• We returned from France wholly refreshed and beaming. I was sad about my Gramma’s death, but felt her so very close in my heart and memories that it didn’t really seem entirely real…
• Until I went down to Florida for the memorial. Being with my family was a bit rocky from time to time, but it all worked out into something good and meaningful before the end. My brothers were especially wonderful during this time, and even the trip to the emergency room (oh, poor Uncle Ronnie’s nose!) had its moments of sweetness. Aunt Ute and I had some good time together. I was able to set up Papa Tom’s computer for him and help out a little bit with some things while I was there. We had some great food (Roy is a great cook!) and some time to talk. The church ceremony was ok, but the backyard goodbye with flowers was much more authentic and touching. Mum set a good example for the ceremony, and we kept the tone for our own goodbyes. All good.
  

  Nancy (Mom) and Ronnie

  

  Ute and Ronnie

  

  Heidi - Michael - Mom - Roy

• The next weekend after Florida, I went to Colorado. The first stop was in Boulder. I managed to drop my camera hiking, and it was so dented at the edge of the lens that it wouldn’t even turn on. That made me pretty mad, because I only managed to get a handful of photos – and just when I wanted to capture my surroundings! I wanted to be reminded of that great sense of expansion and height and perspective.

  
  I just missed seeing Kelly (boo!), but I did get to spend a little time with my friend Vance and we shared a very pleasant dinner (figs and polenta – yum!). It was good to talk about the usual topics in person for a change. Sometimes it’s easy to misunderstand someone when you can’t see facial expressions. I did a fair bit of people-watching in Boulder, too – it’s a really interesting town. Bonus! I found a salesperson at Red Wing Shoe Store who understood both my weird feet and the exact pros and cons of their stock. I was very impressed. Picked up a pair of sneakers and a pair of hiking boots that don’t hurt when I wear them. Finally! Of course, it helps when you have the right size – evidently I’m now a 9-1/2! Heidi Sasquatch!

• Next, off to Littleton, where I was finally able to pry the dent back enough for the lens to work again on the camera. I had a total blast at the annual BBQ/Volleyball gathering, and especially liked meeting Danny’s family (at last). I chickened out of the volleyball game (even after getting new sneakers and a “serve tutorial” from Danny). I hadn’t seen my dear cousin Kim since our canoe trip, and Kim has been working really hard all year – so the gathering was all for Kim (according to Danny). “Kim deserved it!” Hee hee. Their son Zaqq is all grown up now and very reflective and good to talk with – and I learned how to grill unshucked corn. Yummy! It makes my spirit feel grounded just to be around Kim – wish I could see her more often.
  

  Kim and Heidi

  Her sis (my cuz) Jillian was there with her boyfriend Bill and her daughter Jynessica. I can’t even think of the last time I’ve seen Jillian! I got some great pics of them, and even caught Jynessica smiling The whole day was shiny and happy, even in the shadow of the Columbine memorial… of course, if Kim had been on the scene then, I honestly don’t think it would have happened. She’s that good.

• I’ve been really productive at work – enjoying it, actually looking forward to going to work. That’s a good feeling. I think vacations help a lot.
• Enjoying Molly kitten so much! She is so cute and funny! The newest thing is that I’ve discovered how she is getting black stuff on her – she has been napping in the fireplace! Guess I’ll have to clean all that out, but I’m not sure exactly how to deter her other than putting the fire on. That might be too scary….
• As far as items in the news go, I can’t help but think that the United States sure has turned into a strange place…we’ve completely lost our sense of priorities. Sometimes all I can do is shake my head ruefully and laugh.
• So I’m finally home on the weekend and I’m enjoying a sunny, breezy Saturday. I’ve been messing around on Facebook for far too long today, but I’ve enjoyed feeling a bit zoned-out. It’s been an emotional summer; I think I needed the down time.

Have a great weekend!

I ended up ahead by a little, but I bought a bunch of stuff, too. Everything I bought ended up being from our next-door neighbors.

The best part was that they placed our kitchen table and chairs, and I bought the one they were going to sell. Big improvement! I’ve been waiting for years to get rid of that set. Yay!

I also got a big whiteboard and a big oscillating fan for John.
For Ben, a little fan.

For me -
An adjustable table/stand thingie.
AND a vacuum cleaner to replace the one that’s been giving me grief.
AND sushi dishes.
AND a hallway rug.
AND oh! clothes! Several outfits! Gorgeous stuff!

So I’ve made the first cut into the garage project. There’s a nice slice of stuff that’s gone now.

Today, I’m sore from all the hauling and climbing – but it was worth it.

I’ve got a ton of other work to do today, though – so I’d best get back to it.

• Equinox Weekend – Inconsolably depressed, and for no good, acceptable (rational) reason.

  Spiraling outside my will. Surrounded by a wall. Falling down a well.

  But then… the thunder quieted a little and – between the soundcracks of the whirlwind – I began to hear multiple voices in my spirit.

  … wake up… wake up… wake up, love… look who’s here to see you…

  Friends. Light. Comfort….

  Take heart…. open your eyes… Arise!

  And then the gifts arrived, one after another…

• 3/24 – Dinner at the fantastic Rathbun’s Restaurant with Joseph and Marie-Claude and David. Friend vibes overwhelming – like an angel rescue. Readers of this blog will already know how much I admire Joseph and his work. I hadn’t seen him since I was last in Paris, and if anything, we’re more simpático now than we were then. It was totally lovely to meet Marie-Claude at last, and so fun to sneak out for a smoke with David. Even our waiter was fun. Oh! The food! They had yummy Wellfleet clams, and the Lamb Scaloppini was to die for. Oh! The conversation. I was totally relaxed and free. I haven’t had so much fun in ages. Just what I needed – thank you, cosmos.
  

  Heidi, Joseph, David, Marie-Claude

  

  John, Heidi and Joseph

• 3/26 – The big event – Joseph’s terra incOgnitO gallery opening at David’s beautiful Wm. Turner Gallery in Atlanta.

  Take a look at the art! I’m writing an essay on the artwork (stay tuned), but meanwhile listen to this interview. Since Joseph’s art was on the cover, they also had a copy of John’s book there. Very nice.

  

  Friends turned up! Jerry was embroiled in conversations brilliant. Robert and Sloane (who appeared with a baby! how did they hide that little gem from us?!?!?) dropped in and on such as day as that there is much hugging. Geoff and Curzio got in some good conversations with Joseph and John, and I drank champagne and reveled in my happiness level. We went out for snackies afterwards and I got to meet David’s wife – a very cool woman who is – unfortunately – allergic to Facebook. Wah. I was able to speak at greater length with Marie-Claude, and hear all about their impressions of Atlanta. There were foot rubs! Perfect evening.

• 3/27 – Jeff and Ann made a very brief swoop-in visit to Atlanta for an occasion, and we arranged to meet them with some of their friends at Manuel’s Tavern (prior to having dinner at Cafe di Sol). Manuel’s is the hangout of Atlanta liberals – yes, we exist! John and I showed up at the appointed hour, and it was hilarious because we wandered all around seeking but not finding. I had never actually met Jeff or Ann. I adore all of Jeff’s fiction (read him – he’s top notch – really, maybe the best living American writer) and we had all become friends via online interconnections, but I wasn’t completely confident about picking them out at a crowded bar/restaurant. John and I did several circuits around the place, garnering some curious looks, but didn’t see them anywhere. We saw a young woman standing outside, also looking around and waiting, but we didn’t think to ask her if she was looking for them, too. Finally, we walked down the street to see if they had decided just to go straight to Cafe di Sol – which turned out to be the old Cafe Diem where I spent far too much time as a graduate student. Nope.

  Finally, we went back to Manuel’s and ordered a drink at the bar. That was fortuitous, since we then became involved in conversation with two very charming men – one who lived in a part of France that we’ve wanted to visit (John cornered him for details), and another that I clicked with right away – he works at GA Tech and is originally from New York. We were soon trading stock phrases in northern accents and having a grand time. We all exchanged contact information…. Then, I had a sensation on the back of my skull, looked toward the door, and there they were, just walking in!

  And yes, the beautiful young woman – Desirina – a talented writer in her own right- had also been waiting. Along with were more creative cool friends Will and Sara – but I hardly even got to talk with them at all! Why? Why? Because the restaurant was too darned noisy, that’s why! The old Cafe Diem was always more subdued – it was easier to talk then.

  

  Sara, Desirina, Heidi, Ann, John, Jeff

  John and Jeff huddled – it sounded like it was probably a fun conversation, but I only got little bits of it. I’m sorry for that, because I would have liked to talk more with Jeff, but I can’t complain because I had a fabulous time talking with Ann. She brought us issues of the magazine she edits – Weird Tales. Yes, that’s right – THE Weird Tales. Why I don’t already have a subscription to that, I have no idea (that’s been rectified). The magazine is on the ballot for a Hugo this year. Even against the steep competition, I think they’re going to take it. Ann is an amazing woman – I love her, and she is henceforth considered to be my sister, with all associated benefits.

  

  Ann with Digital Kitty

  Click! Click-click – CLICK! Thank you, benevolent deities, inc.

• 3/28 – Ok, now I’m officially over-socialled and crashing fast, but there’s more! Dear friends Mark and Marty threw a rock-climbing birthday party for their son – this was in addition to the new puppy, lucky kid. John wasn’t feeling well, so I packed up Ben and off we went.

  This is the second year they’ve done this, and there’s a confluence between me, the rock-climbing place, and the presence of pounding rain. As I approach this building, it’s pelting rain. Once I enter the building, the rain dies down and stops. Silly, you say?

  Yes, but oh, it goes further! I accompanied Mark to go fetch the pizza and ice-cream cake. Again, as we approached the building – RAIN! Once inside… no rain. It made me feel a little like Tyrone Slothrop in Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow. Sometimes even magical paranoia can be fun. We had a low-key and enjoyable afternoon. I got exactly three photos before my cellphone died. Great expression, Marty!

  

  Marty

  Oh, Mark: Linen which?

• Well, then it hit. The pollen. Pollen! Pollen! More Pollen! It knocked me out for most of last week, and I’m not quite recovered even yet. But how could I let a shining week like that go by without comment?

  Thank you to my beautiful lovely smart creative wonderful friends of the spirit. You make me remember.

The month of March marks the birthdays of a disproportionate number of my kith and kin. Today alone, there are five!

One of these is my (younger) brother Michael, who is claiming to be “officially old as dirt.” When questioned about what exactly that makes me, he mentioned cosmic aether (grin).

So – Happy Birthday to all the March birthday sweeties! May you be surrounded with love, light and laughter! I love you.

March! March begins with “M”! Muah-hahahaha.

This last Thursday, we went to Ben’s school recital. Maybe it was just the mood I was in after having to arrange a whole bunch of things in a hurry before we got there – I was tired and a little punchy – but I really had to concentrate on not letting myself burst into wild raucous laughter. It’s all so unreal. The only thing that centered me at all was Ben, catching my eye and smiling at me. I love that kid. Only for him could I be dragged into such a scene.

It was held at the nearby middle school, which has a bit more room than the elementary school he attends. Middle school! Middle school begins with “M”! Muah-hahahaha.

Anyway, this was a big favor, unprecedented I think, and so everyone was being grateful and welcoming and sweet, but it was all slightly off. The principal, really a smart and lovely woman, had that warm charming “principal voice” on. It’s so over the top, even John was hiding a smile, but I can see the reason for it. She really does make the kids feel welcome and secure – and I think it works for most of the parents, too.

As usual, they held the PTA meeting before the performance. They nominated and elected next year’s officers, and approved the last meeting’s minutes, and approved the financial statement – all by the rules, but it certainly wasn’t an environment suitable for asking questions or making motions or anything of the sort. All the parents wanted was to move it along so they could watch the kids! It’s all so pro-forma. One thing that is always very funny is that they totally ignore when anyone in the audience says “Nay.” To be fair, it’s usually children who do, but not always.

I kept threatening to stand up and move that children’s recitals not be used to mandate attendance at the PTA meeting, but John talked me out of it. Move! Move begins with M! Muahhhh-hah-hahaha-hahahahaha.

There was an inspirational reading from a sweet gal that always finds something to share. This time is was from Robert Fulghum’s Uh-Oh. She read a bit of it, and then related it to the parental sense of loss as the kids grow up – and go to middle school. To me, it was clearly the parent’s perspective as it relates to their children, but she was in tears later because evidently the elementary school principal misinterpreted her intent. I assured her that the message was very clear to me, and voiced back to her my sense of the mood, content and intent. It seemed to help a little. I hope so, because although the “inspirational message” is always very sentimental, it always addresses the parents and is fitting to the occasion.

The reason for all the concern was, I think, because next up was the middle school’s assistant principal and he started with “I hope it’s not an ‘uh-oh’ for your children to come to the middle school.” He started trying to talk about school improvements, and tried to project a welcoming stance. However, he wasn’t very adroit in this kind of messaging at all, and he just didn’t have the ability to know when to stop. The more he talked, the more he dug himself in. (What? I didn’t know there were any rumors to be concerned about until just now!) The more he tried to soothe the audience, the more he invoked things that alarmed the parents. It was hilarious. Messsaging! Messaging begins with M! But is it a real word yet? I’m not sure.

They had the traditional pledge of allegiance – under God and all. I know I’m overly sensitive to this issue, but it still bugs me. I know that by the time kids have any real sense of what it means, they don’t have to do it anymore. I shouldn’t get irritated about it. As a comedian – his name escapes me at the moment – recently said, the pledge just functions as a cup of coffee for the kids, a ritual to give them a space to wake up and ready themselves. Ben salutes the flag – it’s not such a big deal. I still don’t salute the flag. My years of explaining why one shouldn’t kind of stuck with me. I noticed once again that a number of other parents don’t salute the flag either. Most, if not all, of this is because they aren’t American; there are a lot of international families in our area. I’ll bet their kids do salute though, and I think that’s inappropriate – even if you do treat a national flag as though it were a sacred object, why would you want someone pledging something that isn’t true for them just to blend in? Sigh.

The music director is really great and they are lucky to have him. He’s kind, enthusiastic and talented. He loves those kids, and they love him. He chooses somewhat challenging music for them to sing, but they really enjoy it. Music! Music begins with “M”! Muah-hahaha-ha-ha.

Ben was nervous about the performance. He asked me to grade him. “A, B, C – I can take it.” He looked so cute, waving his little headball like a muppet (Muppet! Muppet begins with M!), singing his heart out. He was buried in the mass of children, though, and I couldn’t seem to get a good picture.

Ben Recital

There were perhaps five or six songs sung, one of them in Latin. The music director actually had them doing three-part harmony, and syncopated clapping. It wasn’t bad, and although I privately thought that the selection last semester was a bit better, I gave Ben a resounding “A” on his own performance. There were a handful of really talented singers, and the normal number of kids that kind of just stood there, mouthing the words they remembered. Everyone liked the clapping parts, though, even the kids that clearly don’t like to sing, so they are at least getting a sense of rhythms. It’s all good.

The upper grade’s rendition of “The Star Spangled Banner” on the recorder almost made me fall off my chair trying not to burst into laughter. I had completely forgotten about the recorder, and the whole cultural school “thing” about playing the recorder. Does anyone play it after they graduate from public school?

Playing the Recorder

I’m not really cut out to be a suburban mom. All of my reactions seem so out of step with the other parents. If it weren’t for my overwhelming love for this one little boy, I would go into full witchy (that’s mostly with a “w” and not a “b” – and an “m” wouldn’t really make any sense here) mode. But… Mode! Mode begins with M! And MOM! MOM begins and ends with M! Muah-hahahaha-ha-ha (choke).

Well, at least I’m learning to enjoy the humorous aspects of it all.

The blog post was brought to you by the letter “M.” Mmmm-mmmmm. M.

Three Hailstones

I rushed out and made room to shelter one of the cars in the garage. That was something else! I never knew I could move all that stuff so fast!

Tornado Warning until 6:30 pm EST Wednesday

A tornado has been sighted or indicated by radar in your area – seek shelter immediately!

Oops! Better run!

Moon over Atlanta

“Then came old January wrapped well
In many weeds to keep the cold away;
Yet did he quake and quiver, like to quell,
And blow his nails to warm them if he may.”
- Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queen

I’m cold. I can’t get warm tonight.

I’m sending out hope and care and love and light to so many people I know, people I care about who have lost jobs and lost houses. There’s one smashed up car and one damaged car, a fire, and several scary medical emergencies. I’m hearing about a fair bit of smallness and meanness and drama of one kind or another, and also about how people are having a hard time making ends meet, and who are trying to navigate very difficult terrain. It seems like this should be a time when we all pull together and be more helpful and supportive of one another. Even among those who are doing relatively fine, there seems to be a widespread tendency to depression and fatigue. Perhaps it’s normal for the post-holiday January blahs, especially considering the snow and ice and flooding and who knows what else.

I’m thinking about one friend in particular tonight, a woman who not only had to go through what had to be a very frightening experience when her lovepartner had a brain aneurysm, but then had to deal with a family member who blamed the incident on the fact that her religious beliefs weren’t identical to his own. As if God would punish her – and through someone she loved – for her non-compliance to some spiritual midget’s unthinking person’s standards. Now she’s being threatened with disassociation from the rest of the family because she had the courage to point out that such a statement wasn’t very caring or supportive of family in a medical crisis. This young woman has already been through so much. She is a very compassionate and caring person. She is blunt when confronting unfairness, but she is also just learning how to really articulate a lot of things that have been painful and destructive to her – as well as things that she has learned through her own experience and insight. She is courageous and curious and she loves her boyfriend and the animals she rescues and the friends in her life. She will be ok, I know – but I can also palpably feel her sense of betrayal and pain. It must be awfully hard to deal with that on top of navigating the medical system and trying to make sure that her boyfriend is taken care of properly. He’s a stellar guy – intelligent and creative – and I know they’ll support one another through all this. He’s already doing much better. I hope that she can focus on being with him, and bracket out the rest – at least for a little while until the whole situation has a time-out.

Sometimes, though, when I hear about these things, I’m struck by the anti-agapic qualities of so many people who think they are religious, and I feel a little sick. I know that it means a lot to offer caring and support, but I also feel helpless. I have empathy, and a tendency to try to heal hurts – even just imaginatively. You never know what might help. But what do you say to someone when you can’t make anything better or easier for them? I’m thrashing around half the time myself.

I tried to watch the news tonight, and I actually couldn’t bear it. I had to walk away. I’m freezing and I can’t seem to reset my thermostat. I can’t get warm. I’m tired.

I’m thinking about all kinds of changes – how life moves on, whether or not you’re ready. I know that I have to keep starting again, and that a more hopeful-trusting-positive attitude would be vastly preferable for me. It works… then it doesn’t work. I’m full of confidence and creative ideas, then everything deflates and I find myself looking at some small small rock on the ground for ten minutes – or I realize that I’ve daydreamed several contradictory scenarios trying to work something out when I haven’t even identified what I’m practicing for – why am I creating conversations in my head? They have nothing to do with the dialogue that I’ve been trying to write – it would be great if they were. I’ve dreamed people that don’t exist, and places I’ve never been, and situations that will never exist. And I revise them – for nothing, really. It doesn’t help to know that my internal scenes are passing, and what seems so emotionally fraught will seem somewhat inconsequential and silly at some later time. It’s like when you’re a kid and you attach yourself to a song and it seems so meaningful, and then years later you have to laugh, just remembering how important and serious it seemed at the time.

I’ve been fine, then not fine, then depressed, then creative, then hopeful, then tired, then depressed again… and I’m really losing interest in my own thoughts and feelings. I just want to curl up with a book. Everything I have on hand that I haven’t already read is spiritually uplifting and hopeful and again – another wave of nausea at the thought.

I know it’s all very silly. I know that I am loved – despite how difficult I can make that – and that the wheel will turn. As scary as it can sometimes be, change is something that can be counted on. Things will change, and then they’ll change some more – everything is always in process. Trying to hang on to a static reality is deadly, anyway. It’s best to pay attention, adjust, ride it through – or surf it if you can – and be open to the bl(i)ssings as they arrive over the top of the other side.

When we drove in, there was a small gatehouse. We stopped at the gate, and a man stuck his head out and asked, “What’s your name?” John told him his own name. Ben and I were silent. He opened the gate. So, already, things were a little surreal. Why would he ask the name? How did we know that only John’s name mattered, or were we wrong about that? Was he checking against some sort of list? Or just making a note of it? Why?

The Wikipedia description:

The BAPS Shri Swaminarayan Mandir Atlanta is the sixth BAPS traditional Hindu stone temple built outside of India. It is also the largest Hindu temple of its kind outside of India. It is currently open to the public. The 32,000-square-foot (3,000 m2) temple, officially called the Shri Swaminarayan Mandir, sits on 30 acres (120,000 m2). With hand-carved stone spires that tower 75 feet (23 m), it is the the tallest building in Lilburn, Georgia, dominating the intersection of Rockbridge Road and Lawrenceville Highway. More than 1,300 craftsmen and 900 volunteers dedicated their time in putting this 34,450-piece stone marvel together. More than 4,500 tons of Italian Carrara marble, 4,300 tons of Turkish limestone, and 3,500 tons of Indian pink sandstone was quarried and shipped to the craftsmen in India. Then, all of the nearly 35,000 pieces were shipped to the United States. It serves members of the Swaminarayan branch of Hinduism, which originated in India more than 200 years ago. The traditional design features custom-carved stonework, a wraparound veranda and five prominent pinnacles reminiscent of the Himalayan hills.

The Lilburn location is the largest temple in North America for BAPS. Built at an estimated cost of $19 million, the temple complex is only the third of its kind in the country, surpassing BAPS temples in Houston and Chicago. A similar mandir was recently opened in Toronto as well. The temple’s sanctuary is open to all, as it is in Chicago, Houston, and Toronto.

The organization’s current spiritual guru, Pramukh Swami Maharaj, came to Lilburn in 2004 and blessed the first foundation stones. The guru, who celebrated his 86th birthday in 2006, returned to Lilburn in August 2007 to sanctify the completed temple. Upon completion, a keystone weighing more than 5 tons was twisted into place on the ceiling of the central dome inside.

It really was very beautiful, and I loved the recurring patterns everywhere. However… and I know I’m being a little snarky here, but there is something very postmodern – in the bad way – about standing between a reflecting pool and an ornate temple, then looking over to see a huge Publix supermarket across the street. That’s somehow so very wrong. It would be better in the middle of a crowded city, where it could be like a hidden jewel (like Buddhist temples in Taipei) or dominating the landscape on a hill (like Sacré-Coeur in Paris). Alternatively, it could have been given a little more elbow room a little further away from the stripmall road (like the La Salette shrine in my home town). Something about the spirit of the place reminded me of that awful replica of the White House near my house. For all it cost to build, I think they missed something essential – or maybe that was somehow the whole point?

I also felt a little let down because I had imagined it to be much larger than it was.

We took off our shoes in the entryway and placed them in little cubbyholes. There were women everywhere, cleaning all the bits of stone. A couple of men were making fine adjustments to the carvings on the central columns. Unfortunately, no photography was allowed inside, or I would have tried to capture the inner room.

What struck me most forcefully were the ceiling mandalas – very fractal and trippy and just beaming with great energy.

Everyone was silent – by decree of the signs – but that seemed wrong to me. There should have been chanting, bells, singing, dancing! Perhaps it was just because we were there on an off hour – I don’t know. I also missed the smells of incense and candles.

I just couldn’t shake the feeling that things were somehow slightly off – it was all too clean and pristine. There were plexiglass shields around the carved columns, when there should have been encouragement to touch them. What kind of temple is this, really? I don’t know much of anything about this particular flavor of Hinduism, but there should be a sense of age – and at least a little grime – in a temple.

There was a guestbook inside, and that was strange to me too. John had given his name at the gate, so I signed the guestbook with mine.

Our timing was off, and all the internal alter doors were closed and locked, so I’ll probably go back sometime soon to see them.

Still, the little lights against the stone inside made it seem like you were in some sort of sandcastle. There was a place-based zing-moment or two in the middle of all that, looking up at the ceiling mandalas, especially the one right near the (locked up) alter. It was also noted (no names) that some of the carvings boasted rather nice breasts (hey, not every religious tradition is closed off to sacred sexuality).

Just before we left, a man came inside, sat down on the rug on the floor – dead center of the mandala, and listened to his iPod, eyes closed. He looked like he was going to be there for some time. For some reason, it struck me as very funny. I wonder how long you can do that before someone taps you on the shoulder. I mean, you’re basically hogging the entire vertical ley line – or maybe that concept doesn’t apply here. I kept thinking of the whole process of creating, sustaining and destroying that is so inherent to the Hindu vision. This temple didn’t seem to be about flows and movement and process, but more about a museum-type static series. It’s an interesting, even fascinating, monument, but… well, again – we were seeing it at an “off” time. I’ll go back and see the differences when the alter doors are opened.

It was fun to visit the place. Despite my critical reaction, I will probably go back.

Patterns, though – patterns. I kept thinking luminous interconnections – the making and unmaking of Tibetan mandala sand paintings, zooming the Mandelbrot set, resonating synchronicities, crunchy neutrinos, birds and flutterbys, staring squirrels, dream voices, tingling toes, free-associations from a tarot card spread – or a painting that calls to you – or a book that you’ve got to pick up although you don’t really have much interest in it…

We came back to the house for a cup of coffee and some conversation, then went over to Houston’s for some mighty fine ribs and a couple of margueritas.

What really mattered yesterday wasn’t anything about a temple but just being together, relaxing, and enjoying one another’s company. It had been a while since we’d seen Tom and Pam, and it was a warm loving snuggly sort of get-together.

Next time, maybe I’ll bring a bell and we can make a “temple” wherever we are.