The Unlikely Buddha

  Landfills are overflowing, and the hidden cost isn't just overflowing bins. These massive waste repositories are a major source of methane, a potent greenhouse gas with a significant impact on global warming. But what if we swapped landfills for compost bins? Could a shift towards composting significantly reduce methane emissions? Landfills: Breeding Grounds for Methane When organic waste like food scraps and yard trimmings decompose in landfills, the lack of oxygen creates an anaerobic environment. This anaerobic breakdown produces methane, a greenhouse gas 80 times more effective at trapping heat than carbon dioxide over a 20-year period. Estimates suggest landfills globally generate a staggering 44 million tons of methane annually. Composting: A Breath of Fresh Air (Literally) Composting offers a greener alternative. This process breaks down organic waste aerobically (with oxygen), resulting in minimal methane release. The end product? Nutrient-rich compost, a valuable soi...

  A stolen glance across the room, A silent question, soft perfume. A smile that lingers, just a beat, A blush that paints the cheeks so sweet. Words tumble out, a touch too fast, Wit sharpened, hoping to surpass. A laugh that rings, a playful tease, A nervous flutter, ill at ease. Fingers brush, a fleeting spark, An awkward pause left in the dark. Is there a meaning, or just chance? A secret language in a glance? The night unfolds, a gentle sway, Will this connection find its way? A thrilling dance, hearts beat anew, A hint of what might blossom true. The future's path, a winding road, But in this moment, hope explodes. A spark ignited, light and bright, The dance of flirtation takes its flight. Unlikely Buddha 2024

  The chemo cocktail churns, a metallic serpent coiling in my gut, its venom rising, a bitter tide. The sterile air, a canvas for the symphony of beeps, a haunting counterpoint to the hollowness inside. My reflection mocks from the steel embrace of the chair, a gaunt caricature, eyes hollowed, skin the hue of despair. Each breath a labored rasp, a dry leaf skittering on stone, as the serpent writhes, promising oblivion's unknown. Sleep, a fragile escape, crumbles into a twisted dream. A figure cloaked in midnight strides across the barren plains, his scythe a crescent moon, casting an inky sheen on the cracked and thirsty earth, mirroring my ravaged veins. The Grim Reaper, eyes smoldering embers in the gloom, a silent judge, his gaze a pronouncement of impending doom. His skeletal hand reaches, cold and sure, to claim my soul, but a spark of defiance flares, a flicker to regain control. I lunge, a frail wisp against the night's cold embrace, but the figure fades, leaving on...

  Life throws us curveballs. Sometimes, they're gentle lobs, but other times, they're fastballs that knock us flat. When faced with tragedy, it's natural to search for meaning, for some cosmic explanation that makes sense of the pain. Phrases like "everything happens for a reason" can feel like life rafts in a storm, offering a fragile hope amidst the chaos. However, while these phrases may bring temporary comfort, the reality is that life is often messy and unpredictable. There may not be a grand plan or a preordained script, just a tapestry woven with joy, sorrow, and everything in between. Accepting this doesn't diminish the hurt, but it allows us to move beyond the question "why?" and start exploring "how." How can we navigate these storms with a sense of agency? The answer lies within ourselves. By cultivating awareness of our thoughts and emotions, we gain a foothold in the midst of the churning waters. This doesn't mean ignori...

  The night descends, a sigh of gray,  A silver moon, it holds its sway. A frosted disc, a watchful eye, As wispy clouds in silence fly. They drift across the velvet black,  Like brushstrokes white, upon a track  Of endless dark, a starry sea, A canvas vast, for all to see. The air is crisp, a breath of pine,  A symphony of scents entwined  With dampened earth, a gentle breeze,  Rustling leaves through ancient trees. The world shrinks down, beneath the dome,  Of endless space, my worries numb.  A quiet peace, a gentle hush,  As moonlit shadows softly brush. A connection felt, to something grand,  A universe, held in my hand. The stars whisper secrets, old and new,  In this moment, bathed in moonlit dew. I breathe it in, the silent night,  A simple beauty, pure and bright.  A sense of wonder fills my soul,  As stars and moon their stories roll. Unlikely Buddha, 2024

 Let me take you on a magic carpet ride No silken carpet, stitched by hands unknown, But woven moonlight on a phoenix's down. With whispers of magic, we'll ascend the sky, Where stars like diamonds dance and planets sigh. Through emerald valleys, where dragons sleep, And crystal rivers secrets keep. On winds of laughter, past castles untold, With stories blooming, braver than gold. We'll chase shooting stars across the night, Their fiery whispers our guiding light. Past hidden waterfalls, where sirens sing, And wishes take flight on gossamer wing. No jeweled palace, but a moonlit bower, Where fireflies light each fragrant flower. With hearts entwined, beneath the Milky Way, We'll write our own love story, come what may. This magic we create, unseen, unheard, A tapestry woven with every shared word. So let us dance on stardust, wild and free, For the truest magic lies in you and me. With brushes dipped in dreams, we'll paint the sky, Our souls entwined, as colors dan...

  The words fall like shattered glass, each syllable a fragment of your heart laid bare. Dreams, whispered into the void, met with polite smiles that hold no echoes of your own yearning. Fears, confessed in the quiet moments, dissolve into the air, leaving only the hollowness of silence. You, a tapestry woven with threads of vulnerability, hang opposite a blank canvas, reflecting back only your own loneliness. The serpent of isolation coils tighter, its scales cold against your skin. You poured your essence into a well that held only dust, each shared detail, each unreturned confidence chipping away at the foundation of your hope. The realization cuts like a shard of ice, a truth as undeniable as the emptiness you feel. This was a solo performance, a song sung into the wind, its melody lost in the vast indifference. No embers of self-discovery flicker in the darkness. The tapestry remains unfinished, its threads trailing off into the abyss. The echoes of loneliness morph into a c...