Easter Eggs in East Texas

The teachers spent a morning
Sliding pastel eggs in Johnson grass
Or under dead logs in the quiet woods,
Then unleashed scores of us
Armed with baskets and determination.
We walked the dusty mile
In total disarray,
then trampled new grass,
Now minty green,
And tore through brown, spidery leaves.
The one foil-wrapped egg
Would fetch fifty cents and
The envy of all,
so we scrambled and poked,
dug and dreamed
bare hands muddy and cold
hearts filled with dread that
we wouldn’t be the one,
that the silver egg
would elude us again.

A Busy Week at Work

What We Did at Work This Week

Elements assaulted us
as we set our instruments
deep beneath the mesa's top.
We expected a few hours
of work. The task took one week
then also consumed the next.

System after system failed
and was replaced or repaired.
Until finally, sensors
calibrated began to
whisper readings in secret
languages of intellect.

We found what we expected
to find. We did not hear the
songs of the blue and humpback
as they slid past our sensors
in their brilliant under earth
caverns.

diving

The divers must come up soon. THey have found the great oysters, and beside them the grand jewels of Nefertiti...but how did they arrive here, so far from Achenoton's kingdom, so grandly alone?

Sans Images

An oldy but an oldy.......


The Long Earth

In the long earth, dreams abide of you.
These are not my dreams
As in a sequence of calendar pages,
Ripped by the numbers and
Each day representing missed time,
Days when your lower lip may have quivered
At the edges,
But not so I could see,
Raising the question not purely aesthetic,
Of what significance the gesture has for me
Unobserved.
What indeed is the shared reality, if any,
Of these days lived in parallel?
I am not sure that Frost’s roads capture it quite,
His having some symbolist aspiration in the guise
Of yankee common sense.
And I, I lose the common touch when I think of you
For longer than the time required to build a construct
Upon which any such ambitious language can be hoisted.

I lose the sense of you when I leave the confluence of memory
And sensation,
As would be the case with any strained
Attempt at grander verse.

lovely

Don't know about Greenman, but I can certainly use one.. Tiny Bill needs his pearl, his only ornamentation.

dear greenman

just a little something i found. maybe you can use one?
love, sophie pie

Greenman meets a mermaid?

Greenman thinks he has seen the mermaid gliding just beneath the surface. Or maybe he's heard her sing. Or maybe he's just imagining a reincarnation of . . .


NEFERTITI

When the sky turns deep dawn blue,
I sink in a bath of wild musk
rose petals. Though we proclaim
the One God, we don’t discard
our divinity. A Goddess
must seduce the sun. Daughters
shave my body, anoint me
with cinnamon and myrrh.
Their careful hands keep my nipples
hard. Arousal is my religion.
They dress me in gauze and gold,
bejeweled with chips of hard light.
A choir of blinded men sings
our praises. They hear me jingle,
smell the perfume of my skin,
my sex. Imagination
makes them hard. When the horizon
turns pink and purple, I loosen
the red sash. My gown whispers
to the floor. I weave between
the daughters and the choir,
stalking the altar, waiting
for the luminous moment
to sprawl spread eagle,
to thrust my hips at the red
rim rising above the sands,
to arch my breasts into the sky.
The first sun shaft penetrates me,
turns the slow slick heat to flame.
The blind men raise their voices
to match my cry. We rejoice
together. Blessed. Consumed.

Tide

The tide is out, but Tiny Bill knows it will always return, and with it his hopes of seeing the beautiful mermaid. She swims without effort and undetected in the ocean. She dances like Pavlova.... he needs only to see her, for then magic will occur and all history will pause in admiration. Then, with a melancholy backward glance toward the stormy shore, history will move on to its next assignment, sad but heartened.... "With such creatures about, surely the world will not destroy itself and miss out on her next appearance, her first farewell tour!"

spirits dancing

susannah came out of the farmhouse with a basket, intending to collect a few daffodils and perhaps branches from the blooming quince and azaleas down by the road. she dipped under the prayer flags waving in the breeze, and danced away over the grass. turning, she spied greenman, who had taken up residence near the pond, assumedly because sophie was said to be in residence. susannah knew that sophie would only appear by the light of the moon, and at dawn would go back down into the water, unless pancakes were being served at breakfast, in which case she might linger for a moment or two over coffee with the intellegentsia at the table. she liked discussing things with zoe - the two of them seemed to have an innate understanding of the world's more esoteric vibrations. susannah wondered how long it would take greenman to register the comings and goings of her friend, and sighed, wondering what unearthly dross would catapult next from the pen of the mermaid.

it was certain to be eye-opening and provocative, at the very least. susannah bent this way and that, snipping buttery-yellow blooms and adding them to the basket. when it was full, she carried it back up to the house and made a lovely arrangement for the kitchen table, being careful to wipe up the tiny spots of water before mrs. lytle could see them.

Falling words

Mrs. Lytle stepped briskly onto the back porch to sweep off the pine pollen and ponder what to do about the zipped tent (did she imagine it, or does that tent glow in the dark?) that seemed to move about the side yard. She sensed a renewed energy on RUGfarm, what that flaky Zoe called "chi," in the last day or so. From the tall grasses around the pond Greenman hummed haunting melodies, and that mystical young erasure head was heating up the place with his energy. She would need help keeping the place in order. How could she get Butler to agree to help her manage the place again? What would it take to persuade him?

Brow furrowed over this problem, Mrs. Lytle failed to notice Zoe and Princess Afternoon stretching the prayer flags across the back yard. Zoe was explaining the situation in Tibet and urging Princess to delay her trip so they could chant mantras, but Princess was more intent on doing a few yoga postures before the long trip to New York. Greenman watched from the tall grass and Sophie from just below the pond's surface as Zoe's and Princess' words fell like crystal onto the new spring grass. They noticed how the words became attached to one another as they fell to earth. Greenman knew about connections. He, like Erasure Head, knew all about interconnectedness.

Blurt on Today

Today Jude Fernando explained
why micro lending in Bangladesh
and Sri Lanka
doesn't empower women
or change the infrastructure
to alleviate poverty.
Today the Dalai Lama
said he would resign
if the violence continues
in Lasa.
Today a Black woman
with several sick children
who call her cell phone
when she is trying
to learn history
cheated on my exam
and got caught.
I said please drop the course
and I won't tell.
Today I felt the wind
blow right through me;
there was no one there
to stop it.

Nearly spring

Greenman is amazed. This new cyber-woods has turned him a tarnished coppery color. And more amazing there's activity again at the farm house. It's spring time and his thoughts naturally turn to baseball and nymphs.

OMAHA

Once I dreamed of Omaha
in early summer.
I saved spare change
to finance the trip
to sit in the stands
with my grandson
or in a grander dream
to watch him pitch
at Rosenblatt.
Far fetched dreams.
If they happen,
I will not be there.
Once I believed baseball
diamonds were sacred
geometries. Add sunshine
and grandkids,
and they could soothe
any trouble
like a well turned double play.
Lift the spirit
like a line drive streaking
for the centerfield fence.
Watching the game
is a pale passion
when the invitations stop.
Once my granddaughter
gave me a piggy bank
with the body
of a baseball. She feared
it was a stupid gift.
It was perfect
even with the crack by the slot
that Nana had to point out.
It was our last Christmas.
I still use it when change
jingles with too much loss.




NAIAD

The Shady Lady’s sign
proclaims:
Pool
Spirits
Dancing.
I’m tempted
to discover
what drought or dam
or sewage treatment
spill would drive
a water nymph
to domestication.
Is it chlorine
or gin
that makes her dance?
I don’t go in.
A world so full
of disbelief
condemns her
to a dive.

without a trace

Butler runs over to Bagman’s door to tell him that people are eating pancakes but, feeling guilty that he has perhaps strayed too far from his appointed role as protector of propriety, knocks first this time. Unlatched, it swings open from the pressure of the knock, and Butler realizes with a sinking sensation that the room is empty. My God, what have I done? Impulsively buttoning his collar, he walks over to see if Bagman’s computer might give him a clue. Just the blank Google search page. Butler hurries out, pausing only to straighten the pencils on Bagman’s desk, setting them out parallel to each other in order of height.

Tweed Crushes And the Speed of Light

Princess Afternoon was sitting at breakfast with Erasurehead and Sophie Pie. They were having banana fudge pancakes and she was trying out Zoe's pancake trick on Erasure. She was just getting into the part about subjective speeding pancakes when Earasurehead took the last pancake and began munching. "No, wait," cried princess, " You have to win the pancake first!"

"Erasurehead looked blank , his cheeks bulging in mid-chew. " Win the pancake?" he asked,his voice muffled by fudge chunks " I thought they were breakfast" "yes, they are, but the last one has to be won by argument over who gets it", said Princess, waving her hands in distress, trying to decide if the trick would work on the remaining 1/2 pancake. Would it speed the same way as a whole? " But there were four pancakes and you had two, so I thought I could have the last one." Erasure head said reasonably, starting on the second half. Princess gave up and slumped back in her chair. She eyed Sophie Pie wondering if she might whip up four more pancakes and try it out on the new Rugger. But she was full now and anyway,  Sophie looked busy writing about tender tongues massaging things, probably not pancakes. She briefly wondered if you could tongue massage a pancake at the speed of light but that got too confusing, she would probably have to borrow one of  Zoe's postmodern theories on the subject for a better grip on the thing. A heavy clumping broke the silence and Mrs. Lytle arrived in the kitchen, dressed in a fresh spring lilac tweed with matching duty-weight hose and a firmly holstered whiffler at her belt. "Good Morning all", she announced in a very definite sort of a way. Princess noticed that Erasure had gone slightly pink on the top of his baldness and was shifting in his seat looking everywhere but mrs. Lytle. "What's the matter, boy.  Is your private clothing too tight? It's terribly unhealthy , I say. You should see to it immediately before injury occurs" She walked over to the side board and served herself some of the warm English Oats with clotted cream 

Zoe flounced in wearing shortie pajamas and a T-shirt that said "Buddhists Do It With One Hand Clapping". Mrs. Lytle looked slightly perplexed, but unwilling to press the matter, although she suspected root sentence structure oddities.  Tiny Bill was still in his tent, Zoe informed the small group, the Amazons had gotten bored and left. She thought maybe someone should tell him it was safe to come out. "Where's Butler and Bagman?" asked Erasure, still shyly avoiding looking at Mrs. Lytle, he was feeling a little overwhelmed by females who were purported to explode with sharp teeth at any moment. " Still considering the possibilities.' said Zoe. "She looked around for the banana fudge pancakes. "No banana fudgies today?" " There were," said Princess, "Erasure had two and I had two." '"But there are three of us!" said Zoe, " you should have saved me one!" "Princess considered trying to explain how Erasure's tongue had massaged the last one at the speed of light but didn't feel up to the subject. Instead she announced, " I am leaving on a trip tomorrow to Long Island for a week"

It Must Be Good Karma to be Back on the Farm

While Erasure head was buried the PO Box of the farm changed. He appreciates the postcard with the forwarding address and the picture of the Mermaid. Gentlemen he thinks prefer mermaids over cereal in the morning any day.

Erasure Head grew up on a farm, and thinks farm work is hard work. He received a distance education so that he would be too far away to ever dig another post hole. Ironic now to have lived in a post hole for these last two years. It must be strong karma to be one with dirt.

Holed up with his moles, Erasure Head did tunnel two years through his rocky karma. He learned that starting takes more energy than continuing and continuing takes more energy than quitting. That made him wonder why anything happened at all, but he came up empty. However, a postcard back to the farm, and a crush on Mrs. Lytle, of all the synchronous things, were reason enough to turn his hole into a crater. He doesn't even like the smell of mothballs and tweed.

He learned that no one should be on the Farm at all, but we are. Karma is the reason the barn is going to be purple, the porn will be in tents, and that good stairs will run from the ground to the porch and visa versa to support the weight of all of us as we take a group photo to hang on the hallway wall. His contribution to the Farm beautification project.

Mr. Head's taxes have not been paid in two years, so you will forgive him please if he is locked into his room till the IRS is satisfied. Why can't I vote for Ron Paul?

Making Do

Zoe hopped off the ethereal blue bus, which had stopped in a cloud of cyber dust just outside RUGfarm. She preferred the "chicken" buses when she went into town, because there were always Guatemalans in the back carrying their chickens and goats to market, and she loved the informality and good humor.

Today Zoe had been to a lecture on Peter Singer's theories on ethics. Zoe loves lectures on ethics, because despite what the Jews, Greeks, Romans, and so many others had argued over time, philosophers still are arguing over how we know what's ethical. Kicking up more cyberdustwith her tan cowboy boots as she walked up the drive, she thought about the Tibetan Buddhist texts she studied late at night (after Mrs. Lytle did the room checks), and decided to think more about the power of karma...maybe Princess Afternoon would want to talk about this tomorrow as they hung the prayer flags between the barn and the big oak tree.

As she starts to enter the house Zoe sees the tent, zipped up tight with a "no girls allowed" sign posted in front. Tiny Bill must still be avoiding the ethereal women. Surely he'll let the exotic new RUGfarm resident, Sophie, in for a nightcap? Zoe decided to call his cellphone and ask.

Entering the dark kitchen, Zoe was reminded how tidiness (thanks to Mrs. Lytle) doesn't make up for the quiet now that Princess Afternoon is out sending faxes, smoke signals, and missiles to Baubo and Butler, among others. The quiet, sexy Sophie appeared and disappeared, and Tiny Bill popped in and out with fantastic ideas, but he was like a wood sprite...Zoe never knew when he would show up with something fun to talk about.

She longed for Butler and Bagman's return, and to see all the other former residents, who must be campaigning for some candidate somewhere. Clomping up the stairs to bed, Zoe decided that the farm needed art. She would work on a new poem and would paint the barn a lovely shade of purple.

End of the Day

Princess Afternoon arrived back at the farm late and in a funk. She couldn't find Erasurehead and figure he was either off gluing things together with his new self or else he would show up on his own. At the moment she was suffering from snowmobile butt and wanted a hot bath.  She walked up the rotting farm steps and thought how badly the place needed work. Butler had been so good at pulling the farm together, organizing, focusing. Now the place was in disrepair, moldy, in danger of termites and extraneous rot. She leaned against the porch railing and enjoyed the swirling pastels in the evening sky, enjoyed the crickets humming their twilight thrum. She dreamily wondered what Kierkegaard would have thought about living underground, maybe he did and just got stuck down there asking a bunch of questions that whirl around and around like a four dimensional rubik's cube that moves like this.  and she wondered about Zoe's pancake trick and if Einstein had actually eaten his pancakes at the speed of light, she wondered if Tiny bill was OK in his tent or if those Amazons could do light speed tricks also, she wondered if Bagman was thinking about his feather boas packed in mothballs, . She wondered if Butler liked chatrooms that moved at the speed of light, and how small those rooms might be and if the farm would even fit in a fast blog. She wondered if Baubo now wore chicken feather head dresses. She wondered if Mrs. Lytle and Mrs. Wrenthwhistle would ever raise dual whifflers again and cry out in unison "God save the Queen". She wondered about Sophie the new porno Queen and if the chicken scandals would blow out of control and create a Birdzilla that would have really sharp teeth. She wondered if Erasurehead heard special secrets from the moles that he might share. She wondered if Greenman had decomposed into organic compounds or just gotten bored and loped off to Butler's house. 

She wondered whether they would have Banana fudge pancakes again for breakfast and if she could figure out a trick to do on Zoe where she could finally get the last pancake.  Then she went inside to wait and see.

Moling and the Pancake trick

Princess Afternoon squinted her eyes and looked around. Man, this was really out in nowhere. Where was Erasurehead anyway? This was definitely the site from which the flares had gone up, in fact, she could see the cartridges lying on the ground. She peered around again and sighed.
Five hours ago she had been arguing with Zoe over who got to eat the last banana fudge pancake for breakfast. She had just finished a brilliant argument that since there were four pancakes they each should get two when Zoe breezily countered with the postulation that if you combined Kierkegaard, Baudrillard, and Einstein then pancakes moving at the speed of light will actually create a new territory which moves out of the realm of the objective and into the subjective making it therefore, no longer bound by the rules of time. While Princess was still puzzling out this progression Zoe nipped up the pancake up at what seemed to be close to the speed of light and in a twinkling it had disappeared. "See?" she said, and danced off to perform some special meditation exercises she had recently imported from Malaysia.
Seconds later they both heard the whine and bang of the flares and ran outside to see what was happening. "What the hey!" cried Princess Afternoon, one hundred flares shot up one after the other, brilliantly colored fireworks in the shapes of all kinds of underground creatures and organic compounds. "It must be Erasurehead", said Zoe, "the mole experiment is over." "The mole experiment?" said Princess. "Yes, he thought that if he lived with the moles for a period of time he could transcend the dirt and become one with the energetic matter that holds it together." "Transcend the dirt?" said Princess; why did she always sound like she never knew what was going on, she thought, probably because she didn't.
Zoe sighed and rolled her eyes, "You know," she said, " his theory that if you move past the fermions of everyday matter you can actually become a gluon and become one with other gluons in the space-time fabric." "I see. " said Princess, she actually didn't but it sounded better if she said she did, in truth she was still puzzling over the pancake trick. "Anyway," said Zoe, "the experiment was a bust so you'd better go pick him up."
"What! Go pick him up where?!" cried Princess. "Over there of course," Zoe pointed in the direction of where the flare smoke still touched the sky. "But that's probably hundreds of miles away, that might take hours!" said Princess Afternoon who had been really looking forward to an afternoon nap. "Nonsense! Remember," Zoe spoke slowly as if to a mentally challenged mole, "If you stay close to the speed of light, the road will shorten and you will be there and back in a twinkling. "Twinkling!? what about the speed of limit, I'll get a ticket!"
"Well, then," said Zoe, ever resourceful, "just take Bagman's old graviton time-machine. No one will even see you then." Princess eyed Bagman's last experiment lying over by the garage. It was a collection of lucky charm cereal boxes hooked up to a keg of dynamite powder and a laptop computer with some special equations in there having to do with the speed of pornography. She remembered several exploded chicken houses connected with this and the fact that nobody had actually ever seen a graviton. She decided to stick with one of the retrofitted snowmobiles still, amazingly enough, functional and waiting in the grass next to the time machine. "Why can't Tiny Bill go?" she made one last ditch effort to realize her dream of an afternoon nap. "He is busy with the Amazonian crotchnippers in his tent, they are holding him hostage in the tent and we have to wait for Baubo to come and be interpreter for their earth-based Rain forest language" "I see", said Princess, although she really didn't...
So five hours later she was waiting. Peering around into the desert, wondering if Erasurehead had actually become a gluon and how would she recognize him...

an assembly such as this

Butler is doing his best to prize Bagman out from behind his desk - although Susannah hopes that he will be careful and not too hasty, as Bagman may be --er, busy at the moment. Princess Afternoon appears exhausted and will soon need a nap... and there is no telling what Mrs. Lytle will do in her absence!! The chickens have escaped and are running in and out of the house, and apparently Erasure Head has attempted to blow up Mole End, and nearly succeeded in detonating the farm. Zoe is in the mountains of her mind, and Sophie is headed out to sea for parts unknown.

Maybe Kierkegaard needs to come down off the porch swing and do the hula, or something.

Bagman stops growling

Butler, back from the Blogspot sticks his head into Bagman’s study despite the risk of having it chewed off, but Bagman just stares back. “I went to the party without you,” he says. “And why do I care about this?” Bagman growls. “Because they are all coming back! The Rug is not dead despite what you have convinced yourself.” “I don’t have time for this crap anymore,” Bagman growls. “You need to find another word for “growls”,” articulates Butler. “I don’t need to do anything,” Bagman insistently continues to growl. Butler stamps his foot like a small child. “You’ve become a real pain in the ass and I think it’s because you’re not getting enough sex anymore. And there’s even this new Sophie lady who claims she takes requests! Right up your alley! Come on, Bagman! Live a little! I’m a neophyte at this. Loosen your pants! It’s not all about Kierkegaard! They even have a beach!” “Not interested,” snarled Bagman, shifting behind his desk. Butler noticed the way Bagman was shifting behind his desk. He’d watched Bagman long enough to know what that meant. “You can’t fool me,” he said. “You say you aren’t interested but you’ve got an erection, don’t you?” “Shut the door on your way out,” barked Bagman. Dejected, Butler backed out and closed the door, reminding himself that Bagman had at least stopped growling.

Butler Enters the Room

Butler entered the room.
Butler noticed that group blogging is like an extremely slow chatroom.
Butler left the room.

an introduction

she is sitting there on the surface of the sand
her back to you, gazing out at the promontory of knitted stone
turning, she raises one elegant brow
in quizzical contrast
like a grace note above sparkling eyes
the color of the winter sea
and leaning forward dropping
her chin delicately in acknowledgment
says, 'how-do.'

the long icy fingers tapping the keys
palms resting on the curvature of the spine
where tingles remain from yesterday's tattoo
she only speaks in rhythm
and prefers tactile explorations
tongue
taste
time
to telling
observations noted in the passage of all three
over the sibilant whispers of her mind

she is silent as a mermaid
soaring up out of the dark waves
and disappearing just as you think you see her
iridescent fin shining, a flash and she is gone
but she will tell all eventually
she is a treasure trove of life
like a pearl that evolves from a grain of sand
tender muscles massaging the point of irritation
sharp as bitter glass until it opens and
the oyster reveals a lustrous gift from the sea.


--sophie pie

a dry retribution

he hears the wind ruffling the pines,
soaring up the mountainside
tossing the chickens over the fence
and into the dog's breakfast.

cock and hen alike had always
clucked cheekily between the roughened boards,
refusing to share even a daily ovum,
quibbling merrily over the the latest bug.

fateful diligence spared them not
and it came to pass, in an instant,
that they were merrily consumed
by all who knew them.

and on and on and on
said she, skipping through the grass
skirts lifting, apron cupped and
running smack into bedlam

where she sees the fine sharp
teeth glinting in the sunlight
with the damply clinging feathers of
gold, and white, and green

she whirls, in the swing of time
upward shrieking in a slice of sky
and the errant muddy fiend's appetite
is gone forever, leaving only a trace

of rheumy fleabitten cowering
faintly shadowed by the fall,
into the ready and vacant dust beside
an angry, sodden puff of red-encrusted white.

Critical Mass

Princess Afternoon sighed and leaned against the porch railing, it had been a productive day. She pulled a small paper bag from her pocket and rustled around in it selecting one of the  swiss chocolate mocha melt creams that she had pilfered from Zoe's international chocolate drawer. Well, not pilfered exactly, Princess Afternoon absolutely did NOT believe in stolen property, she intended fully to replace the chocolates if she ever in her life got to Switzerland. She was thoughtful as she virtuously munched the chocolate, things were looking up. Baubo was sending postcards from the forest, she could not actually come to the convocation because ... her thoughts broke off as a thundering noise breeched her consciousness and the distinct clump of mrs. lytle's brough encased stride hit the porch floor coming to stop precisely in front of her. She instantly placed the small bag behind her back, regretting her recent decision that five chocolates at one time would provide a singular taste experience as she likely appeared a somewhat desperate rodent packed with her winter stash. 

"Gel, I..." Mrs. Lytle started after planting herself in a firm no-nonsense stance, then she faltered, something was amiss. She whipped out of her tweed morning suit pocket a quizzing glass and held it up to her eyes. "Saints! You've swollen up like a toad! It looks like mumps, slightly higher up the throat than usual, but nonetheless, a definite result of superfluous pontification, i'm sure, and now your body has reacted violently. Today of all days!" She placed the glass safely back in the tweed and crossed her arms under her impressive chest, fortifying the image of a military gunboat sited for action. " We have impending chaos. Zoe has locked herself in her meditation boudoir, Tiny Bill is running around in a Testicular Protection Device.." Princess Afternoon raised her eyebrows "mmooph?" she asked. "Well, yes, he seems to have imported some several Amazonian maidens from the rainforest, something about ethereal romance, but they apparently involve nutcrackers in their joues de'amor and Tiny is in retreat, having fortified the tent. Anyway, Baubo is mashing her chickens and cannot attend the Convocation, Bagman and Butler are still refusing to come impose order, although they did send a postcard and you can't tell one from the other anymore, Zoe is, as i said, ensconced and refuses to emerge, she keeps complaining about stolen chocolates, you wouldn't know anything about that would you?" Mrs. Lytle peered suspiciously at Princess's mouth, something about the odor... "Mmurphug!' said Princess. "Hmmmph." said mrs. Lytle getting her mind back on track, " yes, well, as I said disorder is abounding and there seems to be a Miss Pie , an author of some racy repute who is creating suggestive chicken scandals about the Farm. It is simply not acceptable, I say!" Her voice raised a notch and Princess could see her feeling about for the whiffler she usually kept attached to her belt in a special holster. She  had seemingly forgotten to don it in her haste this morning, and so became slightly distracted. " Well, you must tend to your condition and return to defend the Queen's Farm! I am imposing Military Curfew until order is restored!" She did a quick about face and marched inside to find the necessary piece of defensive equipment she needed to fully arm herself from the impending Anarchy. Princess Afternoon quickly swallowed the chocolates and ran into the kitchen to e-mail Butler and Baubo: Code Red, she wrote, insanity level reaching critical mass, report immediately.

Kierkegaard?

Sounds like my idea of a good vacation. Silence. Peace.

I would like to hear more on Kierkegaard. I want to know why Elaine sees him as a postmodernist and what Bill sees him saying about the connection between spirit and self. He seems as though he was a complex and melancholy guy. 

Mountain retreats

I was just there for a board meeting this past weekend, but we did some meditation (2x daily) also. That was, of course, the best part. The board members are from a variety of Buddhist traditions: Zen, Tibetan, and Vipassana, and we also have a Quaker or two who regularly meditate.

The retreat schedule for 2008 is up on the Southern Dharma Retreat Center website. To get to it, go to http://www.southerndharma.org/RetreatSchedule2008.htm There are some for beginners, and some for more advanced. They let you know in the description. We started with beginner retreats back in 1996 and have been going back every year.

Each retreat is described (click on the link for each), so you can pick out what you like. And, yes, there are always women looking for ethereal men, but since I usually go there with my own ethereal man and am always very much focused on the retreat itself I don't pay attention to anyone else's doings.

The last retreat I attended was 12/27/07 to 1/04/08. The first half was Zen and yoga and the second half was a Tibetan retreat. The first one helped center me and relax me, and the second was very intellectual. The Tibetans are definately the most cerebral of the Buddhist traditions I think. In so many ways I'm still a beginner.

out there

Elaine, I never asked you about your experience in the mountains this year. Tell me more. I really could use something like this... Are there any women looking for ethereal men? (-: Long story. Anyway, tell me more about why you like this retreat. I want to be convinced.

B

Gathering of the Convocation

Princess Afternoon was running back and forth between fiber-optic venues and starting to feel slightly disoriented. However, Zoe had broken off meditation exercises to come outside and begin to uphold the freedom inherent in Postmodernism with her Burmese silks floating in the spring breeze. Mrs. Lytle was right behind her, of course, her bosom cutting the air like the prow of a military gunboat, ready to uphold the Queen's lexicon as taking primacy over any foolishness about freedom and prefixes involving "post-". Bagman and Butler were still behaving in a shady manner pretending they were receiving phone messages from Danish pornographers as an excuse for not answering calls. Tiny was disturbed by the cyberspotlight that had swiveled in his direction and was presently burning him in the eyeballs, so that he couldn't see and the screen door hit him in the face after Mrs. Lytle sailed out. 

Things were starting to cook

What's All This?

Mrs. Lytle has spent the winter reorganizing the library books at RUGfarm (who is it that keeps putting them out of Dewey Decimal System order????) and categorizing the grammatical errors of all political candidates. Sniffing the first spring-like weather, she starts to plan spring cleaning chores, arranging her garter belt and making sure her tightly permed hair is in place before approaching the remaining residents of RUGfarm with their "to do" list.

Walking out the back door to ring the bell that would summon everyone, Mrs. Lytle is astonished to discover that the farm is now floating in cyberspace. "What's All This??" she demands of Princess Afternoon, who, seated on the porch swing, blithely continues reading Kirkegaard to Tiny Bill, who is squirming in his seat, desperately hoping to escape to go swimming in the pond before heading off to a new job. Bagman listens from the bushes, frowning and muttering, "I hope she gets to the part about indirect communication soon!" Zoe leans out of the upstairs window and reminds Princess Afternoon to remind Bill that Kirkegaard was the first postmodernist. "Remember his admonition that 'subjectivity is truth' and 'truth is subjectivity,' she exclaimed.

Mrs. Lytle harrumphed, and with index finger high in the air began to pontificate on the value of hard work and the silliness of Danish philosophers. At the same time, her eyes were sweeping the skies of cyberspace for Butler and the others, all of whom had mysteriously disappeared as soon as the presidential campaigns had started. Perhaps they were all now political advisors instead of poets?

On Bill's reading Kierkegaard and his ruminations On faith

OK, Bill, I am assuming you are reading Sickness Unto Death because this is his most popular book and it is the one that allows atheists to regard faith from a point of view not over run by Christian terminology to the point where all he hears is "Blah, blah, blah" the book makes no case for Christianity but does make a particular case for faith as separate from religion which is an important distinction to have under your belt. 

Before we go any father are we discussing Sickness Unto Death?

Where Audacious Speech is Considered

Princess Afternoon was out of breath. She had been stamping back and forth saying provocative things for some time and she felt a wheeze coming on. Zoe had briefly peeked out the upstairs window where she had been performing a special kind of meditation that involved a lot of silence and green silk pajamas from Burma.  There was a suspicious rustling in the bushes and she caught the tail end of Bagman's fringed lemon yellow sarong disappear into the brush. "Smokin' Jehosephat", she swore," this goading business is feverish stuff" She hoped the dam would break soon or she might have to consider the explosive mix  of politics, religion and sex to blow the doors off the reluctant bunch and send them streaming towards her in a maddened froth. Hmmm... that could have its drawbacks if she continued to the end of that particular image. She sighed and went into the kitchen for a glass of lemonade. She would take a break and think this over.

Let's keep this quiet

Hi, Zoe here, just back from meditating in the mountains and pleading with everyone to keep this locale a secret from Mrs. Lytle. She will surely find something to criticize, and I think it's so lovely to be here in outerspace with so much energy (chi) floating around me.

Not in kansas

Holy smokes Andy, we've gone into cyberland. Is this the part where we make secret names like

"Cyber Wiz" or "Smokin' Jo"? 

Princess Afternoon

Welcome to the RUGFarm

Geez, I hope I spelled that right.

Comment here to let everyone know you're around, k?

*hugs*

Susannah