The Divine Line.

India...On porousness.

My friend Amy says that maybe god invented jet lag so that we could become porous enough to let in the daily magic that abounds when we travel. I have come to this land to peer through the holes of myself. To see and feel what I could not before. And I have. Let me tell you I have seen things. I have smelled the exquisite intoxication of blessed flowers in my right hand which came moments earlier from the unblessed bouquet in my left. The difference was beyond a shadow of a doubt. I have stood with my eyes closed and felt the wave of life enter a room a moment before any rational evidence announced the impending shift. I have dreamt of sacred ceremonies outside the possible bounds of my knowledge. I have traveled far to find this porous land. I want to dwell here in this unknown country. I worry about a good night's sleep ruining my body politic. Faith is a border. It is a line that when crossed dissolves the notion that it ever existed. In that country I won't need my fatigue to wake me up. I want to live in this place that knows the magic of the heart. I want to exchange my tourist visa for permanent residency. I want to marry the me that lives in a small home here. His house is porous too. His walls have crumbled and the roof has the perfect number of holes. The kind that let just the right amount of light in to paint the walls with god and enough rain to clean the floor with the sky's tears. I want to live in a cave I know here next to a waterfall. I hear they still have tigers in this forest. I want to sleep on the dewy stone and hear them roar at first light. I think it would do my soul good to hear wild tigers roar. It would scare the shit out of me, but my soul would roll over and before going back to sleep sigh, "ahh, sounds like home."

India...a change in scenery

After traveling through the dense eastern Tamil Nadu region we are now heading inland a bit from Madurai near the souther tip and the Ghats are looming. This mountainous region looks a lot more like southern California with its rocky tors poking through low scrub and high desert trees. It's a little like the Malibu coastal mountain's older brother. Though with bumpier roads and the odd ancient temple lifting itself out of the agrarian mosaic and open savanna. There is space out here and the bus moves through it with less honking and the threat of immanent disaster. I feel my thoughts swell out to the adumbrated mountains in the distance and feel a familiarity with the landscape. Until another miracle of spirit rises up out of the stone or a dark face peers out of a bundle of rags and I tumble headlong from the dream that I know anything at all. We are spending a lot of time moving through space and so I find that I have to take my drawing time where I can. Here is a sketch from the bus window.

India...Of gods and goats

Twenty five hours of travel. Thirty one temples in three days. Impossible roads to remote villages for auspicious blessings amid a mind numbing pantheon of energies with sleep as a brief concession quietly slipped in between devotions. I walk heavily in my fatigue through the temples. I forget which one I am in now. I am worn and stretched over the hollowed out stump of my life. I have become a drum played by the divine. I have surrendered to the clap and thump against my resonant form. I can only listen to the beat of His music coming from my chest. I release myself into the seriousness of this commitment. As if I had a choice. "Ahh! But David," a mysterious voice whispers, "Before you let the rhythm get too somber, you must remember that goats can climb temples, too!"

India...finished "Particle Shiva"

The sun comes up through the haze here and the Indians ask it what took it so long. They've already been buzzing for hours. The day is old by sunrise though I'm still bleary from a big day yesterday of temples and a late night finishing this drawing of Shiva. We are all particles interacting each other and like dust catching the light in a hazy ray coming through the trees we think we are separate. Until seen as one beam of perfect morning light from the window of a wobbling pilgrim's bus. Or through the eyes of god.

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India... Trinkets and grace.

Tamil Nadu is in the south eastern region of India and is known for its many sacred and beautiful temples. Tourists, travelers and pilgrims from all over come to these powerful sites to get a little closer to the divine in themselves. The temples are energized and energetic. The inside of a great temple can be at once reverent, frenetic, frustrating and ever so lovely as local people realize that we've come a long way to share these special places with them. We shake hands and share smiles more often here than anywhere I have ever been. Below two women look at one of the ubiquitous trinket tables outside the temples looking for some souvenir of their visit. Me, I have my sketches of a place that has shown me true grace to remind me of the magic here.

India...Particle Shiva

We crossed half this varied and watery planet yesterday and wake up today in Chennai. We traveled north over Canada and Greenland. Then down over Sweden and straight over Iraq. We could see the confluence of the Tigris and Euphrates. The cradle of civilization. From five miles up I noticed both the unbending intention of water to flow to its level and the puny yet ubiquitous works of man. Thin roads traced spidery lines across seeming wastelands so someone could get to someplace. Else. Who are these people? Whence from an whereto? I can only dream from five miles up. Here is a pencil sketch I did on the flight.

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In my garden...

On the seventh throw, we hooked it...

Forgive This Dream... my painting, Hafiz' words. Happy New Year to All!

All your images of winter
I see against your sky,

I understand the wounds
That have not healed in you.

They exist
Because God and love
Have yet to become real enough

To allow you to forgive
The dream.

You still listen to an old alley song
That brings your body pain;

Now chain your ears
To His pacing drum and flute.

Fix your eyes uponThe magnificent arch of His brow

That supports
And allows this universe to expand.

Yours hands, feet, and heart are wise
And want to know the warmth
Of a Perfect One's circle.

A true saint
Is an earth in eternal spring.

Inside the veins of a petal
On a blooming redbud tree

Are hidden worlds
Where Hafiz sometimes
Resides.

I will spreadA Persian carpet there
Woven with light.

We can drink wine
From a gourd I hollowed
And dried on the roof of my house.

I will bring bread I have kneadedThat contains my ownDivine genes

And cheese from a calf I raised.

My love for your Master is such
You can just lean back
And I will feed youThis truth:

Your wounds of love can only heal
When you can forgive
This dream.

-Hafiz

For my dad...

Goodnight Sun.

Grace waits to see your face
To say what's been left unsaid,
The lamentations and murmurations
Of starlings in your head,

What have you done, undone, not done?
You ask the sun at noon,
He says, "I see nothing left to do,
But why don't you ask the moon?"

"You," says she, "are stuck in verse,
The curse gets worse the more you doubt-

Break out!

Rise!

Take that first perfect breath

Outside this illusion of the sea

And the water that we all swim in,
And leave us to wonder now that you're gone just who you really were
Before the mourning son and you
Had your last hour of silence together.