06/01 Direct Link
Humpbacks in the Sacramento

Maria and her calf.
Lost? I think not. She, distraught, has lived a lifetime learning Cetacean lore, the sacrifice of oil to light house lamps guiding human ships, only an ante to 20th Century slaughter, factory ships, exploding harpoons, but more insidious, heavy metals, mercury and worse, the temperature of oceans. Her child! Its home imperiled.

In her deepest knowing, the human cousins must be called.

“We are crying. You have heard our songs and still not understood. Know me. Know my child. We come to beg your mercy. Your estuary braved. Know us. Compassion awake!”
06/02 Direct Link
El Quetzel Dormido (ref. Thomas Pynchon’s latest, p. 990-991)

The sleeping Quetzel rests Against the Day, resplendent feathers folded, silent, unperturbed as cacao, coffee, rubber and banana dollars flow in maguey brandy and “the local moonshine known as pox”. Safely hidden in the open, the Quetzel’s secret is shared by an Indian girl who comes from the ruins of Palenque and “the giant luminous beetles known as cucuji. Each night in the country around Palenque, […millions of cucuji illuminate…] the miles of ruins hidden among the jungle trees…flashing brightly and then going dark, over and over, all in perfect unison.”
06/03 Direct Link
Thirty-Three Years

As a couple, they were an oddly happy throwback, embracing one another’s faults and failures as well as virtues and victories. Triumph is easy company; good times develop little character, but weathering disappointment and accepting moments of weakness in oneself as well as in one’s partner—that is fast binding glue.

The final hexagram, Before Completion, six in the fifth: The steadfast are not routed. All is well. Misgivings overcome! The New Time arrives and with it good fortune. The sun shines forth, redoubled in radiance after the rain. The forest grows verdant from charred ruin of fire.
06/04 Direct Link
It’s About Time: #1

Words move. Sound breathes. Lung lunge, larynx quiver reed, rattle gourd, tongue bow, arrow talk delivered.

Galloping ghost gait.
Ancient speak waking:

What a rush hour! Just a minute rice nano bit bridal shower fertile rite. Uncle Big Ben tolling Greenwich Mean— the clean sweep, second sight, second hand me down load up link second think coming— drawn, quartered; past the border, date line crossing Bering Strait line, sea lion, walrus tusk, spooky tooth, ancient speak waking. Epochal hour glass, refraction turning, running through the sands of, heals all, waits for no, in between, it’s about:
06/05 Direct Link
It’s About Time: #2

Totem Polaris.
Sundial shaft shadow cast survey map sidereal.
Where we are when we are:
Incarnate echo passed.
Fractal cosmos,
chaos read out sorts out silk thread Sphereknot tangle. Binds us into skeins. —It’s about time!

Valentine arrows, magnetic, attracting troubles. Trials. True lovelorn tribulations. Heart worn on magic sleeve. We’ve seen the face on Mars, heard crop circles singing. Avebury ringing. Confound our thrill on Silbury Hill: Can anyone read Kokopeli? Petroglyph walking.
Ancient speak waking—

Mother has a low grade fever
hot house headache
polar ice-cap lapsing
Mother’s ague rattling: Cast the Bones!
06/06 Direct Link
It’s About Time: #3

The Dead begin to speak. Unyielding. Unremitting. Truth arriving. Absolute. Final. Heard within. Grave spin. Filament word line. Pneuma still. Pneuma moving.
Heaven and Earth— Could be the last— Happens every— It’s about—

Sisters. Sons. Lovers. All,
along the watchtower,
silent hands tell Time in passing.
Dance the ancient laser lightspeak fibre optic— alarm ring —wake up calling— “At the tone…” —each moment entwines civil-hymn-media See? Global Village intimacy bound
in a single clock sound!

Quickened Spirit-Union Trip-Tik Talking Time and Again, this promenade, to and fro the mortal coil, fleet, a Mystery spinning. . .
06/07 Direct Link
A dozen pages and I finish Against the Day.

Pynchon’s time-travel motif surfaced again (p.1060). Lew Basnight, a private third-eye, long and sadly separated from his wife has the opportunity to see into her Akashic record: three graceful decades, the love of his life beautifully and poignantly aging without him.

“Amid a technical environment so corrupted by less-than-elevated motives, usually mercenary, for "setting forth against the Enemy Wind" (as early epics of time-travel described it), there must now and then appear one compassionate time-machine story, time travel in the name of love, with no expectations of success, let alone reward.”
06/08 Direct Link
Wormhole Hunger: #1
A Jester’s Conjecture

Some hundred million galaxies,
some thousand billion stars,
Chandrashakar culls mass sufficient to collapse the paradox of time gone inside out,
square root minus one black hole.
Dark star disappears.
Event horizon overlap; sealed lips, sucking worm holes, warp time. The past escapes.

Planets drawn, reverse,
resurrect distant worlds, masked, mystical.
Our sun, within Chandrashakar’s Limit,
avoids cull— Till outer lords of darkness tumble too, Pluto and beyond. . .

Imploding into absence;
earth, a roulette ball, backslides
Surfing the event horizon’s curling lip,
endless ages ravel time backward.
Earth become as it was:
06/09 Direct Link
Wormhole Hunger: #2

Gaea’s four legged dawn crawls up, climbs over croupier’s posthistoric event horizon. A gnawing wormhole hunger strikes the hour. Chandrashakar kick starts, breaks the bank, and exceeds credit ability. Collapsing, Jolly Old Sol will soon foreclose on debts Plutonians owe. What then?

Through a glass darkly, fevered or simply mad, the black star, eye-to-eye.
Staring down a time warp steep as any mother’s birth canal. Salvation.

Child by child, atom by atom, planet by planet, outward and on to All by All by Allah by Atman,
no less, no more than Apocalypse Now and Again. . .
06/10 Direct Link
Wormhole Hunger: #3

An archangel sitting on top of the world, Schroedinger petting his cat. Penelope purrs.
In her dream, we teeter on the cusp, spill over Chandrashakar’s Limit. Find fear
in a handful of dust.

O, to be human!
Strung upon the dreadful loom— rewound —our lifetimes on a mobius magic lantern reel, too real! Our dye lot cast, Poured like unexpected wedding wine borne out the mouth of a Kline bottle nosed dolphin breaching eternal at the lip of our own event horizon. . .
Been there. Doing that!

Time travel? Chains!
A boddhisatva vow cannot be broken.
06/11 Direct Link
Wormhole Hunger: #4

Here for the duration.
Slave to love, wandering star fields,
riding cosmic winds, wheat stalks wave whispering secrets,
bow to grinding wheel calls,
John Barleycorn’s binge; singing stones: Multitudes to feed,
yet children starve for want of simple milk. Human kindness.

Ever thus— remember Sumer?
Might. Opulence. Sin pervading sinew,
thread bound,
I railed— swore it would not be so, and sew, and sow: reaped, Grim, brothers calling down the house. woke up senseless, Gibbering, untamed tongues lashing out—
Swore no rest till each and every child was blessed, However lowly, stable born, orphaned, prince or pauper.
06/12 Direct Link
Wormhole Hunger: #5

Time travel is no less nor more than this profound and deeply driven will to make a difference. With this, we project ourselves beyond the ken of our own knowing, to wake again and again, ever striving to get it right for once. A thousand inept clowns sent in…

…yet evil so set in the marrow that they may never there survive. Ah. Well, let’s not despair the stretch, an elusive end to justify this mean existence, and I swear, we’re getting closer,
“…a little closer all the time…”
06/13 Direct Link
Wormhole Hunger: #6

Struck blind, sighted from the grave, risen lame, walking on water—
—zombie on the lam sacrificed.
Spectral shroud—
Our future come ghostly present, an accosting accountant. Out there, just a little way out.
on the near event horizon,
where Schrödinger’s Penelope purrs,

Time travel?
It calls for such deep dreaming, few remember where or when they started.
Seems it never happened.
Seems it’s always happening.
Already happened.
Hear. Now.
Send up Gaea’s prayer for Peace.
For equilibrium. For balance.
All brothers and sisters in love and hope,
I know we’ll meet again some sunny day.
06/14 Direct Link
Flag Day Prayer for grandchild’s arrival:

Soon, our granddaughter’s debut, Gramma Buddha and I will drive ten hours to say hello.
So much fun to come,
sharing traditional stories and songs:

There was an old woman, swept up in a basket, Seventeen times as high as the sky
And where she was going, I couldn’t but ask it
For in her hand she carried a broom.

“Old woman, old woman, old woman,” says I,
“O, whither, o, whither, o whither so high?”
“To sweep all the cobwebs out of the sky!”
“Shall I go with thee?” “Aye! Bye and bye.”
06/15 Direct Link

"I give you the end of a golden string
Only wind it into a ball
It will lead you in at heaven's gate
Built in Jerusalem's walls."

William Blake

Bead 1
Destiny sighs.
Earth bound.
Compass Drum.
Fossil whistle call.
Time out spiraling down
Unicornucopian slide from Monoceros
ringing Icarus’ cochleate ear, Karmic hammer clanging anvil,
stirrup tight, boot tongue in step,
tap tap dances mysticoetti melon, prescient, Ezra pounds a whaling wall, Carolina phosphate telephonic fossil dream trap back door bell, Miocene, tingling inner ear bone:
Megaptera Novaeangliae,
angel plunge
Van Allen blackout—
Awaken. Amnesiac.
06/16 Direct Link

Bead 2
Remember lying on a lawn?
Inspecting each and every clover?
Looking for four leaves?
Leprechaun ticket, all expenses paid,
ascending comic gnome, opposite gravity,
jester smiles uplifting lips, eternal trace,
lazy figure eight, dreaming, horizontal,
turning back and forth upon itself,
galactic taffy pull,
Mobius trap-door jamb dropped
out from under.

Bead 3
A W A K E !
With a fright
in Gully Foyle galactic freighter,
Winkin', Blinkin', Nod dock shuttle loom Astarte; beamed up, locked on obscure delivery bay, unloading stardust and comet tales
at the back of a Cosmic Conference Hall.
06/17 Direct Link

Bead 4
Metaphysical midway barkers call.
Kahuna Kupuas. Shameless shaman.
Wayward wizards. Hothouse healers.
Maniacal magicians. Spirit warriors hustling fourfold lucky charms. What harm? What pane? See through Hucksters Path.
Take the Western Road.

Bead 5
Universe melting?
Keep your head down. Eat. Watch TV. Be wary.
Control Jack in the OJ cable box sprung some brother grim, reaper come to scythe up the field cannot well be seen within the field.
Harvest, too random, word combine,
crop circle sorcerer, Nielsen sweeping
cobwebs out of the sky.
Depraved. Ravening Ratings.
The stars will dust my broom.
06/18 Direct Link

Bead 6
It's a slippery trail to Machu Pichu.
Better unpack the New Age tourister luggage,
the designer label emotional baggage.
Drop the libel suitcase;
no Freudian alligator guilt bags.
Forget the double trouble jealousy duffel;
leave the steamer trunks
of anger and resentment.
Pride-o-man backpack unslung.
Shake the snake skin avarice tote.
A medicine pouch will suffice.

Bead 7
Traveling Light.
Booked Pangaean. 8th Day Tour.
The Travel Guide promise:
Rosette petal born nebula dust,
Embarking from Monoceros with Krishna skipping lodestones 'cross the Milky Way. Vishnu's avatar Kalki, Mr. Clean in a Constellation Cruiser, come!
06/19 Direct Link

Bead 8
Destiny respires.
Icarus answers,
Fallen, angels wake, amnesiac.
Pledging Time.
Testing each terrible, tentative step, trembling, step. Arduous, solar spinal column read, climbing into in.
Memory: Homing.
Hidden drive cul-de-sac off wisdom lane.
blind alley, convolute. Dead end, after life recollects residence.

Bead 9
Return to future planet past perfect. Tense.
What would have been
with slow, gentle courage,
caring, forgiving, enduring,

Where Wimoweh wakens!

Within seed, flowers yearn,
recollect her pollen call. Nirvana…
…honey bee quiver, Shakti shiver
through a hive as vast as Valhalla.

It's check out time at the Nether World Hotel.
06/20 Direct Link

Bead 10
A long lobby queue snakes beneath the Nether World’s soaring starlit high noon dome.
Time to settle accounts.
Draw straws.
First time day labor second guessed pledge
to seek this work.
Nerve. Stomach on edge.
Waiting. Wondering. Worrying.
Preoccupied clerks examine endless records;
verify bodhisattva vows;
grant Earth re-entry visas.

Bead 11
Serpentine line—
budding buddhas, make-ready martyrs, soon-to-be saints, and egoless eccentrics —winds back forth back upon itself.
TSA Traffic Safety Angels
monitor memory cloud machine,
backward to the Pearly Exit;
countless good works to forget,
crucifixions numbed with tabla rasa tablets…
06/21 Direct Link

Bead 11 (held suspended)

Monster salvage job!
Worse every day.
Rumors buzz:
Ozone Hole, Oil spill, polar bears drowning. Starvation, drought, African AIDS,
priestly child molesting predators, biotoxins, RPGs, unholy road side incendiary martyr limbs torn torsos thrown--
...weapons of mass insanity...
Twin Towers falling,
shock and awe, shuck and jive,
Abu Graib Guantanamo. Abramoff Delay action. Scooter Goat Sacrifice. Wolfowitz at the Door. Tsunami-Pakistani-Katrina-Rita-FEMA fumbling--

All but outta hand down there!
No place god fearing spirits would land.
Any number of saints already lost,
options bought by Mammon's bling,
knights errant course paved with good intentions...
06/22 Direct Link

Bead 12
Does our commitment waver?
Do angels fear to tread?
Send in the clowns!
Fools rush,
sentient souls left behind blind ambition,
"Well, I got mine! It’s monkey time.”

Seraphim quake on the brink.
Dragon slayer lair where patriarchs of power cast a pall. Hell fire shadow dance. Cavort. Rollick round millennia:
conquest, plunder and indulgence.

Bead 13
The queue quavers.
Firemen frozen, doubt fraught
truant rescuers hide in heaven’s cloak room.

Long lost,
the turquoise brother calls,
signs the Gate.
His old soul'd been down before,
true pahana re-up,
Hopi come to reunite the nations.
06/23 Direct Link

Bead 14
Once tedious,
salvation agency bureaucrats
jitterbug the oracle rag,
swing into the old black hat routine:
bow ties, taps and canes.

All the saints, put at ease,
fold wings into medicine bundles,
board blue-faced Krishna's starship,
hook themselves to the static line…

Bead 15
…the Avatar intones,
If not now, when?

And so,
joining their voices
with all the company of heaven,
the saints come marching to the threshold,
each in turn incarnate, pulling on Earth's umbilical chord,


Bead 16
Remember lying on a lawn?
Inspecting each and every clover?
Looking for four leaves?
06/24 Direct Link
The curious reader may recall my “Flag Day Prayer for grandchild’s arrival”.

Hallelujah! My prayer has been answered!

On Friday (6/22/07) after I entered Rosary Beads 12 & 13, baby girl Smith and her parents went into Labor & Delivery. One week later, I try to complete 100words for 6/24 through 6/30 before the month expires. 6/23 was no problem; the final Beads were in my queue, but I have abandoned an earlier plan to introduce Max Blake, a Cetacean who chooses human incarnation; more timely joy may follow spinning some of the tale of Evalyn Whitney Smith’s debut instead.
06/25 Direct Link
Have I been getting ahead of myself?
What would life be without self doubt?

Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, my astrologer friend, Robert Taylor, was due for lunch but late enough that I decided to call.
After all, almost two weeks had passed since we chose the solstice to share a meal and catch up. I wanted to introduce Robert to Max Blake. Could my concept for the character be captured in the 100words format?

Tapping Robert’s number, I walked to the front screen door. As his voice mail answered, there he was, riding his bike up my drive.
06/26 Direct Link
Robert Taylor, a good news messenger and a delight, is also honest. His tactful delivery of astrological “growth” opportunities always presents negatives in a positive frame. The influence of Saturn (Gustav Holst’s Bringer of Death and Old Age) has been central to our conversations. Folks don’t always catch the ideas in my writing, but Robert “groks” and I knew he would be a good gauge of Max Blake’s accessibility.

I have enough doubts of my own, but I really want to capture Max’s story as a way of raveling The WEAVERS’ KNOT. Alas, Max is not ready for prime time.
06/27 Direct Link
The next day, the importance of my work was put in perspective.

I had just submitted another String Theory Rosary entry when my son called from Maryland. His wife was in labor. I called Buddha at work; she was at a lunch meeting so I left a message. I figured that we would pack, get a good night’s rest and hit the road at the crack of dawn on Saturday the 23rd. Susan called me back at one o’clock and asked, “Are you packed yet?”

We were on the road by three p.m.
Gramma Buddha's got her priorities in order!
06/28 Direct Link
As we drove across Ohio and Pennsylvania and into Maryland, regular progress reports punctuated Buddha’s knitting. She was finishing a lap blanket and a new born hat for Baby Girl Smith. Then the calls stopped coming. One hour, two hours, three hours passed with no update. What can one do but stick to one’s knitting and keep on trucking?

Soon after we pulled up the drive and took care of the dogs, a relieved and very happy new papa called us. Evalyn had arrived and her mom was fine. We could ease our minds and allow our bodies to rest.
06/29 Direct Link
As I type, a new little family recuperates across the country. Gramma Buddha and I are now home, having been truly blessed to meet and hold our first grandchild. It is a fearsome world for anyone to enter, and all who dare, must pass through the gateway of innocence. I return to my work and my prayers now turn to mantras for peace and forgiveness, for a world where men and women and all living creatures come to balance, finding an equilibrium that might one day sustain the right and just celebration of birth for all new citizens of earth.
06/30 Direct Link
Behind the Veil nebula, mystery:
A swan unfolding angel wings
soars across the deep dark nadir pool,
midnight shimmers, the universe is breathing.

Stardust comes to visit the garden.
We saddle cross galactic incarnation.
Mount. Rare back, and giddy-up, grow!

We lift a basket full of light,
our joy song, unicornucopian, utopian,
hope again, come!

Every breath on Earth is mirrored in the universe rippling like a stone thrown in a still lagoon.

To hear the quintessential stars now forming—
To hear the stars—
the stars now form—
Far flung from Sagittarius.

The voices of children sing out of doors.