How time flies!
As I was taking my pooch for a walk this morning, I remarked to myself that he seemed to be getting entirely too blimpy for his own good and decided to let him off the lead (we were in the woods) and told him to go hunt for himself for his brunch. He barked an: “Aye, aye, Sir!” and sped off to the nearest tree and started sniffing and circling it, not realising that treat trees are out of season! (silly dog…) He finally got so disgusted with the tree’s reply to his en-‘treat’-y that he lifted his hind leg and pissed against it. “Serves him right!”, he barked. Next he stopped a rabbit and tried to threaten it into revealing the whereabouts of its eating bowl, but lucked out again, as the rabbit fell over stupefied.
He did get directions to the nearest supermarket from a passing turkey and took me there post haste. I lost sight of him as he was stalking a roast chicken, which had been waylaid by a fellow hunter, after he whispered to me, droolingly: “Hunt your own, manling!” (I guess in actuality he was stalking the hunter, but I won’t belabour the point) I found him again at the checkout, where he told me that apparently I had to pay a fee for his hunting permit. It was either that or leave half a leftover chicken behind for the scavengers. I was rather proud of my great big hunting dog and dutifully forked over the fee!
I would have to be 54 years stupid and still go and do a silly thing like this!? I thought I’d go horse riding again, even though it had been at least thirty years since I last equestriated…
I got on the horse without any help or supervision and the beast started to gallop away immediately! I was not yet steady in the saddle and was shifting backwards and forward in the saddle. Afeared mightily, I tried to hand on to the horse’s manes, but did not succeed. I tried to cling to his neck and somehow found myself hanging under its belly!
The horse was galloping along merrily, apparently oblivious or maybe impervious to my predicament. I finally decided to just let go and hope for the best, but my foot was caught in one of the stirrups, causing me to bumpety bump along the ground. I was just about to faint…
When as if by a miracle of miracles the mall security guard showed up and pulled the plug on the machine. I thanked the man profusely. Phew, I’m never doing that again!!!
Translated from Dutch form an FB post of our friend: Lieven Grillaert!
For ‘t needs no mask.
Night abounds, surrounds,
absorbs and whispers.
Secrets bourne on silence,
or at the most,
on the rustling of the winds.
Beings leave their bodies,
for no soul to behold.
And we, its children,
revert to our truest form.
Ageless, essential, primal.
Screaming for the light,
the one that none can see,
but was there since the dawn.
(By Ralphie A Burcke)
Some time ago my friend Gerry opened his store Woven Stories, which has been going strong. I put him into contact with another one of my friends from Nepal, Kiran Acharya, and they started working together to their mutual satisfaction. Gerry is now importing Kiran’s goods on a regular basis and has found him to be a dependable and trustworthy business partner.
If anyone reading this would like to import handmade Nepalese goods from Kiran or recommend him to a friend or a business you know, please do not hesitate. Kiran’s home was destroyed in the last earthquake and can use all the business that we might be able to send his way. This is YOUR opportunity to make a difference!
Here are just some of the products he exports:
And here are some more:
( Work in progress! )
My goal is to attune the canvas to my spirit by creating a tension between the colors, a chemistry between light and dark and by using the force of the composition itself.
Painting one’s feelings or one’s sense of self is never easy, but it is the only way I know to try to communicate with kindred spirits. I’m striving to let the colors sing the tune to which my soul moves and convey my passion for the beauty of living.
In this composition I’ve used the stones of the henge to portray the womb of Mother Earth in which primordial woman is dancing, surrounded by her kin.
She breathes to the rhythm of the living rock, the rock that is conscious of eternity and amused at the ephemeral grace of those magical beings twisting to the music of the rapidly changing tides.
The old man, after finally having spent his tiresome ego, is awed by the perpetual creative power of her femininity which only gains in beauty with each progressive phase and is astounded by the simplicity of it all, of living for the sake of loving.
From Muh Borders: