eight years

Sunset is here and I remain sitting in room six.  After taking three hours to clean three rooms my back hurts a little bit.  I told Maya I am going to Pokhara tomorrow.  What is my agenda?  Two parts maybe one.  Buying razors and incense and going to visit Nyima.  A month before 12.21 tomorrow.  A half moon is upon us.  Is there anything auspicious in this?  Not for those whose hearts are elsewhere.

A sister going under the knife to remove a lemon on the brain.  Today, eight years ago.  That’s a long time but his influence remains key.  What would he think of his sixth son’s precog overdose?  He wouldn’t be pleased I guess.  Neither would his wife.  Nope, not one bit.  Or would they?  The superstitious Irish might raise a few crazy eyebrows and wonder or did America completely stamp out the old world?

I feel a need to visit Nyima but geez I am quite reluctant to do so.  Why not tomorrow, take Marcello with you, a quick visit if that is possible if I tell him what I want.  Show him the spirit, show him samyog written in Hindi, hopefull Dolker will be there.  Usually someone is when he is there. 

Bimal is Didi’s son and this morning her daughter came and washed the dishes.  Didi now cleans my clothes and I sit in the only other pants I have, a pair of ripped up blue jeans that appear to be quite popular sometimes.

Perhaps also tomorrow a datura pancake.  Hmmm, there will be fear amongst the natives.  What are your intentions?  Not good?  Not bad.  I am experimentally bored, to be honest.  Maybe I should be in South America.