Mirror Mirror On The …

Who is the most nonverbal of them all?

Outside, the huge, pink lotuses open their mouths above the pond: prana-valves.

Me: Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.

Toto: …Well aren’t you a first-rate genius!

It’s the kind of heat that makes every living thing become conservative.  Sarcasm burns too many calories.

The most vivacious quality here belongs to the trees and the cascade of greenery, even in dry season.  The yogis can stick their foot in their inner thigh and pull up the bandhas all they like:  they still won’t achieve photosynthesis.

Yesterday, we went impromptu to a party where the Thais grandmas donned outfits of neon hue, stuck flowers in their caps, and danced to bring in the rain spirits.  Their get-up included dark  sunglasses and they smoked cigarettes to ground themselves. As they one-two’d, the jasmine garlands around their necks pulsed with smell.  Bright green whiskey was the traffic light for the spirits: we’re in the mood to be inhabited.

This is a brief placeholder for the long catalogue of recent experience for which there is no language.

Anyway, it’s mango season.  Wu-long tea and the plop of frogs brings in the dawn and the coolest part of the day.  Everything else belongs to the agni of mother earth.


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One Response to “Mirror Mirror On The …”

  1. (0v0) Says:

    Humidity driving down the brain-waves.

    And the jasmine up.


    Perhaps it will rain.

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