zensolo’s e-mailed chronicles posted by morituri.

Archive for April, 2001

hebdo.amStrand: thin edge, new moon

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still, quiet center of midweek, Mercredi, honoring mercury/hermes/eleggua:
trickster-messenger of th gods (coyote, too, then?)
inhabitant of twilight, thresholds, transitions-
communicator, transformer in constant motion…
be patient & gentle in yr lessons- too easily I divine abstruse, esoteric abstractions
while th commonsense rules for human companionship elude me…
show me th right path, th doorway you hold open on th edge of shadow & light…

a postscript to last week’s installment:
klaus-heiner prodded th smoldering mound of ashes th day after our bonfire & checked it out again a
few more times before departure, finding embers that would spark to life at th slightest provocation. we
had lit
th bonfire on Saturday night & after th ‘band of deutschers’ left on Tuesday I turned my attention to
reorganizing stuff & reterritorialising th house…
what wouldn’t be my surprise when exactly a week from our evening light-up, after a few days of dry
weather & rising mercury, I get a whiff of smoke & look out th window to see th pile of ashes has burst
into full flame, with no outside assistance, as far as I could figure! signs & portents…

I made garden work my priority for these two weeks as th moon began to wane- popular wisdom has it
this is th right time for pruning, planting & transplanting. th last few days, however, I’ve experienced a
serious drop in energy, motivation & momentum…not sure yet how much of it is physical tiredness, how
much emotional fallout…as if i could trace a clear border between th two…

sonnabend into Sonntag…
ah what’s th use, what’s th use of living in this material world-
this densely rational, consistently sensuous illusion?
what’s th use of all this barely contained flesh & blood, th sad
sack of our skin pulling & stretching its wrinkles
to make believe we can fulfill one another-
flesh achy-breaking in lust after flesh, blood knocking
on blood’s echo only to spill it…
why not yield & surrender to th safely controlled
matrix of pure image & th pleasures of virtuality?
what’s th use? if we cannot lose & recover our selves
in each other, among th ten thousand objects of this world
but join their number in sinking isolation or desperately
feeding off & on one another like ever-dissatisfied hungry ghosts-
what’s th use?


Written by morituri

April 23rd, 2001 at 12:00 am

Posted in Uncategorized


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i remember another moon, not brighter by much…
(th lavender candle burns low on th verge of snuffing it)
discipline -in th sense of an unflagging constancy of effort-
needs th starting or renewal point of expressed intentions

i have become an inveterate puttering circle artist. not quite procrastinating, not quite achieving, reordering

& priorities until urgency forces me to take action on th obviously overdue payment, nagging health issue, or

personal physical-emotional-spiritual need…
as pangloss tells candide, ‘il faut cultiver son jardin!’

sudden midnight shower, as mittwoch slips into holy thursday. a full day of garden work- dug five small to

sizable filipino
coconut tree saplings out & set them in buckets, ready for selling, gifting, ot just replanting in a more

appropiate corner of th
property. javier came by & took th littlest one, which i’d set & nestled in an old straw gift basket. i raked

leaves, yanked
runners & vines, pruned bits of th star of india & bougainvillea, sawed off termite-eaten seagrape branches…

i’ve managed to lose th little pruning clippers. or hide them from myself. not under th tangle of trimmed

& drying leaves slowly composting against th property wall, not in any nook in that wall, not in my garden

corner…twilight zone, anyone?

day two for intense, waning moon garden work. looking on th head-high mound of coconut palm pencas, pruned

branches & other drying vegetable trim, i remember th night last month my neffe klaus-heiner helped me build a

bonfire. th
dangerous mix of paint thinner & lamp oil i had sprinkled on th then sprawling, months-old mound of

branches, overgrown by fresh weeds & runners & slightly damp from some earlier showers, was not enough of a

but .k gathered empty cement bags from th unfinished wall repair project & they were dry enough to catch
th spark & keep th flame alive- th living plants sputtering & smoking, a full-blown blaze finally rising out

of th compacted
tinderbox underneath. a good german from a family of engineers, .k had filled a couple of buckets of water to

keep nearby as
a safety precaution. he traipsed barefoot around th fire th whole night, however.
i forget what rusty old tools i brought out from th garage- th toothless rake, th garden hoe, th handleless

& started pushing & shoveling ashes in, narrowing th circle of fire & clearing th cement slab that sometime

back in my early
teen years had been poured for a basketball court.
we were at it until sometime around two in th morning, a good three hours, watching th fire die down & revive

& again as we shoved th bigger branches & trunk sections, now smoldering logs, back into th heart of th

gathered embers. it
was a great evening. a light breeze shifted uncertainly between south & southeast, th smoke drifting towards th

ocean or th
house where everyone slept as .k & i circled & watched.

happy passover-easter renewal season, y’all!
hugs, d=(8{>

Written by morituri

April 13th, 2001 at 12:28 am

Posted in Uncategorized

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