(no subject)
i spent an hour this afternoon with my legs crossed, sitting on a small, round pillow. my eyes were shut, and i was examining the little spots behind my eyelids, wondering "is this meditating? am i meditating right now? egg and cheese sandwich. CRAP, start over. okay, am i meditating now?"
across from me, incense burned in front of an impressive, guilded gold shrine covering the entire wall. to my left, three tibetan buddhist monks were chanting incantations from sacred scrolls. their voices weaved in and out, sometimes falling into a low-hum common rhythm, sometimes falling out into rambling cacophony, then whispers that carried you away, then CLANG!!!, because one fellow had large cymbals that he'd smack together just as you were beginning to relax. another had a drum that he hit to punctuate the breath he took between phrases. the third guy had no instrument; he was the head monk.
but i wasn't in tibet! no no! i was in a small monastery hidden up in the catskill mountains, surrounded by those hardwood forests you only find up here in the northeast. babbling brooks and truly ancient geology. rip van winkle!
i have this place till saturday. it's just a mile outside of woodstock. then i take a train up to montreal. oh they have a jazz festival coming up.
across from me, incense burned in front of an impressive, guilded gold shrine covering the entire wall. to my left, three tibetan buddhist monks were chanting incantations from sacred scrolls. their voices weaved in and out, sometimes falling into a low-hum common rhythm, sometimes falling out into rambling cacophony, then whispers that carried you away, then CLANG!!!, because one fellow had large cymbals that he'd smack together just as you were beginning to relax. another had a drum that he hit to punctuate the breath he took between phrases. the third guy had no instrument; he was the head monk.
but i wasn't in tibet! no no! i was in a small monastery hidden up in the catskill mountains, surrounded by those hardwood forests you only find up here in the northeast. babbling brooks and truly ancient geology. rip van winkle!
i have this place till saturday. it's just a mile outside of woodstock. then i take a train up to montreal. oh they have a jazz festival coming up.