Once upon a time A seed turned to a fruit In between two times. It celebrated its confusion Of losing itself in every phase. Why am I soft, while I was hard? Why am I hanging, while I was buried? Why can’t I remember where I came from? How can I know which Is the truest of me? The fruit ripened in blue Fell out weathered. Rotten Dried Cracked Seeds scattered Sprouted Grew taller. Would the seed forget who she was again?
Once upon a time A tree remembered who Greeted the boughs Harvested the best Celebrated the flesh Threw away the seeds who then Grew. It was not an expression of “once again” Not the same seed Yet the seed Of the same tree. Still the same—
No mourning Nothing is lost, yet Nothing is forever. Knowing is time travel or A review of history or A humble diary. Just wait for one moment to see. Life is just like that.
How strong? As strong as money Which can buy travel vouchers for holiday And it helps draw long list of visited sites; A list that shows to the world That experience comes with style. Unfortunately some might be just albums of photos with forgotten moment and lost meaning. Still travelers travel farther than homebody Who stays in front of TV learning about all countries, Yet more thoroughly and vibrantly Even able to write vibrantly. Look at Karl May! You mean to understand different places Doesn’t need real traveling? Might be? So what’s the strength of money? Aah! Not that strong in fact. Wait! It is still strong. Not the strongest though! So, Is money a lethal weapon? I know not, said I, I know not. Anymore.
How weak? As weak as fibrous roots Which can’t give trees strong anchorage And they give little supplies of food to the deep interior. Yet fibrous roots don’t destroy building foundation. Fibrous roots are good for sloping area, They help prevent soil erosion. They are not weak. At least not that weak! So, Are fibrous roots the weakest anchor? I know not, said I, I know not. Anymore.
Aah! Cry, cry For losing the stance. Let the tears dry. Let each layer dry, When it dries, it is becoming skin Until all are.
Welcome, Travelers To my humble abode. May you sit, There is chair to enjoy. May you stand, There is painting to enjoy. This lobby, A place for every guest To enjoy the best spread Of food and beverage. My kitchen Is not, Unfortunately.
Welcome, fellow travelers. Leave when your storm ends.
My best friends once reminded me of how I should be afraid of being misunderstood and my response to them was “I am ok to be misunderstood by those who don’t have enough knowledge and/or love to understand who I am and what I am doing.”
They still say the same thing in different ways. I answer the same way.
Surprise! Said she Showing the hopeless That Survival is about adaptability Welcomed by nature, Approved by resolution, Driven by muscles, Enjoyed by senses. I’m gonna be yellow!
can you see the spike of oncidium (must be yellow) at the left? i saw it when sitting on the toilet enjoying my good time 😀— suddenly the beauty struck me! 😍 thank you! 🙏🏼 i’ll be patient waiting for you to bloom 💛
she used to be one of balcony gang members and was about to pass as the original media (wood bark and charcoal) started decaying; her new home is now shower room in a glass flower vase; media is sponge, charcoal and water 😍
She cleans the mugs From which we drink, She swipe the stains Of tea and coffee.
She moves the mugs To humming machine, She unloads them out, In to drying machine.
She smiles to us We smile to her, She says hello We say thank you.
She asks me why I drink so much, She guesses I’m thirsty Or the aircon is cold.
She’s a guardian Of the white mugs. How life is hilarious! Among those who are serious!
i like talking with certain cleaning ladies assigned in the pantries near my section and the gym, and seems that they love doing it, too. there is one particular loving it the most, a (probably) 25-yo lady with a syndrome making her not talking clearly and processing messages rather slowly yet she is the friendliest. today she told me how many mugs she has to wash (helped by machines) everyday and why there are many more on Tue to Thu. she said many employees like to use more than one mug (each mug for one tea flavour) and she’s wondering why. when i said “i use one mug for one tea flavour because i don’t want to mix the taste, i am sorry”, she said “no, no, then it is ok lah” what a blessing to talk to a humble human being — not so much thought processed and so much fun enjoyed 🥰
I’ll love No matter what I’ll be over anyways. I’ll work No matter what I’ll be over anyways. There is me Or not, It might be the same. Yet as long as there is me, I’ll do what I can To add more Meanings And Utility To my life. I’ll love No matter what In life. Life is good, I won’t skip A thank And Or Cheers.
It is a good morning Maybe afternoon for you. This morning I still breathe blessings Wrapped by songs from the bird, Back home by hum of machines. Both are good In a blessed morning. Know, beloved That I remember you Who might enjoy the day And ready to welcome a weekend. Everything is good when in Ubud, I know everything is good Everywhere If we let blessings contaminate the air.
when i breath fresh air, i feel more me
good morning from Puri Saraswati
not a water person but love seeing water, quiet morning in front of the pool with birds singing and voice of sweep stick raking the ground
good morning to a lazy snail
good morning to the unknown neighbour that might be still sleeping
Quiet and noise Are both luxury Which cross clarify And cross verify. Both cost so high In each phase. At times each is a spy To bug each other To find when the best time To be quiet Or To be noisy.
I am doing a sacred silence retreat next week. Called Tapa Brata, this retreat is where we will meditate most of the time in a day. Pak Merta is a devoted Buddhist who has been opening this meditation center for years to promote self health and at certain level herbal medication teaching. I am not a Buddhist but I feel that this retreat has helped me a lot to calm my mind.
There won’t be any interaction with others directly during the retreat. No talking. No reading. No writing. No listening except to the meditation guidance and sound of nature in Forest Island. All gadgets will be safe-kept by the organiser so we will be totally offline human beings.
It is about communicating with one’s self.
The interaction is primarily within. I remember how hard it was for me in my first Tapa Brata in 2018 just to not say good morning and good night to my roommates on the first day. Hope this one is easier for me.
that joglo (the building with terracotta roof) is the meditation hall, two jinengs (Balinese rice storage) are sleeping quarters (only for male), 9 bungalows are located behind the joglo for meditators to sleep, the dog is in front of the dining joglo
the dog? he was with whom everyone wanted to talk after lunch in silence — he would just stare at us and yawn and sleep seeing us talking without saying things, he probably understood 😃 hope to see him again
Is there a space For happiness in an angry man’s belly?
Simple joy can cure hunger. It draws smiles. It brews laughter. It dampens dry heart. It cheers up weary soul.
Is there a space For unhappiness in an angry man’s belly?
If he knows joy is as simple as A pattern on matcha latte, He should say “Sorry for breaking your heart, But loving myself is a priority”.
Simple joy is not that simple For those knowing no simplicity.
we asked the barista in our office to draw flower on on the matcha latte but he said it was too difficult “this time this lah, flower needs more training haha…. sorry ya” 😁 thank you, that is pretty, too
Time knocks on a door of life saying “Would you travel with me?” And a journey begins. Time hugs its travel buddy knowing That she might be off of the track. Time talks to her hoping That she is aware of the walk. Time prances with her knowing That she is on to where it heads.
My heart is leaping. It opens its windows, breathes the joy. It celebrates parties, As invited by beauty that pops out out of life. It claps hands. It taps feet. It dances love songs. It sings “Ode to Joy”.
My heart is leaping. It turns my sadness To joyous moments, Leaving tiny gap to Contemplation and regret.
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