I love this pen-drawing, it is a marvelous example of “more with less”!
Zazen. Click on the link to read the article in question.
Read all about the mysterious philosophies of the East!
Brrr, I’m shivering in my soul. After almost a decade of being jobless and seven years on the street, I am finally going to have to start doing a proper job as logistics manager again. Frankly, I am not looking forward to it. The freedom of the street is so alluring, to be able to go where you want any time and do more or less do as you please is addictive, BUT I’m really getting too old for it, for it is a hard, hard life.
Many of my friends have died because of the harshness of this travelers’ life. I decided that I wanted to live a while longer and therefore I have to bear the consequences and put the yoke of servitude to the rat-race back on my weary, old shoulders. I had sworn to myself: “Never again!”, but had I remained, I would surely have perished, like my young, best friend Rauli, who died at the age of 38 a year ago now.
It feels as if there is a vice strapped around my temple and some horrible tyrant is twisting it ever tighter, but there is only me, the decision is mine. I shall just have to look upon it as another adventure in a corporate jungle instead of in the urban or outdoor jungle. I hope I meet my Jane, while playing Tarzan with bills of lading, etcetera…
It’s off to Morocco next week or maybe even this week, to start in the marble import business. Oh, what a joy! Probably hardly any time for writing or reading or painting, just numbers and calls from irate customers. I dearly hope that this occupation does not extinguish the flame of my muse. *sigh*
The Alter table came from rubbish, I freely admit
Yet, after some clever crafting, it has no less than a high priestess fit
It is round, and ever willing to bend
It holds Magick and Wonders that never end
Upon it, I cast my peaceful ways
Lit candles burn there, through the nights and days
There is a rock, a shell, driftwood and sage
Incantations written in script on a parchment page
Oh holy alter, know all of my heart
Permit me to craft my sacred magic, how wondrous, thou art.
It has been said that the life of a woman (and some special men) is divided into three phases. The youthful years of the tender virgin, the reproductive or sexually potent years of the mother/matron, and the wise years of the crone. This witch considers all to be equally magickal, productive and fully empowering phases.
I told yawl I didn’t do it!
Well, there is a glaring resemblance!