Every time I travel to the Philippines...

You know what game I like to play while traveling on the plane? It's a game I call "Spot the Perverts" in which the goal is to figure out which guys are coming just to get some suckie-suckie! It' kinda like Bingo, and you win if you complete a row of pervs!

FOLD

Because "the past shakes hands with the future through the present."

The elderly you see today
Were children this morning.
They were born yesterday
And sang and danced and played
With their brothers and sisters and friends
Whose own parents were kids
Just a few hours before that.

We'll bury our parents this afternoon.
And our children will be born tonight,
So they can bury us in the morning.
And their children
Will grow up
And catch up
With the rest of the elderly.

Snapshots of the Elephant Dreamer

Image by Getty Images via Daylife...atop my elephant, as we meander through the rainforest. The elephant's legs are my legs, sensing every bush, vine, and stone beneath us as we make our way over fallen logs and shallow streams. I recall camping trips of years past, when we'd take our horses into the mountains, pretending to be the Marlboro Man. But this time, I realize that there is no better sport utility vehicle than an elephant. Yeah, horses are quick and nimble, but an elephant's trunk is the perfect apparatus for clearing obstructions up ahead.

A cacophony of crickets, birds and tree frogs resonates within the theater of the forest. But as we approach a clearing, the curtain of vines gradually gives way to the sound of ocean waves in the distance. We step upon the soft powder of a broad flat beach. The sun lingers at just the right angle to illuminate shallow waves glimmering like diamonds floating delicately above the sand.

I can see my friends, who are already setting up camp at the far end of the beach. An intense eagerness erupts within me, as I anticipate another one of our majestic evening cookouts. Music, played on hand-carved instruments, floats upon drinks flowing merrily between friends gathered around the fire.

black gold of the son

flowwwed toward our country
a rich dark brown and black
came from foreign shores
to fuel the engine of our economy
delivering loads
of prosperity and wealth
though not quite a sin
we struggled for redemption
from impending doom
because the fuel
of our economic engine
incurred a karmic debt
of mythic proportions
The year was 1861
when Cotton was King
And blood was first spilled
for the sake of slavery

Drip

It's a holographic multiverse
Where every thing is densely packed
And every strand is tightly wound.
And every stroke of creativity
Is but a movement in an exercise
Of spiritual acts, each of which
Produce a bead of sweat.
And when those beads are allowed to DROP,
They flow into the river of Truth
That nourishes the veins of the Divine.

From the Archives: 10 years ago on SoulSnax

Afraid of falling...
Terrified of not knowing
If I'll plummet
or soar.
reluctant to relinquish
unwilling to give,
uncomfortable taking
and living
what's mine
to give.
Just like you.
Afraid to comprehend,
or unwilling
too lazy to explore?
it's easier to ignore.