The (public) pianist is not like a lone barista, who sits at a shop counter, waiting for customers to approach him for a dose of caffeine (which is a legal psychoactive drug, by the way).
People gather up the courage – or recklessness – to ask the pianist to play their favorite songs.
No, this wasn't rock-climbing, this was bouldering – just like her colleagues have done, in Thailand.
But this time, she was stranded on an island in the Indonesian archipelago. She looked at her son beside her, who had just produced some faeces in his baby-blue pants; the poor infant had been born blind. He was howling.
In her hair was still the hibiscus flower her husband had given her, when he had tearfully waved goodbye to her at the ship-port. Where was her husband when she needed him?
I met someone who runs workshops on Guided Journalling. She shared a prompt with me: “What would be the sweetest and kindest thing that someone can say to you?”
Uh... I have to admit I have to think a bit, for that one.
I know! Why don't I look up what others have already said about me?
I feel shy though.
Here's something from J, a poet:
Thank you for your gentle, kindly presence and the warmth you bring to every space you enter.
I saw a few fascinating birds. Words cannot do them justice. Neither can photos nor videos, for that matter; the form is not the same as the substance. But, oh, what wonder!
And, on a more than one occasion, a butterfly has floated past me, like a visitor from a far-away planet. I recall a humorous quip: “Life is like being stuck in a traffic jam, and moments of beauty are like the butterfly that floats past your windscreen as you stew inside your car: rare but much-needed.”
new-to-me stuff
the Bhairav scale, in an Indian raga. What is a raga?
I have provided some hospitality to visitors from southern Germany, as best as my weak mind and feeble body could.
With the help of a few wonderful and illustrious women, I managed to serve them with salad, and lentil soup, and pizza, all of which were vegan or at least vegetarian.