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Meditation

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Little horror conversation

I do not write. I do not speak either, it's useless. People, life, internet ... It overestimates the interest of "communication". After three weeks of work I returned to my apartment. I take a bath: plastic duck does not speak. But he said not bad! Finally stored in the living room, varnished, dusted, desperately not finished with her kitchen still under cover, I look at this, that, the table was a book. No need to cry, dammit! With the silence, the tea I miss - not only over time.

Moreover it does not agree with me. Consider: at a luncheon last week, the conversation turned on the worst subject ever. Hardly a topic, a lesion in the hubbub. For example, say, the flu, you know, the one we are always hearing. It would be to say about that: "communication" of the virus, "communication" of the government, this communion morbid lend any rhetoric. So you are expressing your weariness rather sharply. And one of those present, considering it necessary, it seems, to justify being vaccinated, after listening to your spiel smile, loose: "I know someone, thirty-five years, no field. He died. "

And here.

It is not clear if this is a vague knowledge of work, a friend of friends, a brother. "He is dead" is enough. At the time, you stare at your interviewer. How this death was she affected? If it's more than it seems, this cuts out any possibility of response, decency you would ban. With age you have developed a keen sense of decency. Too bad for you. Time for a fundamental realization, it is too late, the effect was successful. You're speechless. That's what we wanted, right? What else? We did fly the ultimate argument. Worse: you kindly put uncomfortable with the minutes, you are your own fool eyes. After all, you know someone who last year crossed the street and was hit by a car. He died. Get vaccinated against the street. One of your friends, insulted, slandered, imprisoned, hanged himself in his cell. Fates get vaccinated against despair, against slander! Against the world too! (Ah, if only ...) So? You shut up? Simple: "He is dead." Paf.

But do not try to hide in shame and disgust. Nothing works, trust me. Go further and shut up. No, really it does me any good not. It did not seem to succeed in the great world into reality. It continues, however, good form, good. I just now multiplied consciousness.

--- I take the plane tomorrow. The hullabaloo ...

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Upside

down.

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--- Do not give up

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Thanks Denis!

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Small room

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Mustang: the kingdom of Lo

Directions:

Kathmandu

Pokhara.

A bad monsoon cloud cuckoo prevented us from taking off. Annapurna and Dhaulagiri between the valley of the Kali Gandhakî was a huge sponge. It took us two days in a jeep to travel the distance that the aircraft would have swallowed half an hour. And we had to change cars regularly, walk an hour or two in the pouring rain, or that the local transport unions prevented such driver to venture beyond the boundaries of such district, is expected

track finally after a carriage landslide.

Behind the Himalayas:

Kagbeni. And the sun! rascal who do we let go more.

we are. we go.

Tangbe.

Samar.

A cave at the bottom of a canyon? Hop! a monastery.

Geling.

At Ghami,

lunch at the princess.

Dahkmar, cliffs splashed with the blood of the demons that drove Padmasambhava of Tibet before founding

Lo Gekar. The lopas proud of its priority relative to Samye Gompa .


Marang.

Tsarang flavors end of the world, with its palace ruins and half abandoned monastery.


Lo Manthang


motley

behind the white of its walls;


Lo Manthang

whose ocher three monasteries dyed lime reflection from adjacent walls of a pink buckwheat matured.

Presentation at His Highness.

King Lo enjoyed the honorary title of General of the Royal Nepalese Army. Since the fall of the monarchy, the vassal does not levy taxes, politically insignificant, lives of his land, his animals, and a little boredom visible.

Gharphu.

Lori Gompa. Watch for the monastery perched. And in his cave, the most beautiful stupa imaginable ...

Tangge,

its chortens,

his kids.

Health,

space

color of the rock,

color of buckwheat.

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Tea storm in Paris.

A room in the country (study in green and vertical),

overlooking fly.

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Gémenos 07/22/2009 gardens Albertas


people everywhere on lawns
Friends Of
precious love not forgotten the refrain
colt cobra
Prairie souls
blue eye orange projos pitching
The wind sweeps everything
The words fly, strange fruit notes
knead the tall trees and earth gathers
our prayers
The wind blows, the music disappears ...























Hey! He made some nice pictures Theo is not it?


Thanks to Fabien Morand (Venelles cultural service for it)



Posted by Patrick JOUANNEAU