There is so much limbo represented in the five pictures of the bardo I was in for the last two days at Sky Meadow.

The mournful empty swing; the hopeful tree with a surprised face. 

The meditative Buddha by the pond; an alpaca actively chewing alfalfa.

A suspension bridge—in a constant state of flux all by itself.

But the image that captures my experience best is the drive-thru story teller in Hardwick. Because my favorite thing in the world, wherever I am, is to share my experiences–be they good or bad.

The world reflects us back, I guess.

That I learned to see.

Not just from this weekend, but from the life of my farm-boy, medicine-man father.

He was as comfortable in a five-star restaurant as he was in a dime-store diner.

When I think of Beau, and look at these pictures, I realize that I am am similar to him, yet different at the same time.

This the tale I’ve told with Brain in a Jar.

I just didn’t know what the story of my life was about until Beau’s death.

And thus the end begins again.