So I went to do yoga tonight, but toward the end of class I was losing the present moment, I had thoughts interrupting that nice white light, but what's funny is what was disturbing me. I've lost my copy of The Teaching of Buddha which I've had since I "acquired" it from a bedside table in Tokyo almost 11 years ago. I was in savasana wondering where it was. I think it may be sitting in a motel bathroom in NC. Damn impermanence. I had all my favorite pages marked. oh well, does matter moving from here to there really matter?

Now, I'm not saying i'm pious or anything. Now i'm sitting here drinking a glass of nice cheap Spanish wine, taking my evening one b.r. at a time.
As always, I'm wondering what's going on. Latin music is playing on the radio, and the whole universe is breathing in on itself.

24 hours later I'm sitting here having another glass of wine, procrastinating departure to live reggae music. This young man will soon be on the move. Am I crazy? I don't think so, but things are becoming hauntingly magical. They always have been. But suddenly things are starting to look as tripped as trip without the trip. The tangled lines are untangled and all the lines suddenly lead up the same mountain. What is truth but another illusion? The truth itself is infinite, incomprehensible, it is before time, the Alpha and the Omega, and we are only little wriggling lines on the pages of time in the midst of timelessness.

Aloha

See you at the show?