Thursday, April 17, 2003

taoism of everyday living

everything is nothing
nothing is everything

whomever we met, we take a piece of them with us. i often smile when i reflect on the delightful.seemingly minute + charming idiosyncrancies that i pick up when i'm involved with the significant other(s).

the time. the duration. doesn't matter. the lessons linger on

there is the one who introduced me to de kooning. pollack.picasso.there was one who walked with me remembering the tales of creation of zamani zakale longtimeago. there was the celebration of tenderness between two black women. that was difficult to let go. it felt beautiful this desire and the actual coming together was exhilirating to say the least.

there was the first time i felt safe. enveloped in the warmth of another dada. shiva + mumbi. our histories wrapped in the land. the flow of the lake victoria. the seasons of tsavo. the canopy of silence that stifled the naturalness of the flow.

now, i carry her with me in my sojourney.through the dishes of palak panner + sounds of lambarena. sheila chadran.nusrat ali fateh. the possibility of community can make a difference.

there was the love child. in his youthfulness lay eons of wisdom + kindness. who stired the intensity of love with the integrity of committment. i flourished under the tutelage of love. asante sana/thank you.

there was the teacher/mwalimu/japongi who spoke of rivers + being the forty seven bearer of the knife.
there has been the sisters and brothers with whose hearts and spirits, i've held dear and kept guard with my being.

there are those who have taught me the lesson of love and others i have been the vessel of love.

today, i celebrate the lives of the malaikas. angels that have drawn me closer to the truth.
that everything is everything is nothing.
the eventual sweetness of impermanance.

finally, i got a chance to watch iris. needless to say, i loved the movie. there were moments of tear jerking that wasn't me you saw crying moment. i was loving the word play between iris and john. i admit, i am a sucker for the proper dic┬Ětion of the english language. a residue of colonial heritage i suppose.

i made a conscious choice as the war drums were thundering across the atlantic to have a media fast.i didnt know when the pows were released. or about private lori. it was by chance i stumbled into the news about the looting and vandalizing of the museums in iraq. miss cassandra had an extensive list of articles. wood_s_lot as always outdid himself.

i still dream of africa while others speak of exile


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