Three days later.Another electric shock: “When you meet the Buddha, kill him!”A hundred flies have woken up, crawl across the window pane. A hundred white crocuses bloom on the meadow outside.The church bells ring in the village below. Five to nine a.m. They clang and roar for seven minutes.Nine: birth of a new time. Seven: key.The Master, meanwhile, in dream time, stumbles into a hall with the high and mighty. They invite him in. His soul reminding him of his infinite value.The Universe is on an active assignment spree.Replacing the curtain rod that had come out of the wall. The seven horse blankets that serve as curtains are very heavy. Heavy work is done. Pull out, drill, plug, screw in, unscrew, redrill, repeat, cut rod etc.Shoulder, elbow, right arm muscles inflamed. I lose my Nexus phone. Unfindable. Lose my pendulum, my tight decision-whisperer. Lose my pen. Inexplainably nowhere. For days now.This morning, finally, as the church bells ring: I dig thru my handbag: there it is. Easy. In its side-pocket home.Fun to be alive.Ready to go back to the curtain job. Hold up hub on the ladder.
Published by jochristianeledakis
Excited how words make us come alive and connect us across time and space. How we can share our love for shooting stars, jacaranda trees and the mystery of thunder storms. How the crystalline design of snowflakes holds a world of meaning. View all posts by jochristianeledakis