So I go to work in the city for a night, get off at 4:30am and drive home. Get home, park, and as I'm getting out of the ride I hear a little kitten crying. My neighbors have cats and I think it's just one of them. I look around cause it sounds like it's right there under my car. Can't see anything and I'm really tired so I go in to snooze till the afternoon. Get up and head out to go hang with some friends on the westside. As I approach the car I hear the kitten again. My neighbors are just coming in and say they've been hearing the lil kritter crying of on and no one can figure out where it is. I look in the hole the lame cable guy cut above my parking space and think it's got to be coming from in there. I get out a flashlight and climb on the roof of my car and look all around but , nothing. As I'm getting down, I hear it again. Now my other neighbors are there and sayin they've been hearing it crying too. I'm up on the balcony, behind my Harley, opening up my storage locker, but still nothing. Now it's quiet, not a sound. So I'm out of ideas and get in the ride and head out to my friends. Now comes one of the weirdest things that's ever happened to me. I'm listening to a CD and keep hearing a weird harmonic that just doesn't sound like it fits the song. I turn down the player and ,,,,,, meeeeeooooowwwwwww. . . Say what! This kitten is somewhere in / under my car!?! I pull over and I hear it for sure. But when I get under the car, it stops. I look everywhere but nothing, , it's stopped crying. So I keep driving (really slow and gentile now) over to my friends where I can pull safely into his garage and off the street where it's more quite. Crawl back under, and now it's non stop, I slide under and there he is. These two little kitty eyes peekin out from behind the passenger front tire , , stuck in the fender well. He crawled in during the night when I was down town and got stuck and couldn't get out. So I go in and round up the girls, we come back out and surround the car. He manages to get out and runs over to the bushes where Sofie nabs him. But I gave the gloves to her friend and he's all pissed off and scared and bites Sofie on her thumb. She doesn't let go, , cause she's like that, , very determined, , and we take him inside and put a towel in the bath tub and put him in there to calm down. I wasn't sure where he managed to get in my car and was thinkin maybe he was my neighbors. So later I take him home to see if he belongs to someone at my apartments. I find out he doesn't. So I go to the Collar & Leash pet store near me and get the basics, , kitty litter and a tub, some Iams Kitty food and set up a little corral for him in my living room. Took him to the vet this morning and he's in really good health she says. Too early for shots, but we give him the kitty aids / leukemia test, a bit of flea 'stuff' and a shot of de-worming juice.
I'm a bit tired last nite, so I'm chillin on my bed and a friend calls and while I'm tellin her the story, I nab him and bring him in my room. We finish our chat and I hang up. He's startin to jump around, pawing and playin as kittens do. I fall asleep for a couple of hours, , wake up, , and there he is curled up on my chest snoozin right with me. But I can't have an pet cause I'm on the road too much and it wouldn't be right for him. So today I take him with me to the Grove to show him off the people hoping to find a good home. I head over to Farmers Market to have some Brasilian food sit down at a table to eat. Now Mozart smells the chicken and fixins and is climbing out of his little Trader Joes travel bag with a towel folded in the bottom. He pops his head up and I shred some chicken for him and he's lovin it. When he finishes, he climbs completely out of the bag and up on my shoulder and is just hangin out. He's the koolest kritter I've ever been around and I'm already getting very attached.

So we need some help here. We gotta find a good home for Mozart. He's the absolute koolest, , and cutest. I already paid for a basic check up. He's about 6 weeks old the vet says and really healthy. He's gray with black highlights, white paws and a white patch on his chest and blue gray eyes that will melt your heart. PLEASE! somebody take him before I get any more attached to the little kritter.

i know that i will never be able to completely know the ones around me. nor do i expect that anyone might completely understand me. metaphor. my life–a silent space, a void: those around me a brilliant & constantly renewed life. temple-like & pungent with wisdom that does not belong to me. that makes me ache & yearn & sometimes write & also ponder joyously on a grassy sun-filled day & feel butterflies from yesterday too & this is how i constitute my awake as well as dreams.

what is the gift of art, if not the gift of sight. the eyes open to the world and that is an enormous difficult task. but i think that it is precisely such a gift that births artists. for the artist must always witness the constant movement, the countless appearances and disappearances of the world that he’s surrounded by: and he knows that everything is worthy of a monument. to be capable of noticing the sweet murmurings is a tremendous gift, as it brings a lot of joy. yet, at the same time, because open eyes are not a matter of choice, the artist is burdened by his inability to shut out the blood of the world’s wounds. and because his eyes must always take notice the artist is, at times, forced to contort himself in many different ways, so that he may survive his own witnessing.

& how else to withstand the enormity of such burden, the burden of sight, but to believe that there can only be the grace of others?

xox

samira

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I
want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to
dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to
know if you will risk looking like a fool for love,
for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your
moon. I want to know if you have touched the center
of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's
betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from
fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit
with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it
or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your
own, if you can dance with wildness and let the
ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic,
to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me
is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another
to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation
of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can
be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty, even when it's
not pretty, every day, and if you can source your life
from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and
mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and
shout to the silver full moon, "Yes!"

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how
much money you have. I want to know if you can get
up, after a night of grief and despair, weary and
bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to
feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to
be here. I want to know if you will stand in the
center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you
have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from
the inside, when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and
if you truly like the company you keep in the empty
moments.

oriah mountain dreamer