Today i took a bike ride to see a banjaree, otherwise known as a nomad. They travel from place to place and set up there dark tents with colorful writing and sell medicines and other magic in little glass jars.
A woman in yellow and black looked at me curiously and helped me with my bike lock as i struggled. Then she helped me enter the tent and nodded in agreement when the old man who owned the tent pointed to the jar with a sandy grey powder in it.
she motioned to swallow so i did. Intense, refreshing and sort of clearing all in one take. Clearing of the senses and of the mind.
I pointed to a jar full of bark looking contents and took a piece of that. Turns out it was cinnamon.
I shared it with one of the servers back at home.
I sent Amanda an email about life as a series of doors and rooms. these choices you make, these doors you find and open and all of a sudden you're in a new room.
michael said, those doors looks like mine. it's like its there but it leads to nowhere, thats where i feel like I'm at. I said they all lead to some where, the all lead to the same place, exactly where you are at.
Every now and then you bump into someone along the way.
maybe you tap elbows or your eyes lock.
or u sit and stare at some clouds.
some rooms have hands to hold and some rooms you're on your own.
but even then you're never really on your own.
you have soap dish friends to keep you company. :)
and someone way over here or maybe over there is also looking at some clouds.
and you look at your wrist, the same as you may any other wrist, but its delicate and small.
and it makes me think of my little sister whose little wrists are like those of a little doll.
its a wonder she's not made of porcelain.
good night wednesday.
the midde of the week.