heaven’s secret is motherly love

brian browne walker blog 4 dec 2016 motherly love
 

Venture

with love and

you win the battle.

Defend with love and you are

invulnerable. Heaven’s

secret is motherly

love.

 

from The Tao te Ching of Lao Tzu,

Chapter 67


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home

james laura raven river gyre violet narwhal whales

 

If my

body is my home

what is this house full of blood

within my skin? I can’t leave it for a moment

but finally will. It knows up and down, sideways,

the texture of the future and remnants of the past.

It accepts moods as law to matter how furtively

they slip in and out of consciousness.

He says, “Pull yourself together,”

but he already is. An old voice

says, “Stay close to

home.”

 

Jim Harrison

 

on the up, dis da 411, howdy world

brian browne walker safety harbor 29 november 2016 (1)

 

A note to friends, family, rattlesnake hunters, debt collectors, doctors, business partners, famous film directors, prospective lovers, people who are acting like idiots at the moment but don’t always, and every dog on every corner now, forever, once upon a time ago: 

As some know very well and some do not, depending on proximity and relationship, I am going through the very most difficult medical moment of my life right now at the exact same time that my father is trying to choose the appropriate moment to step out of his body. I am living five minutes away from my folks’ house, but my housing situation is not as stable as it needs to be, and I have been through three months — not three, really nine, or a whole lifetime, depending on how you count — of nonstop medical emergencies, both my own and others, lots of movements around the planet, and a constant reshuffling of medications, priorities, and all of the other things that make life such a fun and sometimes tricky game to play.

This is the trickiest time I have ever encountered, with the most important things in my life at stake — my own health, other peoples health, things I have worked on all my lifetime, or for years or months, by myself or with beloved pals — many, many, being very close to being funded or illuminated by just the people I want to fund and illuminate them.

Some of this is agony, and some of it is total, deep, lovable, hilarious, rolling, orgasmic, World Series-winning, whatever you want to call it fun. This is just a brief update to show you my face and tell you how I am, and that I love you, or that I’m about to punch you in the nose, depending on who you are to me. Aloha, mahalo, keep the aina ono and the malama pono, smooch, wow!

 

bbw6

 

.

sofia sasha
 

Abandonment

of self is freedom from desire.

Freedom from desire is freedom from distress.

No this, no that — just exquisite

emptiness.

 

Wei wu Wei Ching, Chapter 31

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sasha - Version 2
 

It is

hard not to see

poets as penitentes flaying

their brains for a line. They have

imaginary tattoos that can’t be removed.

They think of themselves as mental Zorros riding

the high country while far below moist and virginal señoritas

wait impatiently in the valley. Poets run on rocks barefoot when

shoes are available for a dime. They stand on cliffs but not

too close to the fatal edge. They have examined their

unfamiliar motives but still harvest the

wildflowers they never planted.

The horizon has long since

disappeared behind

them.

 

They

have this idea

that they have been cremated

but aren’t quite dead. Their ashes are eyes.

At night the stars sprinkle down upon them like salt.

At noon they are under porches with the rest of the

world’s stray and mixed-breed dogs, only

momentarily noticed, and are never

petted except by children

and fools.

 

His Majesty Baba Jim