excerpt from a letter dated April 8, 1995
...As for me, I am well over the surgery I had six weeks
ago. All better. It's as if I never had the experience. Except that the
gall stones are all gone. Everything bad associated with them is gone.
I am grateful. I am extremely grateful.
Spring is coming on up here in a nice, slow, methodical way. The flowers
so far are few. It could be the rains we have had this year: seeds can
get washed away. Or they wait in obscure corners waiting for another year.
I am not saying we won't have flowers this year. We will. I'm not sure
it will be one of our better years. But then who knows? I let the devas
of the desert decide things like that. They are out there right now reading
my lips. They are throwing flowers over their shoulders. The desert is
lit with their colors. Red, green, magenta, purple, fuchia [sic], blue,
white, black-flowers are on their way.
Now I go back into my little shell of happy retirement. I paint, write,
draw, play music. (We have a new tape coming out called THE CALL. I play
Irish pennywhistles and American Indian flutes on it as well as the usual
assortment of percussive instruments. I think it is our best one so far,
not because of me, not at all but because of the confluence of events
that worked well for the three of us: cellist--Manon Robertshaw--, Savya
with her gongs, bowls, chimes, and so on, and me. The cover is strange
because they used a picture of me on it: crouching on a rock in my serape
holding a drum with a Celtic design on it. Very strange. Send it good
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