filling the well with: Osho.

Everyone has their own path to enlightenment. Some never get to the end of the path, others arrive and leave, and a very few stay. The lucky ones stay.

Even in my seeking I know I am wrong. I know the Zen saying, “stop walking, you are already there.”

But part of my journey is the seeking: despite the pain it has to be done.

Osho’s thoughts on Enlightenment:

It is said that the path of enlightenment is like a bird flying in the sky: it leaves no footprints behind; nobody can follow the footprints of the bird. Every bird will have to make its own footprints, but they dissapear immediately as the bird goes on flying. Similar is the situation, that’s why there is no possibility of a leader and a follower. That’s why I say these people like Jesus, Moses, Mohammed, Kirshna—who say, “You just believe me and follow me”—don’t know anything about enlightenment (78).

Enightenment is a very individual song—always unknown, always new, always unique. It never comes as a repetition. So never compare two enlightened persons; otherwise you are bound to do injustice to one or the other, or both. And don’t have any fixed idea (81).

childhood.

When I was five I concocted a methodical life-theory one blazing afternoon.

I was sitting in the front seat of our blue minivan, and I was still damp from swimming. Dad was driving. Unlike other adults, he would let me roll down the window and lean my forehead into the wind. Never my feet, though, because he told me it was “illegal” to stick your feet out of a moving vehicle.

Is that true?

I sat cross-legged in the front, gasping at the rushing air like a puppy. I thought: Good, bad, good, bad: that’s what times are like in life, there is a good time, then a bad time, a good time and then a bad.

Dad parked the car and turned to shoot me a mischievous grin. “Who wants ice cream,” he yelled, so that my sisters in the backseat could hear him.

In the rearview mirror I watched Cassie and Jackie clap and laugh, and as I imagined the milky sweetness melting on my tongue, I thought: this is a good time.

rut.

I apologize  beforehand – please feel free to skip! I need to vent:

We’ve hit a rut. An “island living” slump.

To start, Omar got in a fight with B, an argument which I want to know NOTHING about – it’s not my biz. But it's bugging him, and B keeps sending me emails, and I don't want anything do with with any of it! I'm staying way out of this one, but it still weighs heavy on my mind.

Tropical Storm Bertha rained us out of our snorkeling, and quarantined us inside this tiny, albeit beautiful, house. We watched a movie and chewed bubble gum. I ate too much sugar and suffered a massive stomach ache, which I can tell you did not help my mood.

I really miss Jackie and Sampson. I have so much to tell my little sister, and I want to talk to her all the time, and phone cards are so damn expensive, AH! 

everything is going to fix itself -

- But before optimism strikes, let me say that I sorely miss working internet, my cell phone, my email - I REALLY miss reading all of your blogs – I want to catch up with everybody, I feel out of the loop!

I don't like this "scheduled post" thing, but unfortunately it's the only option. 

More tomorrow, now I’m going to walk in the rain to cool my hot temper. 

Bon Day, all <3>

Oh, Osho.

If you want to work on your art, work on your life. –Chekhov

I am reading Autobiography of a Spiritually Incorrect Mystic, about Osho, in tadem with the Artist’s Way.

He isn’t a very good writer, but his message is clear and powerful.

This excerpt describes the way I feel about the ocean. I grew up in Florida, and from my birth until now, I have engaged in a constant love affair with the Atlantic.

Whenever you are in love with flowing things, moving things, you have a different vision of life. Modern man lives with asphalt roads, cement and concrete buildings. These are nouns, remember, these are not verbs. The skyscrapers don’t go on growing; the road remains the same whether it is night or day, whether it is a full-moon night or a night absolutely dark. It doesn’t matter to the asphalt road, it does not matter to the cement and concrete buildings.

Man has created a world of nouns and he has become encaged in his own world. He has forgotten the world of the trees, the world of the rivers, the world of the mountains and the stars. There they don’t know of any nouns, they have not heard about nouns; they know only verbs. Everything is a process. God is not a thing but a process.

What flowing things are you in love with?

dipping and diving.

Today we went snorkeling. I can now see why this place is called a diver’s hotspot!

Multicolored reef rings the banana shaped island. Purple, blue and magenta fish dip and duck through orange and yellow rock… black sea urchins crouch below jagged coral, schools of fish scatter like leaves, rusted canons and barnacle covered boats from the 18th century hide half submerged in the sand.

---- Well, to clarify, Omar SAID he saw a cannon when we were swimming from the beach. Supposedly there was “like a twenty foot one” near the shore, but upon returning we tried to find it – for thirty minutes – and we couldn’t. Mysterious canons! I told him maybe he was imagining it, a tropical form of p*nis envy… he didn’t like that too much. -----

The sand is white, so white I pretend its snow as I swim along the ocean floor. The water can’t be less than 75 degrees, and waves are nearly non-existent. Curacao sees perfect weather almost year round, yet tourists are known to flock to the other AåBC islands, especially Aruba, due to the semi desert landscape. The advantages for tourists, then, is seclusion and great preservation of the natural domain.

I am quickly falling head over heels for this enigmatic, hidden place… I can remember every moment, feel every second, and understand the brilliant purity that surrounds me!

More later : ) Off to search for that canon.

Kon ta bai? Mi ta bon.

Sky(Water?) Line

at Hook's Hut

Willemstad Colors

in honor of the Jackster, so far away : (

WINNING in paradise : )

Willemstad is the one and only city on the island of Curacao. We went there today, thinking we were headed to the infamous “CENTRUM” market. We can’t find it ANYwhere, and I want to go!! ARG!

On the way to Willemstad we got lost and loved it. We stopped at an out of the way restaurant called “Hooks Hut,” loved by locals and tourists alike (as our slightly rude waitress told us).

Afterwards we headed to the capital city in our stick shift vehicle. I can’t drive stick, so Omar has to… I like to snap photos out the window though : )

The best way I can describe Willemstad is a tropical Amsterdam with out rain and sexed up window ladies. The colonial buildings are extraordinarily preserved, and are washed with vibrant blues, greens, pinks and yellow. The people are nice, everyone sounds like they are singing… shopping was like taking a time machine back to the 80’s.

Tonight we are making shish kabobs and Omar doesn’t know it, but I bought some marshmallows, chocolate and graham crackers – S’MORE time!! Yet another childhood treat.

I have been writing every day, and feeling more clear than ever. I think I am finally letting go of the past, my recent break up especially, and embracing the present.

more later, now it's chow time <3

Filling the well with: Marilyn Hacker.

Rondeau After a Transatlantic Phone Call

by Marilyn Hacker

Love, it was good to talk to you tonight.
You lather me like summer though. I light
up, sip smoke. Insistent through walls comes
the downstairs neighbor's double-bass. It thrums
like toothache. I will shower away the sweat,

smoke, summer, sound. Slick, soapy, dripping wet,
I scrub the sharp edge off my appetite.
I want: crisp toast, cold wine prickling my gums,
love. It was good

imagining around your voice, you, late-
awake there. (It isn't midnight yet
here.) This last glass washes down the crumbs.
I wish that I could lie down in your arms
and, turned toward sleep there (later), say, "Goodnight,
love. It was good."

Curacao, first few days...

from the plane,

our private beach-

Omar's sandy feet-

losing (mini putt) in paradise!

bon appetit : )

Curacao is unbelievable! I am writing this in my air conditioned house-for-two-weeks, looking over a turquoise cove Curacao is unbelievable!

This is an island of rugged juxtapositions. Cacti line the white beaches, pink and orange bougainvillea colors the sparse grey landscape. Rocky hills nudge the calm Atlantic coast. Even the language, Papiamento, is a bizarre mix: Spanish, English, French, and “something else.”

Synopsis of today’s adventure:

… We awoke after a 12-hour sleep. I felt incredibly refreshed, having slept off my plane weariness. For breakfast I ate stolen miniwheats and wrote morning pages in the “outside living area,” what Omar calls his “naked place” (he has delusions about nudist living, NO they aren’t realized). I wrote, I read, I photographed our surroundings. He jogged the rocky hills.

Later we reconvened to hit the beach and float on fraying rafts in the clear Caribbean water. Nobody is here; we have the place to ourselves. Down the road there’s a hotel, and we are permitted to use their facilities for $5. They have a charming staff whose language sounds like a song. Combined with the crashing waves and whistling winds, this place is absolutely paradise.

After baking for hours we played mini-putt-putt and guess who won? Moi. Victory is sweet : ) but the pina colodas we drank afterwards were sweeter.

Hope you all are having a great July!

i scream, we scream, we all scream for icecream.

from Anna.

Describe five traits you like in yourself as a child:

Little Robin is,

- energetic
- happy
- creative
- loving
- carefree/ free

What are five childhood accomplishments?

- always knowing directions to places
- directing many, many plays with my little sisters
- building forts and creating alternate realities
- being favored by Mrs. Basil
- playing Beauty in Beauty in the Beast

What are five favorite childhood foods?

- chocolate ice cream
- mozzarella sticks
- green apple with diet coke
- chicken fingers and fries
- watermelon bubble gum

(the bottom two are still my favorites)

what are your answers to these questions? I would love to know : )

I merely took the energy it takes to pout and wrote some blues. – Duke Ellington

on second thought

zzzz

AM flight tomorrow morning

It's no coincidence that in no known language does the phrase "As pretty as an airport" appear - Douglas Adams

Why have I always loved airports?

Hundreds of thousands of people congregate in one spot before departing for hundreds of thousands of places.

We join one another in line, on escalators, in the high speed trams zipping from terminal to terminal– We eat $20 burgers and sip $5 Starbucks, click clack our laptops, wearily scan crowds for that maybe-terrorist.

A fusion occurs. You become one with the crowd - you are a worker among workers, a patron among patrons.

I find this comforting.

I am watching a young Mom try to control three kids under the age of four. Deep circles sit like dark puddles below her eyes. Hairline cracks crease the thin skin around her mouth. She orders “Sandra” to pull up her pants and “Ian” to sit down, all the while bouncing a red-faced baby on her knee. I think, where is her husband? Where is the father?

So I repeat: why do I love airports, this den of germs, confusion and chaos?

Transit. Mass transit. The crowd is constantly changing, never static – only the airport employees stay put, those shadowy figures ringing up our magazines, our trailmix, our cashew shaped pillows.

Airports contain the best and the worst of humanity. Nothing beats it. Except maybe the gym.

I arrived in Miami safely, and have been hanging out with Omar's family the entire night... we watched the show "Wipeout," has anyone seen it? It is HILARIOUS, but prepared to feel seriously guilty.

more later. sweet dreams, mundobello.

tonight,

I am watching Sex and the City with Jackie and Max, making s'mores, drinking La Croix.

Tomorrow I'm headed to Miami!! And then sunny Curacao : )