Thoughts of a minibus traveller

  Ganja smoke The smell is familiar , heavy wafting over use like some kind of blessing over the random interactions of books and poems.  We are next to a man wearing  dirty brownish three quarter length pants and not wearing shoes or not wearing shirt but wearing a smile on his face. He leans sometimes against one of the concrete poles holding up the roof sheltering him and us. I look over and see him put the yellow lighter - bright on the grey day and against the greenish brownish pant.. back in the pocket. The colour of the joint is similar to the colour of the pants. Slight flame at the end. He ignores us except for when he asked for a $100 with the joint in his mouth and I told him nah after giving another man who was barefoot and who explained the calculation of his age to us and was going to repeat it so I gave that man the $100 to move on. Maybe his joint was hidden in the calculations The man with the joint leaned against the iron post and continued to ignore us while smiling

Heavy I am the heavy table in the images from D PI 13 May, 2022   which are part of the OneGuyana  I a needed to show in show that the four men need some barrier between them and I am part of the OneGuyana keeping them apart. Any photograph to show all of them at the same time, will have me, the table there.. dominating.  I am the heavy table, made from wood from the forests which might or might not be around for much longer.  They put plastic bottles with the name 'Rainforest' and water on top of me to wet the throats which don't like like they are doing much talking and laughing. I would have liked these four men to go meet in the rainforest near to some of the real healing waters which are not in plastic bottles.  And to let the trees which are  my origins instead of dividing them, be encircling them, covering them together. I am the heavy table, but the tension in the room, the mood is heavier than me.  I sense from the faces above me that nobody really wants to be ther

     Pointlessness  "You got a ol' pointer broom' the man asks me 'me son build a concrete strip fuh me and ah need an ole broom fuh brush out the rainwater".   I keep old pointer brooms to sweep the yard. Shorter, harder , they are good to swipe the mix of dust, dry leaves, hard seeds . And I keep the short one so I could bend at the waist and imagine I am doing forward fold yoga to heal the back rather than break it while bending and moving shoulder back and forth to move broom, changing hands when one hand might become tired..  And also watching as the dust pushes back the dust, and even when I think I am sweeping with the wind, there is a circling when like some game , the dust changes path.  Sweeping is pointless activity, temporary pleasure in a clean place. And the whole t hing about sweeping and meditation and the Buddhist views on an activity that sweeping mindlessly is a good time to clean the mind , and being one with the breeze blowing back thoughts an