A postcard

Dear Father McAlister

Yes that’s a star fish on my head. You know, those five fingered flesh lumps you were so eager to call ‘nonsense’ and ‘propaganda’.

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That place out there

I think I see temples and mountains and purple sky but in the blink of an eye something new and the sky is back to blue and the train leaps right on through dark tunnel walls dripping, rhythmic drops inches keeping us from rock sparks in pitchest black limbs clawing for the tracks then light […]

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Meditating with the Buddha

Outside a building, just a little apart from the rest of the temple, I spied two pairs empty shoes. From within came the throaty singing so familiar in this place, and the harsh beat of a steel drum. My curiosity was peaked, and so, cautiously, I slipped off my own shoes and stepped inside.

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Beneath the Buddha

There’s something in the statues eyes, in the way they aren’t looking down at me but rather down at himself, as though thinking. It tells me this is for the now, for the me sitting here today, not some historical remanent of when religion was a booming, all powerful business.

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What do the normals do?

I woke up alone, which is weird because a few hours ago there was definetly somebody else in the room. She was American, had earphones in, and gave me a brilliant opportunity to ask about her struggles travelling (an opportunity I spectacularly missed.)

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