I love mangoes. Sophia loves mangoes, too. She’s wise, Sophia. She knows her stuff. Pomegranates are good too. Emma and I love pomegranates; layers of seeds, each with its own niche. Very sexual. Kiwis too. Mmmm. Kiwis. I could eat 100 kiwis a day, but they would always be green. With envy, for they know of my love for mangoes. They shouldn’t be, though. In Greek, kiwis are a “star” fruit. Everything is a star in its own way.
People who live in cities must forget what stars look like. I miss Orion. And Ursa. People in cities think the country is boring. People in the country aren’t bored-they have stars. Stars open a window to imagination. Have you ever noticed that so many people’s windows are shut-tight-in the cities? Too rushed to open them. Do they imagine? Do they understand?
John Lennon imagined. He was a star. He may have been killed because of his imagination. Some people fear the power of creativity. Yet, we live in a world full of creations: iPods, fiber optics, handheld organizers, email, cell phones, fax, two-tiered jets, superfast, superfast, superfast, robots. Are we robots? Probably not. Don’t worry. But, it could happen. Why shouldn’t it? It would make life easier. I could just “turn off” whoever annoyed me. Luckily, I am not easily annoyed. Don’t have time to be. I’d rather understand. I’d rather open a window. Too bad I am writing on a plane. Definitely can’t open a window up here. Too close to the stars. I might suffocate. My imagination might suffocate.
Up here, I see all the cities. Washington. Charlotte. Atlanta. Almost there. But where am I going? To see my grandma. Soon, she’ll be a star. Sometimes I am happy for her. She’ll be free. She’ll be free to imagine. With Grandpa. And Pappou. They are stars. They’ll inspire the world at least the world that is in the country the way they inspire me. People are blind in the city. Too many lights.
Light bulbs. Do you think Edison understood what he found? Now there can always be action. Any time, any place. Lights, camera, action. Spike Lee. Sex tapes. Society and its preoccupation with action. Run. Run. Do, run. Why is that? Maybe Paris Hilton has the answer! She understands society. That’s why she is so successful. That is why I admire her. Too bad people don’t understand that. Maybe they will, instead of finding fault in her actions. At least she is happy. Sex is like a pomegranate. A necessity. Can’t live without pomegranates. Part of the pursuit of happiness.
I am not advocating sex as a frivolous act, or saying that it’s cheap like matches. Quite the opposite. It’s the most priceless experience one can have. When it is time. When they’re ready. Sex is beautiful, but taboo. People would rather play Taboo than talk about beauty, or one’s self. That is sad. Run. Run. Do, run. Don’t stop. Not for beauty, not for yourself. Don’t breathe.
Julie Andrews breathed fresh air. Too bad we all don’t live in the Alps. We would see stars, and breathe. Lucky lederhosen. At least people in the cities have oxygen bars. Thank God for L.A. Where else would urbanites breathe fresh air? Their windows are always closed. Breath is so important. That is why I do yoga. Sting and Michaela do yoga too. I think I am in good company. Yoga teaches you to breathe. To understand.
Vlad understands people. He has a heart of gold. Some people don’t understand, so they worship gold. Vlad is too humble though, he couldn’t be worshipped. A golden cow could be, though. It is, too, in India. Or so I’ve been told. I dream of going to India. The East. A powerful pulse. Discipline. The East breathes with life. China, Japan, India, Tibet. Monks in Tibet do yoga. Yoga of the mind. They breathe. They see stars. They understand what they see and live to understand.
Understanding is tiring. Maybe that is why so many people have given up. Things are too complex. It is easier to read it online. Those windows are an escape to a false reality. Far easier to close. Just a click. Click. Click.
Three clicks of the heels and you’re home. There is no place like home. My home will have only windows. Open windows. No doors. And always a mango.
