I walked into a shop and saw mirrors woven into black fabric and I thought of your grandmother's sissors and what it might be like walking down the street with your mum these days in Loveland. I bought it — the stars woven into the void. Thinking I'll send it to you somehow, as some way of wishing you indestructibility, diamond-like, within darkness. Wishing you all the deepest most helpful energies. That's the sort of hello I would like to extend in November 2016.
Now, after a ceremony by the compost bin — the morning after the new moon — the darkest night — the sun having risin and soon the moon shall be star-struck again — I have begun a new blog: Bardeaux — as in "bard" "amrita" bardo" — the intermediate state — and so forth.
I walked right over here to the Allen Ginsberg Library to begin, even though it's not quiet here — it may never be quiet again. Even though I actually began yesterday when I asked Heather to film a bow. Let's begin with a bow. We have begun here again. The last blog began, as you may remember, on the way down from our ecstatic Allen Ginsberg invocation up near Marpa Point.
I have arrived now at Naropa and it may never be quiet again. "We will write fiction" and so forth. Ikebana leftovers have been chewed in the hallway, spit on the floor, and others deposited directly into the proper bin. On we go.
Much love to you, comrade.