Indian Food

Oh!

The curious colours, textures, tastes!
The heat, the sweet, the slow cooked meat!

Spice!

That careful combination of deep coloured powdered essence.
Ornate copper plated bowls.
Bright brass trim.

Sensual sounds, exotic sounds waft gently in.

The garnish.
Fresh well chose reminder of a hidden pearl within.

Perfect rice, a bread which has no peer.
Fresh blended yoghurt, or a glass of beer.

Ah, Cuisine of India,
from deep within the womb of creation has your ancient wisdom trickled up
and onto my plate.

Love In

Grotesque fingers
clawing their way to the sky
gnarled.

Love in
cog.
Neat-o!
hiding but not
unseen.

And were you there,
under the tree,
looking up?

Not a sound was heard but ragged breath
the wind stood still,
the sun was hot.
So hot.

When they crucified my lord.

Connexion

If I am you and you are me,
Then what an odd collection we are,
me and you and you and me
and we and us, and them and we.

Why, when all is said and done
and one more pass around the sun,
why, then, is it only certain
I love me, and only hurt and shame you.

Is it true?
Are you me? Am I you?
You can feel my shame, but you conceal it.
When you cut your finger I can feel it.

Take my hand then, brother,
Shake my soul, and when you're finished,
Take a hold of something bigger -
You can't call your brother 'nigger'.

Rosewood of the Nazarene

Gave myself plenty of time.
It wasn't enough.
All travel; never reaching.

Proud church, unnoticed,
Far below me unassumed;
Faced the other way.

Alone with my thoughts today,
took the long way home,
taking in my company.

Never

That's what he said.
A Black man could never be president.
How could anyone say never? So many times it's been proven - nothing is for never.

Funny, only America can hold on to such an indefensible history as never having anything for a president but a white male. What a narrow category. Really.

Fortunately, he said never. I know what that means. Never is a recognition of truth. It's a natural mortal reaction to a truth that says:

"soon..."

Overcast

Clouds have gathered, clouds are here,
All the air is one big cloud!
Puddles strewn about like traps,
A splash is crouched on every street.

See the day through the eyes of the trees.
Warm and moist, moist and warm.
Green things drinking, growing, fresh;
Hoarding moisture at their feet.

If we are all connected

What does it mean, "There but for the grace of God go I?"
Jesus said in Matthew 25 v 40 "...Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."

Perhaps this is related to our connection to each other. For what I do to the least of my brethren I do to myself. "Do unto others as you would have done unto you"; "love your neighbour as you love yourself..."- the opposite of Sartre's comment that "hell is other people" ("L'enfer, c'est les autres") This "us" vs "them" mindset enables the atrocities of war. We often have vicious attack thoughts directed at our siblings, and often a reminder of our connectedness triggers us to change our perspective. The offense has not gone away, but we may become more tolerant or understanding. Nothing changes but our own awareness of the connection. What about my connection to my neighbour? What about my connection to the worst offenders at the most maximum security prison? How do my feelings towards one of them change if I discover it's my high school chum, or my brother, or my mother? What if I realize that it's me? For somewhere, someone is in that prison realizing, "it's me. How could I have done such a thing?" If I suddenly realize it's my mother in that prison, what do I say to maintain my "us" vs "them" ideology? Do I still think we should "just hang them all"?

We are connected. We are ALL connected. The pierced foul mouthed rocker is not just the same age as my son. He IS my son. He is ME. So NOW what do I want to tell him?