nothing hidden

Last week it was all vultures. This week it’ll be all me – now as the blogger. I’ll share a secret. If you really show up here at fromamountainbench, look at each word, and especially look between each word, between each line and paragraph, it’ll be some thing of a time warp, a fracture in space, where you are looking directly at me right here right now. Science non-fiction.

The best ancient advice for my Zen/Ch’an life available here today: “Maintain your practice in secret” – is entirely impossible. Every single word, each of these travelogues/stories, is this very me nothing-held-back here now, my own vendor’s stall in this always-open planet’s farmer’s market.

REM sang, “That’s me in the corner.” I’m humming, “Here’s me on the market table, orange bell pepper.”

I cannot be a secret, visible on California’s Central Coast, aged 76 years, renting a room in a trailer, wearing YMCA apparel, yearning for the trails I see through the windshield, most of my money on books, hiking shoes, and peanut butter. Always with coffee. Always out there.