sometimes when i pray
i look out my window

and i say
lord, show my something that is perfect
so i know you exist

and i heard a voice
and it said...

time
   after

time


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2PqhOrgk11A

{recovered transcript]

{urbanmonks meeting April 24, 1931}

People, people. Please find your seats.

Ok, then.  Let me begin by thanking you all for coming out here on a Thursday evening.

Ladies and gentlemen.  My briefest of meditations this evening surround the notion of humility.

There was a little brown cow
how i know this, heres how -

I drank the milk from the teet
engorged on this dairy so sweet
there on my knees in the hay
inside the barn, on this spring day

and now when i get all tangled up this humans life
everyone running, finding a man or a wife

i lick my lips and recall
how








it felt like
in that moment
to be a young cow

I sit in the easterly third of my bay window with the windows open, wide.  The blue sky to the south is shrinking as the heavenly-white sand dunes in the sky ripple their way across Lake, California, Clement, etc.  In the sun, it was hot a few minutes before and now in the grey sky it is still warm.  No wind, hardly a breeze out there; a scarce calmness felt in San Francisco.  It seems like the clouds above can't wait to release their moisture from the Pacific that they carried over who knows how many miles of endless sea.  The raindrops falling upon the yard, so tiny and light, feel like an east coast summer afternoon shower; where the slight moisture upon the earth releases a sweet smell that I can only recollect from t-shirt afternoons on the east coast.  These tiny drops create an almost white-noise, with no specific droplet to be heard.  Not enough moisture yet built up on the leaves or roofing shingles to grab your attention with their dramatic thud of sheer volume as they hit the ground below.  

The search for warmth is instinctive in all creatures with breath. Cultural differences arise when we value differently sources of heat and thus are attracted towards them accordingly. As a dog sits beneath the rays of light beaming in from the large bay windows, a boy places his confused head upon his mother's nook. As a sea lion lays upon the warm sand in the heat of day, a New York man may sit in a cafe upon the listless stares of Chinese checkers and satiate upon the delectable Cha Siu Bao accompanied with plastic bag water filtered coffee grinds. As a bearded dragon arches himself upon a heat lamp, a homeless man may stay up all night ripping espresso and contemplating prior youtube psychedelic experiences.

A man's numb mind may over power his decision making abilities, and allow him to walk into the tenderloin to find his fix, meanwhile simultaneously another man decided his heart must move his body to spend his free day at the clinic counseling these robots, attempting to put a twig in their karmic wheel of repetitive bodily harm. Both men, following their breath, with directions provided by their will, towards what will keep them warm when the fog rolls in.

As life is best shared, we seek others that agree upon selections of warmth. We surround ourselves with creatures of similar selection. We market ourselves, our ideas and the direction we're headed, in the hopes that other creatures will join us at the new art opening, the movie premier or the hip bar's happy hour. After digesting a plethora of information (city living) we attend social events in which we expect the temperature to be dialed in to our preferences, we put our head on a swivel, and we start the mating process. Others may decline to consume the abundant information, full knowing that the concrete cushion on the sunny-side of the block may provide all we seek. Why aren't the beautiful women of the Richmond salivating over such a practice?

The Saturday evening quiet hum of red delicious apples
Slices through the blue air like helicopter blades.

Out there somewhere boys race cars.

Inside the house its all darker before the evening has made there dark too.

This morning the street undulations appeared well rested and clean.
They were greyish black without shimmer.
------
 
For eternity running through grassy fields with long flowers and bees and flying meaty grasshoppers.

One lands on your leg as you stop to breath. You run on again for another ten thousand years.
-----

 Your dreams consist of deciphering bees dances and the memories of river eddies. You long for a fatherly male grandfather to teach and guide you. But no one is there. You look into the wisdom of birds flights for guidance, and make sense of the sadness of Spring, by the memory of the clean air of winter cold and enlivening, shivering always the night away. In the loveliest place is the sound of laughter in the park by the lake in summer,evening moon glow on sun warmed skin. Big green trees sway, a thunderstorm on the way. Tiny drops and everyone runs their cars.  Sleep and the dream of bees dancing soon underway.

I was robbed tonight.   My first time ever.  Not figuratively robbed, like the $9 beers at baseball games, but the real deal; the taker, face to face with his victim.  An injustice executed over the kind of nominal amount that makes the news for its petty value, just two dollars.  There was no aggressive motions of violence in this robbery, but rather the societal damaging blow of intent of another deeming their desires that much more valuable than another.  And worse, over the simple sequence of varying tones, neatly arranged in an order that is pleasing to the ears and the neural signals it sends throughout the body....

....

I took Little Bear for a walk at Baker Beach. It was beautiful out. The sky was gray and the wind was strong. Sometimes it was too strong and threw sand, so I protected Little Bear with my body. That was great for him, he loves to cuddle. He made friends with a terrier named Buster. They chased each other around. I raced Little Bear across the beach. He started to tire out so we walked home. I gave a man with a camera directions to China Beach. Now Little Bear is all tucked in on my bed. Dan put the sheets over him like a father would his child. We spoil Little Bear. But we're trying not to feed him what we eat anymore, so he doesn't get fat.

It's Easter Sunday, at 5:30 p.m., and Geary Boulevard is quiet.  It seems that everyone is either placing cloth napkins upon their lap or half asleep; recuperating on a relatives couch from a feast of protein and gravy.  In those homes, the static of baseball is alive in the den.  The soothing play-by-play mumbles in the background as dads fall sleep, cousins go for strolls around the neighborhood, and moms dry dishes with damp kitchen towels.