Someone had faked his death. i
tell my friends i can do this too, and fall to the ground,
where i lay with my eyes closed. Slowing heart rate and respiration,
i feel myself moving away, until i hear their voices from a
distance. A woman playfully blows into my ear, but i feel only
a pleasant breeze. i feel how much energy oconsciousness demands;
while here everything takes are of itself. i don't want to
This morning I walk under the
bridge past the non-objective iron sculpture, Balch Creek to the left, as I enter the forest. A
single leaf sails down, dipping and spinning. Watching it fall,
I sigh in a wilderness where a billion species live interdependently.
A runner flies over the stone-spiked
path like a lung-gom-pa.
Behind him, an old man and a black dog are slowly approaching.
after his master,
the dog suddenly stops,
and lifts his leg.
"Is this the path to the
Japanese Garden?" I ask.
"Yes," he replies.
Continuing on, soon man and dog
are approaching me again!
"Did you get there?" he
asks, a smile playing in the dog's
dark eyes. I admit that I hadn't.