Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Ghost Dogs When We Sit In A Circle

Blurred stars. In the bracken rustling. Later I will have to "hold space." One learns, one does.

The old woman suggested - tacitly - a new project. The last green before autumn. Fragments imply wholeness is not an insight. Insight is itself.

Sleepy dogs, ghost dogs. When we sit in a circle without talking is helpful. Non-tribal fellowship abounds. A few sentences will do.

Hold true? Dice are fun! A pile of books is too but differently. Or maybe not.

Or not so much. "Are you with me so far?" Abandon lyrics outside the shed please. In this dream, Thelonious Monk.

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