite direction from its neighbors. 

LOVE

LPC 2002

       There are drawings that manifest 

       education and there are drawings 

                  that manifest love.