from Tibet to Oz on a lightning bolt


The storm heat built up all afternoon and by early evening could contain itself no more. It exploded in a fury of whip-cracking rolling crashing thunder, massive sheets of lightning, torrents of rain.  The parched earth was waiting with open arms.

Sleep was impossible; the action was too intense, loud, immediate.

Folded up on my zafu, thunderbolts flying clear through my body, lightning exploding from my head, I am a character in a Tibetan drama.

Until the door chimes bring me back to the theater of suburbia, Australian-style.

With every lightning strike they burst into a merry tinsel-town tune – a different one each time.  Very odd really, since they were disconnected from mains power months ago.  There must be a little battery inside with a trace of energy that recognizes the energy of the lightning bolt . . .