Mark Foote

"and we shall tell you, tell you what you wish to know!" went on the crone, ignoring the sage's remark. Whisking the blanket aside, a small cauldron appeared, still steaming although no trace of any fire was evident. "I see, many things" croaked the crone, "a man who has hung himself, for the sake of his girlfriend, who has spent days attempting to gain peace and contentment from one who has refused her!" The sage turned slightly red, and fumbled for his heart medication, but mumbled "go on!" "first, you must cross my palm with silver!" spat the crone. Reaching in his pocket, the sage brought forth a small coin, with some very strange markings on it. "Where did you get that!", whispered the woman, as she snatched it from his hand. "Very well, that will do; I see, many people waiting, and no one laughing; I see, a dark wine, that cannot be drunk; and for you, I see no place in the mountains, but only this street and a bright fountain." The sage bowed his head to the old woman, and turned to go; he thought for just a moment he could smell the perfume that his recent abductor had worn for the whole three days, no doubt to cover some unimaginable body odor, but he shook his head and walked on down the street without looking back.

and yet here we are just here; mapped from everywhere each action returns

passing Hamlet's Mill the substance of all being herewith enfolded (excellent job of patching, Artform, thank you)

free of a 'freedom' and twice as bad as ever stumbling in the dark

a road that never ceases to amaze my feet stumbling in the dark

only you decide when you want to know, that you have no choice at all

the next universe same as the old universe don't get fooled again (thanks to apepch7 for the link on "dark flow"- fascinatin')

open to the flow all along the shoreline, salt singing in the veins

all comes by the way like footfalls in the darkness striking my own han ("The han is a wooden board struck with a mallet to announce the beginning meditation in Zen monasteries", from buddhism.about)

collected reserve scattered with the wind again nothing left but what

I'd have to say that it was news to me, that Sai Baba abuses his young male followers. Guess I just missed out on that one; I watched the whole video last night, thanks, Drew. I think the moral of the story, if in need my friend, is a man of amazing presence does not know what to do with his own sexual nature. I personally don't believe Jesus performed any miracles, but then, I'm a fan of the Gospel of Thomas (and of Mary), not particularly of John. I think Gautama the Buddha knew the most amazing things about suffering and human well-being, and I'm not sure he understood correctly what goes on with spiritual insight and human sexuality. He certainly had some strong and unfavorable views of the role of women in a male spiritual seeker's life. At least Gautama stated publicly that the ability to communicate the teaching was the greatest miracle, and correctly identified the performance of miracles and fortune telling as sideshows (my opinion, the "correctly" part, I admit). Wasn't it amazing that in the video, the Hard Rock Cafe founder who is a disciple of Sai Baba said he believed the alegations against Sai Baba (vis-a-vis pedophile activity), but it didn't change the feelings and respect he had for Sai Baba.

when parked in the road do as the road parkers do sit tight and hang loose

constellations awed looking down at the humans shining bright at night (because they went drinking with steeleye span in their hearts and on their lips, no doubt)

nothing found in there up the sleeve, nothing- the hat, rabbit gone, empty

trip over shoelace ass over teacup, into the nature of mind

I am in between when I am that I am; and, that's all that I am. (apologies to Popeye?)

energize the soul dust bunnies underfoot, do your shoe-leather thing!

who moved- you, or me; only the wind in the shape of a dust devil (hope the thread is patched)

how can I stay still stillness in contrast, the heart of a dust devil

stillness in contrast to the motion of the night alive with feeling

grey sea and green sward cold wind blowing up the slope mustard riotous

life's testimony a strange liqueur so bitter and so sweet- so drunk!

you contortionist! lift that leg, tote that butt barge fly up in the air

TTB obsessed T & A, a better guess look behind, ahead