The light in my room in here in Baveno is nice in the afternoon as I sit in scribbling in books escaping that room. M just popped in. The room upstairs where UG is is so hot its hard to believe. We call the heating system “The Sahara”. I bought a new shirt while I was out trying to get distracted but it’s too small and now the shop is closed. From the shop you look down the street where the lake is glistening across the road. It’s so peaceful out there. Uma called yesterday morning. She cries every day since he left, even when he was there she was crying. He plays her recording of the Money Maxims whenever he gets a chance, blasting everyone in the face with them. Listening to it with the small group here one feels that something is happening which is so new and dynamic and powerful in all of us which we will never know.
I write silly poems he seems to enjoy while I’m sitting next to him, the crazier the better. It keeps him from whacking me on the head. His cold is slowly passing away. No kicks from him yet today but I’m sure they’re on the way.
Here is a poem he helped me with supplying the last two lines. ..
Pope on a rope.
Osho on dope.
UG blasts hope.
Made JK mope.
(his final two lines finish the poem)….
He puts you all
on a slippery slope.
– Jan 2005
OK, more later,