Located deep within the great plain, it flickers on the horizon. Surrounded by scrub land and sage bushes, its outskirts are dotted with graves. Some shallow with make shift crosses, others in yards with weathered head stones. All of the graves have been dug out from the inside. Some have dirt displaced, others have coffin lids fractured, wooden fragments scattered on the dirt.
Out of these graves emerged skeletons who inhabit the village. Wearing the clothes they were buried in, they wander the quiet, dusty streets, the only sound to be heard the rattling of bones on the cobbles.
While living
Be a dead man
Be thoroughly dead –
And Behave as you like
And all’s well.
Bunan, Zen Master.
Poem taken from Wes “Scoop” Nisker’s The Essential Crazy Wisdom.
Golden Giraffes Riding Scarlet Flamingos Through The Desert of Forever 