Landing Pad

The feminine values are the fountain of bliss.
Know the masculine, Keep to the feminine.

I wonder what Lao Tzu meant by that? I NEED TO KNOW.

Driving from Rhode Island to Brooklyn we got off 95 because of traffic and meandered around New Haven, yet another haven of Haves and Have Nots, on a path that happened to take us by the two dramatic cliffs of East Rock and West Rock. Maybe my awesome badass mom is right and they are volcanic, as the ex-wife of a volcanologist she might know what she's talking about. The striated cliff of East Rock is a basalt marvel that reminds me of Devil's Tower, but they chose a fairly tame name for it in comparison. Overall, Eastern Connecticut is an interesting place to pass through because of the many dramatic ridges, forests strewn with boulders, marshes and wide rivers, this time of year often frozen on the West side of the highway and liquid on the East. The drive helped me recover from the sad landscape of route 1 North of Boston where King Profit continues to tragically ravage the hills.

At a stoplight on Eastern Parkway back in BK we noticed an Asian man in a cap with light striking him so that he looked like he only had one bushy white eyebrow. He noticed being noticed and began to sing, so I opened my window and heard his high thin voice. I took this as a welcome, this man with nothing better to do than stand on the median of the Parkway lined with churches and sing. I'll take what I can get. I'll also take the retinue of greats that crown the Brooklyn Museum (my favorite is the Taoist mentioned above,) and I'll take every little bit of stone carving, even the faux-stone molded cement medallions like the ones on my house, the Horse Chestnuts on the square, every pinkish-red brick fired in a Jersey kiln town long before we became cinder block nation. Brooklyn is a Balm.