Writing Meditation and Snow
What is it about snow? It makes everything seem bucolic and tender. Then it turns brown, gray and black and makes everything look like Hades. Then it melts and all the million dog poo landmines in the back yard start to appear. But then it snows again and the manure becomes mini-Alps and life looks poetic.

Speaking of dog poo landmines (I am a master of the segue), my recent SF Chronicle essay poking fun at the border fence brought on a crazy I hate you mail experience for me from my old pals, the patriots. I reiterate that I am tired of immigration. Tired of talking about it, tired of researching it, and tired of writing about it. I am going to very soon stop the Immigration Monday blog because--as I have been telling many of my correspondents lately, I started blogging to explore writing and God and nature and dreaming and shamanic haiku gardening with you. Somehow, the political monster took over.

Cinderella hates the Immigration Monday, since she's seen it consume my writing/thinking energy. I don't write poems, I write border news. Duh. Yeccchhh. Blech. I rush hoime to scan for juicy immigration bits. For what? I don't know. I'm very close to Mission Complete.

Maybe I'll do an Immigration Monday Monthly Report. How will that be?

Next week, I go to Boise. I think--I hope--we're talking about Hummingbird and not Devil's H. If you live up there in God's Country, come see me. Or tell your friends to come by.

Here's a thought much closer to the heart of what I want to explore with you:

"The life that moves toward an innocent vision moves with increasing freedom. Hate can consume us in a wave of bitterness, but whenever we sense the shared core of innocence, we rise on a tide of joy." --Hugh Prather

Innocent vision!
I got joy like a founatin, I got joy like a fountain,
I got joy like a fountain in my heart! Hallelujah.

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