“Dancers are the messengers of the gods. ” 
(Martha Graham – American dancer and choreographer, 1894-1991)

This series of pictures was shot last afternoon in my street in Varanasi (Benaras).
Men were emptying plaster bags from a truck.
I was in rush but I sopped and took several pictures, my enchanted mind decided that the truck would become a theatre stage while those workers happened to be “butoh” dancers performing.

“All labor that uplifts humanity has dignity and importance and should be undertaken with painstaking excellence.”
(Martin Luther King, Jr. – American Baptist Minister and Civil-Rights Leader. 1929-1968)

This is one more picture from the serie shot last afternoon in my street in Varanasi (Benaras).
Men were emptying plaster bags from a truck and they were reminding me “butoh” dancers.

“For me, it is as though at every moment the actual world had completely lost its actuality. 
As though there was nothing there; as though there were no foundations for anything or as though it escaped us. 
Only one thing, however, is vividly present: the constant tearing of the veil of appearances; the constant destruction of everything in construction. 
Nothing holds together, everything falls apart.”
(Eugene Ionesco – French dramatist, 1909-1994)

This afternoon nearby the house in Varanasi (Benaras), those men were emptying a truck.
They seemed to be out of this world and they reminded me Butoh dancers “performing” in white-body makeup with slow hyper-controlled motion.

“When your intellect will completely pierce the veil of delusion, then you will become indifferent to what has been heard and what is to be heard [from the scriptures].”
(Bhagavad Gita)

This man was taking a break as he kept on emptying plaster bags from a truck which stopped in my street in Varanasi (Benaras).
The amazing light and the dust gave a theatrical touch to what became my subject for a short while.
He was tired and I could se sweat melting with plaster on his skin, his expression could be taken for the state of piercing the veil of delusion…

He knows our frame; He remembers that we are dust. 

Psalm 103:14

 I have often felt like God had the wrong idea about me.  He seems to think I am stronger than I am.  He allows trials into my life that I am not too confident that I can tackle.  When I read this scripture… I realize and remember that there is nothing that He and I can’t accomplish together.  I was bent over and struggling with my burdens when I attempted to handle them on my own.  It would be like me trying to pick up my weight in books or stay awake for 24 hours.  My body is not made for those tasks, especially now that I am older.  If I am really honest with myself… I have only been able to last through some of the tougher times in my life because Jesus was at my side.  I can lift a heavy load with a partner and I can stay awake with someone to talk with! 

 God knows my limitations.  He knows I am “dust” and He steps in to help me make it through the difficulties.  Together, we can make it.  

 With you, Lord, behind me, I can face whatever is ahead.  Thanks for your understanding and love of who I am, brokenness and all. 

Ador piesa asta, am descoperit-o de curand pe un blog “prieten” si de atunci o ascult incontinuu. Versurile nu inceteaza sa ma uimeasca.

“Life Is Wonderful”

It takes a crane to build a crane
It takes two floors to make a story
It takes an egg to make a hen
It takes a hen to make an egg
There is no end to what I’m saying

It takes a thought to make a word
And it takes some words to make an action
It takes some work to make it work
It takes some good to make it hurt
It takes some bad for satisfaction

La la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la la life goes full circle
Ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
Al la la la la

It takes a night to make it dawn
And it takes a day to make you yawn brother
And it takes some old to make you young
It takes some cold to know the sun
It takes the one to have the other

And it takes no time to fall in love
But it takes you years to know what love is
It takes some fears to make you trust
It takes those tears to make it rust
It takes the dust to have it polished

Ha la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la la life goes full circle
Ah la la la la la la life is so full of
Ah la la la la la la life is so rough
Ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la la life goes full circle
Ah la la la la la la life is our love
Ah la la la la la

It takes some silence to make sound
It takes a loss before you found it
And it takes a road to go nowhere
It takes a toll to make you care
It takes a hole to make a mountain

Ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la la life goes full circle
Ha la la la la la life is wonderful
Ha la la la la la life is meaningful
Ha la la la la la life is wonderful
Ha la la la la la life it is…so… wonderful
It is so meaningful
It is so wonderful
It is meaningful
It is wonderful
It is meaningful
It goes full circle
Wonderful
Meaningful
Full circle
Wonderful

El poderosísimo frente de racha engulle el terreno con febril voracidad. En breves instantes tan solo una nube de escombros y polvo será la única y opaca perspectiva divisable.

at the request of Molly at Close to Home ( link )

Dusting
by Marilyn Nelson

Thank you for these tiny
particles of ocean salt,
pearl-necklace viruses,
winged protozoans:
for the infinite,
intricate shapes
of submicroscopic
living things.

For algae spores
and fungus spores,
bonded by vital
mutual genetic cooperation,
spreading their
inseparable lives
from equator to pole.

My hand, my arm,
make sweeping circles.
Dust climbs the ladder of light.
For this infernal, endless chore,
for these eternal seeds of rain:
Thank you. For dust.

There is dust on my desk.

A greasy white powder that reappears again and again, taking over in the place my elbows like to rest. It gathers faster than the dry, grey stasis that covers unmoved objects in a thin sheen of time. I have never seen a single spec of this dust fall to the desk, but between glances and fluttering eyelids, it builds grain by grain. If I abandon my watch for more than a minute or so, the left side of the desk will be covered in that odd, powdery dust.

Feeling it deserves closer observation; I take the orange tank from behind my mirror, lay back and turn the valve. Before taking the mouthpiece between my lips, I let my eyes first prick, then numb. Though I can no longer see it, the clock on my wall continues to mark each second with a tick, both a prologue and an epilogue for every passing moment. If I listen very carefully, I can make out the Space Between. It is dim, and brief, but I see it now. With my eyes still eggy and blank, the Space can only widen through the tiny manipulations of my ears. My arms are lost, most of my limbs have become heavy and immobile. I can feel them as dead weights upon my shoulders and hips.  I fear for a moment that my bloated tongue may fall back in my throat, but I can taste the everpresense of an empty mouth and this comforts me.

The mouthpiece lies beside me, but my arms cannot bear the inches to reach it. No matter.

Each second is now a palatable sensation. The tick of the second hand reverberates as if it were voiced by a stranger to the sound, just a little slow and ponderous. Between Tick and Tock, the Space is now an audible hum. I lay back for a minute more, my ears becoming still lighter and sharper. Soon, satisfied that I am able to use the time I have; I force myself to exhale all the air I can in a single staccato breath, and bring the mouthpiece to my lips. Thirsty. I gulp the air. Sitting up, straight as the laced, I can feel the meat of my legs again, and the burn from the recent effort of my arms fades. Turn.

Both the clock and my heartbeat have become a single drone. Soft hazes of grey billow about the room, their particles batter and rest  upon every surface. But by my desk, the dust is flatter, whiter. It falls almost heavily, like blossoms weighted by damp and rot.

It comes from nowhere. And I could catch one upon my tongue.

I am akin to clumps of dust
grown on ceramic tile from the
waste of all that lives and dies;
a friend to none, yet still I gather
that which you discard: cat hair,
toe gum, long heavy sighs, dead
flakes of skin, lashes from your
eyes (failed wishes), moist crumbs
once stuck between your teeth,
empty thoughts, regrets and old
love songs, ash from cigarettes,
resin from bongs, crusted icing
from a cake, the residue of
masking tape.  I pull each morsel
toward my static centre,
cataloguing you.

Ever present
I lie inert, no muscle or ambition;
tossed to and fro by giant gusts
from mammoth passersby: too
light to bruise, too soft to make
sound, I listen and collect while
rolling lurching on the ground.
I do not sleep, I do not dream,
yet nor am I awake: I am not
dead but Death does feed my
life of soft decay.  As long as
you still breathe be sure I will
horde up your heat.  And if
you use a Swifter I will just
grow back next week.

Beautiful day!  Skies are clear, very little wind; temperatures are mild, in the mid fifties.

 Uriah was the first to notice the farm equipment pull into the field next door. He freaked! He climbed on the deck and cowered on the north side, farthest way from the equipment. 

The corn in the southern field was finally being  harvested. I stood outside and watched as the large tractor moved slowly into place. I could see the farmer in the cab and a child.

Farmer’s children will help them with the harvesting.  They watch for problems as their parent harvests the crops.The cab they sat in was sealed, heated and air-conditioned.

The winds were blowing away from me, so as the tractor passed by most of the dust spread out to the south.

Just as I thought, “Wow,  I am lucky the wind isn’t blowing in this direction.” The wind changed!  I started coughing, and blinking rapidly as the dust settled in over my head.

I choked out Uriah’s name and we headed towards the path to take a walk. The trees in that area blocked some of the harvesting dust. Well, sort of..

I crossed my fingers that the farmer would only be working on the lower part of the field at this time. I smiled, when I saw him hit the half way point near the drainage tiles and turn around.

 Uriah and I stopped sneezing long enough to watch the harvester.

With all the bare fields, the animals have been congregating in our trees. Last night, every hour, I was yelling out the doors for the coyotes to leave. There must have been close to a dozen howling and yelping very close to the house.

Coyotes don’t understand windows.  So, I had to insure the indoor cats stayed away from the glass. I really didn’t have to worry; they hid under the bed when the howling started.

Uriah, on the other hand, was whining and barking wanting to chase them. A dog barking won’t keep coyotes away from the house. It has the opposite effect. So, between trying to calm down Uriah, petting the cats and yelling at the coyotes, it was a fun night.

Halfway through the walk, Uriah disappeared with hackles raised, into the trees. Stupidly I walked in after him, calling and getting tangled in leafless under brush. After a short time, I headed back to the house. When Uriah reappeared  his tongue was trailing on the ground.  

The farmer took a lunch break and finished the back half of the field; I stood out on the deck and enjoyed the view.

This scene has to be a little boy’s dream.  A large tractor harvesting corn slowly chopping, crunching, and roaring through a field, as an equally large dump truck waits to be filled with the corn; such an impressive, unobstructed view of a real mid-western farm life.  

I love it out here.

I don’t want to feel belittled.

I don’t want to be around anyone or anything that makes me feel less than I am.  No, I want to feel big.  I want to grow.  I want to fill the space that my shell provides, I want to press into its corners and smooth myself into its crevasses – even ooze out the sides a little.  I want to send deep roots to forge down into the past and nest themselves there among the thick dust and the rich memories. I want a strong, rough, tough base so that I can grow higher.

I don’t want to be around anyone or anything that tries to box me in.  No, I want to expand.  I want to reach.  I want to push against the glass ceiling until it shatters, and then keep shooting up and out until I’m groaning against the canvas of the sky.  I want to press against that painting ’til I tear a hole and go sailing through into beyond.  I want the ambition of a thousand helium balloons.  I want to move fast and in every direction so that I can never be caught or held down.

I don’t want to be around anyone or anything that puts me down.  No, I want to succeed.  I want to stand tall.  I want to sprint to every finish line, and stop to smell the roses in the middle.  I want to ride unicorns, not horses, eat manna, not bread, see shooting stars in the daytime as well as at night.  I want to write, love, feel, live, sing, dance, and cry until I break.  I never want to hesitate.  I never want to wait.  I want the breath of a dragon and the heart of a prince in this gypsy’s frame.  I want words to build me a fortress, an armour, a sheath for my body to crawl into when it expires.  I want to feel as invincible as I am.

No, I don’t want to feel belittled.  I don’t want to be around anyone or anything that puts me down, tries to box me in, makes me feel less than I am.  And what am I?

I am the Universe.

About the Author:

Susan Berliner has been a nonfiction writer for nearly her entire career. She had originally planned to be an elementary school teacher, but left after a year to become a newspaper reporter for Fairchild Publications. She covered men’s retailing for Daily New Record, a men’s wear/textile trade newspaper, which was the “brother” paper of Women’s Wear Daily.

After Susan’s children were born, she switched to freelance writing–mainly in education–publishing several book series dealing with editing skills, language arts, and standardized testing. She has also created teachers’ guides, student activity sheets, and test passages. During this time, Susan was the project editor for a national science magazine for elementary school students and edited subject-related manuscripts for children in grades 7 and 8. In addition, she freelanced as a local reporter, covering board meetings for the North County News, a weekly newspaper in Yorktown Heights, New York.

When she returned to work full-time, Susan became the promotion manager of the Yorktown PennySaver, a job she held for 20 years. She created many original weekly contests–Phony Ad, Rhyme Time, and PennySaver Prophet.

Susan lives with her husband, Larry, in Yorktown Heights, where she is preparing her second book (Peachwood Lake) for publication and writing her third novel.

For more information on the book and author, please visit: www.susanberliner.com

The Interview:

Q: Thank you for this interview, Susan. Can you tell us what your latest book, DUST, is all about?

A: DUST is a supernatural thriller about an evil swirl of colorful dust that sneakily attacks random victims in a quiet suburban condo community. The heroine, Karen McKay, a librarian, battles the evil dust with the help of her ex-husband, Jerry, and an intuitive dog. It’s a fun read for women, men, and teens.

Q: Is this your first novel? If not, how has writing this novel been different from writing your first?

A: DUST is my first novel. I have written a second novel and am currently working on a third book.

Q: How difficult was it writing your book? Did you ever experience writer’s block and, if so, what did you do?

A: I didn’t find writing the book to be difficult. But the revising and editing processes were long and tedious. When I looked at my completed first draft, I counted just 79 pages, so I knew I had a lot of work to do.

I didn’t have a problem with writer’s block during DUST. However, at one point with my second novel, Peachwood Lake, I had trouble writing about a period of time (an afternoon) in the narrative. Rather than sit and struggle, I skipped past that chapter and picked up the story’s action at a later point. Then, when I figured out what I wanted to write, I was able to go back and fill in the missing pages.

Q: How have your fans embraced your latest novel? Do you have any funny or unusual experiences to share?

A: Most people have loved DUST. Readers have praised it for being a fast-moving story—a great, fun read that kept their interest. Some even said they couldn’t put the book down. DUST has a surprise ending that people don’t figure out.
My unusual experience is how I got the idea for this novel. It came from a little news article about a dust devil (a miniature tornado) that destroyed an auto body shop and killed the owner. Since the incident happened in Maine, I was sure Stephen King would write a book about strange dust. I saved the article, found it several years later, and realized King had never written the novel. Suddenly, I had an idea, which became DUST.

Q: What is your daily writing routine?

A: I try to write each morning, aiming to finish one scene of my book. That usually means I’m writing about 200-500 words. I know that doesn’t sound like much because most writers seem to aim for at least 1,000 words a day. But I like this slower pace, especially since I don’t have a deadline. Also, before I write a new scene, I review the previous day’s work—and I always find something that needs to be changed. Everything I write goes through numerous revisions.

Q: When you put the pen or mouse down, what do you do to relax?

A: I relax by doing crossword puzzles and playing online Scrabble-type word games. I also enjoy cards (bridge, May I, and poker). I’m a sports fan, following the New York Mets & Jets. In the summer, I try to swim every day. And, of course, I love to read.

Q: What book changed your life?

A: Until I was 13 or 14, the only books I read were romances for young readers. Then I found an old novel in my parents’ bookcase and decided to read it. The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck led to my lifelong love of literature.

Q: If someone were to write a book on your life, what would the title be?

A: To the Bronx and Beyond

Q: Finish this sentence: “The one thing that I wish people would understand about me is…”

A: I am very serious about my new career as a novelist.

Thank you for this interview, Susan. I wish you much success on your latest release, DUST!

About the Book:

While unloading groceries in her Rock Haven condo, Karen McKay notices a strange swirl of red, green, and blue dust. The swirl follows her inside, lifts a porcelain ballerina from her wall unit, twirls it in the air, and throws it to the floor, shattering it into pieces.

The following evening, Karen hears her neighbor’s dog barking loudly. Upon investigation, she finds her neighbor, Marion, at the bottom of the stairs—dead. At the top of the stairs, a colorful whirlpool of dust circles ominously.

Now the feisty librarian must consider the unthinkable: Could the dust be responsible for her neighbor’s death and, if so, would it kill again? Karen turns to her ex-husband, Jerry, for help and together they bravely confront the mysterious dust. But will their daring actions cost them their lives?

So the dust can strike at any time,” Jerry continued. “You saw it at twilight and evening. We both saw it in the middle of the night, and yesterday it showed up in the afternoon.”

“The dust’s picked up and thrown a porcelain figurine, a watch, a baseball, and scariest of all, a person…Marion.” Karen’s eyes teared when she mentioned her neighbor’s name.

“So all we have to do is find a way to stop something that can appear and kill us at any time, with no warning,” Jerry said. “Sounds easy enough.”

Karen shook her head and sighed.

READ THE REVIEWS:

“Ms. Berliner reaches into the comfortable places of your consciousness and implants this super-force of malignancy that appears to be unstoppable. The usual authorities cannot be brought in to assist, as the evil dust can appear and disappear at will, and of course, who will believe the few people who have actually witnessed its destructive–yet highly unbelievable–force? She has woven a very comfortable setting, in a very comfortable community, with very comfortable people together with an apparently unbeatable foe–as ethereally light as the air around us, yet as deadly as the most feared supernatural event. Dust is a great read!”
-L. Commodore

“The book was great! What I liked most was that I couldn’t figure out the ending. Pure suspense! A lot of similarities to Stephen King. Can’t wait until the movie version!”
-I. Leonard

     these days i show the years..  i think about what it might be like
      to buy the book with the ugliest cover.. ive folded desire in four,   
      laid it out on a bare white shelf. it may gather dust..
     i might toss it away like an old dishrag but im taking it all in of the bars of my ribcage.
     im coming apart like a ten cent toy, carrying my head under my arm.   
     i sometimes live in the dark spokes of my iris.
     i sleep in the ruins of last nights make up.  
           i need a new commandment.  
           i will weep a page of black ink...
       i will be an unprotected witness.

Today’s the big clean day. Just finished vacuuming my bedroom, now currently cleaning and removing dust in the living room. Just taking a little break in between! Why you wonder? Well, it’s family Sunday here tomorrow, and my best friend is coming over on Tuesday, so it should be all neat and clean!

Have you ever eaten something so spicy that you’d suck a cock just to get something to drink? The chili that’s been sitting in my refrigerator was like that. Basically, my husband emptied about seven jars of cayenne into a stockpot and added crushed mice to taste. Oh, and mushrooms. We like mushrooms in our chili. In cases like this, we end up with enough food to fill a cheerleader’s well-greased asshole, and we eat it for days. I tend to pull the pot out, set it on the counter, and leave it there while I eat a bowl of sulfur and tiny bones, just in case I want seconds. My husband is convinced that I’m going to get food poisoning.

But I won’t, and neither will you. Food that has been out of the fridge for a while is not lethal. Neither is carpet grit, dust mites or tap water. You all have this idea that “impurities” and “toxins” and “free-radicals” are some kind of microscopic army of ninjas just waiting to deplete your body’s whatever-the-fuck. Half the bacteria you douse your hands in alcohol to kill don’t give a shit about you and your neuroses.

The advent of the vacuum cleaner began the process of shrinking mankind’s collective balls. All of a sudden, it isn’t enough to take the rugs out and hit them with a stick until they look less gray. Now you’ve got to get rid of all the “dirt you can’t see.” We used to give dishes a few swipes with cold water and lye soap and call it good. Now we’re in a state of complete panic if we see “water spots” on a glass. Our nuts are now so small that they’ve migrated into the pelvis, allowing the sack to hang in folds and form the wrinkled twat that has replaced our once virile danglers.

Human beings are animals, and animals are built to live in filth. You know what we’d be doing in the wild? Sleeping in the dirt, motherfucker! With ants! We’d be eating raw meat with hair on it and drinking from green, gelatinous pools. (Think your sister’s panties with less stagnant trucker cum.) A wild human would shit on the ground and let his hair grow into actual dreads and never wash his hands or pits. Basically the most disgusting homeless guy ever + the Canadian wilderness. But you know what? One swing of his healthy, red-blooded crotch conkers and a rabid bear with a 30-foot conjoined shark wouldn’t stand a chance.

If you want huge balls, you’ve got to start eating everything off the floor. And no 5-second rule bullshit. It needs to sit there until it’s stuck in the carpet fibers. Refuse all vaccines and sit directly on every toilet seat you can find. When someone sneezes, run over immediately and rub your face all over him. And if he’s already thrown the coveted mucous out in a tissue, retrieve it and lick up the manliness. You’ll need that hearty immune system when you’re trolling for gutter whores with your enormous bag hanging out the back window.

While unloading groceries in her Rock Haven condo, Karen McKay notices a strange swirl of red, green, and blue dust. The swirl follows her inside, lifts a porcelain ballerina from her wall unit, twirls it in the air, and throws it to the floor, shattering it into pieces.

The following evening, Karen hears her neighbor’s dog barking loudly. Upon investigation, she finds her neighbor, Marion, at the bottom of the stairs—dead. At the top of the stairs, a colorful whirlpool of dust circles ominously.

Now the feisty librarian must consider the unthinkable: Could the dust be responsible for her neighbor’s death and, if so, would it kill again? Karen turns to her ex-husband, Jerry, for help and together they bravely confront the mysterious dust. But will their daring actions cost them their lives?

From SusanBerliner.com
ISBN: 9781440126598
216 Pages

Dust follows Karen McKay, a librarian, over the course of a week where people in her little neighborhood of the Rock Haven Condos keep dying.  From falling down stairs, car accidents, and other odd occurences that are seemingly unexplainable.  She teams up with her ex-husband Jerry to try and solve the problem before anyone else gets hurt.

It seems ridiculous that a cloud of dust can be the cause of so many accidents and deaths.  Yet, it has been sighted at many houses in the Rock Haven Condos at the time of the injuries.  Worried that no one will believe her, Karen decides to embark on finding a solution basically alone.  After many experiments, will they ever find what is causing the deadly dust?

This book goes pretty fast.  It seems to speed through a few of the accidents and deaths and at times I found myself a bit confused.  But with the nature of the story it fits.  Meaning, you can feel the urgency of the characters as they try to figure out the mystery.

It was an easy read and I was able to finish it a few settings.  That doesn’t mean that it’s a fluff book.  On the contrary, Susan Berliner gets you thinking about things that happen around us.  Makes you wonder if there are evil dust clouds out there sabotaging us?

I recommend this book if you are looking for a change of pace in your reading arsenal!

An absolutely captivating video. Some wizard of 3-D animation made this to show what the earth would look like if it had rings like Saturn. Unfortunately, now I have to spend the rest of the day being disappointed that I live on one of the lame, ringless planets.

[via]

Window blinds are one of the different types of window treatments out there. There are so many things besides them to choose from. People choose window blinds usually for their simplicity. They are also used on large windows instead of small ones. If you have a small window to decorate then the best choice would be a window curtain. You can never go wrong with that. If you want to get fancy with large windows then you can also use window curtains, but they need much more care then any other kind of window treatments because they are made of delicate fabric, they also need to be washed every once in a while unlike window blinds or window shutters.

Window shutters are perfect for people who want something just a little decorative and at the same time convenient. They are convenient because they are easily installed and they do not need much human care. If you ever want to clean them you most definetaly won’t have to hand wash them or put them in a washing machine, no, you will have to get a damp piece of cloth and just wipe the surface of each slat. Try not to use something too wet because then you will have to dry them after that. The thing that can make them seem dirty is dust. You can wipe that off any time and it will come off easily because the slats are usually made of metal.

Necessity pierces spaced-out grooves,
pangs of hunger my helper motivator,
for living life bespeaks a pranic relationship–
i walk this dusty road barefoot,
feeling sand between my toes,
beloved i am grateful for these needs.

Down on cold dirt i am,
eating and eaten of life processes in mutual consumption,
and i learn acceptance:
lung power,
breath flow,
great machinations of prana–
ignorance crumbles with need.

Earthly needs loudly pierce delusion,
needs ringing forth from every being surround,
and my own needs sting well–
action is simple response,
my arms unfold,
loving acts a simple attitude adjustment.