From the front seat of my car I told Gina Fiedel that I had finished the book – “Hunger Mountain” by David Hinton – which she had recommended, and that my experience was that the book had read me.
From the Morning Pages, verbatim — Gina asks, “What was it when the book was reading you?” Answer as Koan: “Blue bird in a tree.” That’s exactly it. “Cow giving birth.” “10,000 things dancing.” Being logical not it. Wild antics teasing. My cushion weeps, last night’s rain.
Give a dollar to a man on the street. Morning coffee perks, Winnipesaukee loon. Vultures singing. There’s no me to protect, to justify, to give a logical answer. Poetry no logical answers. “I’d like to fly on the back of a red-winged black bird.” Cat ‘n nine tails reflecting the new moon.
I stopped in the middle of the path, which was for the most part empty other than the rain-encouraged fragrance of eucalyptus, to have a wordless conversation with a blue jay skittering through branches in a willow tree.
from a mountain bench 
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