Flowers know no boundaries.  They do not get caught up with the artificial borders that humans set up against each other.  The flowers know whats really up. Boundaries are only lines that are drawn on a map.  We humans give them meaning, but to the fauna world they might as well be invisible.  Well, in fact they usually are, unless, walls, fences, or barbed wire has been laid.

The wind know no boundaries too.  The wind scoops the tiny flowers of next spring in its arms and blows them across the world.  Fences never stand in their way.  Wall are overcome by simply going up and over.

The flowers instinct to survive and lay seeds for the next generation is an amazing force of nature.  Nothing can stop them from seeking the warmth of the ground to seep their roots.

They know no boundaries.  They are flowers.  They are all powerful in their simple exquisite perfection.

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My love affair with Ethiopian cuisine started back in my days as a university student in Tampa, Florida.  I was a vegetarian at the time and a friend recommended that I try an Ethipian place called Ibex.

I really wasn’t sure what to expect there and was overjoyed to know that mt taste buds were blown away.  The whole experience of touching my food, to sharing the plate with the table, and the amazing spices seared itself into my memory.  I have never forgotten those days of scooping up some of the delicious stews with the injera bread.  A soft pancake like bread made of the smallest yet mighty super grain teff.

My taste buds and I continued to partake in the Ethiopian food when we moved out to the west coast and settled in the bay area.

Between North Oakland and Berkeley there must have been a dozen Ethiopian restaurants along Shattuck Avenue.  And no joke we tried them all, but we settled on a tiny one that usually had no customers, and awful service, but the food was stratospheric in quality.  Then we fast forward to two weeks ago.

Something happened while we gathered for my brothers wedding in Huntsville, Alabama, I met one of the bridesmaids who was Ethiopian.  After we had finished having a huge feast of Chinese food we were talking about how I have attempted to make Ethiopian food, but haven’t really been successful at it yet.  Our conversation, even though I was stuffed, made me crave Ethiopian food like I never had before.   Actually, we both started to crave the food.

This craving continued once I got back on a plane and back to Japan.  Spongy sour injera bread bounced around in my head, but since it was Passover I knew that I had to wait to be able to indulge in the fermented injera bread.  It was one of those cravings that eventually had to be satisfied.

So once Passover finished, the wife and I headed over to Queen Sheeba in Naka Meguro.  The rain kept on coming down on our way over to the restaurant, and compared to the beautiful spring weather the day before it was chilly.

As soon as we entered those Ethiopian aromas filled our hearts.  I ordered a glass of tej.  A honey mead wine that is seasoned with a hard to find Ethiopian spice called  Gesho.  The cloudy elixir was sweet and silky on my tongue.  I had a feeling that the tej was homemade and the friendly waitress confirmed that they make the tej themselves.

The first course was skewered goat roasted over charcoals.  The cubes of meat were succulent and sweetly fragrant.  This was then followed by the main course served up family style on a large round plate with dabs of the stew beautifully arranged.

The foods spices went straight to my head and my heart filled with joy.  To tear off a piece of injera bread with spicy red lentils, and stewed spinach.

My soul was as satisfied as my stomach with my fill of spicy lentil in this home style cooking.  I thank Rahel so much for getting me thinking, if not obsessing, about the wonderful cuisine of Ethiopia.

My new challenge is to try to cook up some of these dishes for myself.  I love being able to cook that which I cannot eat so easily.  And, if I can’t I know at  least I will always be welcomes at Queen Sheeba.

This Friday was gorgeous.  It all and all  a perfect spring day.  The sun shone so high in the sky that I had to roll up my long sleeves as I took an afternoon stroll.  The dust and pollen filled my nostrils with every breath, but it didn’t matter.  The day soothed my tired body.

Tokyo is on the other side of the cherry blossom peak.  That is when the trees have reached  past their full bloom and now are beginning to shed their pink petals like a snow flurries.  The petals flutter down from the canopies above and dust the ground in their pinkness.  It is a really magical time of year.  A time that seems like it is snowing yet the weather is warm, and the flakes are neither moist or cold.

Wandering through a small neighborhood park I came across some mothers and their children enjoying the last days of the cherry blossoms.  To be so thankful that the winter is over and that we all know the blazing heat of summer is not that far behind.  But I am getting ahead of myself.

Let us pause.  Take a moment to enjoy the sensation of the ever drifting pink petals.  Fluttering in the wind and landing around our feet.  We will have time enough to attempt to keep cool in the long humid days of summer.

At one time all looked up with the blue skies behind him.  They all came to admire his strength and eloquence.  The way he could peer into the soul of a crowd.  The way in which he would happily sway in the springtime breeze.  Dancing in the trees while those celebrated below.  Some would come from far around to listen to him speak.  People were always moved when he revealed his heart.

It all ended too soon.  There were many more hearts that he wanted to open.  So many more inspirations that he wanted to give.

But he knew it was his time.  There would be no more moving prophecies.  He wanted to deliver so much more, but he knew that he would be departing this earth.

This is where I found him.  On a concrete wall in a small neighborhood in Tokyo.  Momentarily motionless, until a stiff breeze would pick him up and return him to where he came.

I was the only one to pause and pay homage to the prophet.  I saw the works that he accomplished in his short life.  A life to be memorialized.  The words spoken to be remembered.

All bow their heads for a moment of silence for the fallen prophet.

The time that we are allowed to spend on earth is so short.  One moment the time is here to be enjoyed and the next it has floated off.  We struggle to hold onto that time.  We desire to make those moments last a lifetime.  I strive to cherish the time that we have.

This freezing and stretching of time is one of the reasons that I have fallen so in love with the way of photography.

Photography allows me to capture those fleeting moments.  To be able to stretch that second into a lifetime of viewing.  I can always go back and reflect back on that moment.  All the elements with in the frame may no longer physically exist, but they live on in pixels, or silver halides.

Next week when I return to the same place where this image was taken it will no longer exist.  The petals of the cherry blossoms will have all drifted to another place.  The light will vary depending on the day, but I have this moment when all the elements aligned and the photograph was taken.

Enjoy those moments.  Reach out to them.  Search through family albums and relive moments that have passed.  Before we know it those memories will float away just as the petals fall from the cherry blossoms.

The beautiful cherry blossoms are out.  They survived the near typhoon force weather that hit Tokyo the day before I returned to Japan.

I really haven’t had the time or energy to go out and enjoy them this season, basically because I have just been in a haze of jet lagged exhaustion.  That all being said, I did get out of the house for a bit of a walk around today.

The sun was beautiful and the temperatures made me feel like it really is spring time.  The previous days all felt pretty cold to me.  Especially after spending such warm days in Miami and Huntsville.

The wind was whipping in over Tokyo Bay as this let the cherry blossoms do their dance for me.  White ones, pink ones all out their boogying to the spring time jam.  People were out enjoying some picnic lunches with friends under the canopy of blossoms.

As I wondered around a bit this afternoon I found myself remembering what it was to walk around last year at this time.  The Tohoku-Kanto tsunami and earthquake were on everyones mind as well as the ongoing nuclear disaster.  So much has happened in the course of one year.  We in Japan had to face every known disaster imaginable at one point over the last 12 months.  It was a year I would not like to repeat again.

It was at this time that my eyes truly opened to the beauty of spring.  The rebirth of all the nature that lays dormant during the cold short winter days.  The flowers were a sign of strength for the future.  A sign that we had made it this far, and that out of the disasters beauty can once again be found.

I have since found myself paying closer attention to the natural world even if they may be confined to terra-cotta pots and curbside gardens.  I make an effort to observe the moon as it goes through its phases.  Which fruits are ripe and hanging from the trees.

Even in this concrete jungle their is nature.  We should all pause to take notice among the neon glow and the endless data byte streams.  Nature is there.  All we have to do is to open our hearts and eyes to fill our hearts with joy.

Many years ago my brother, Seth, said something that I have never forgotten.  I may have forgotten where and why he had said it, but I will never forget what he said, “Waffle House is the place to pick up chicks!”  This may or may not be true, but it has always stuck with me.  What did he mean by that?  Can one really pick up chicks at the Waffle House?

Jerry and I had gotten up early to go grab some breakfast on our way to Huntsville International Airport.  We had done a search and had settled on the famous Blue Plate Cafe.  We both had wanted to experience a real down home southern breakfast and Blue Plate Cafe promised that.  We punched the coordinates into Jerry’s phone and we were on our way.

We pulled into the Blue Plate Cafe parking lot only to discover that it was closed.  DUH!  It was Palm Sunday in the Bible belt!  What were we thinking so Jerry said “Lets go to Waffle House!”  At least we knew that they would be open and quick about getting the food out,  because we needed to be at the airport to scoop up some people for my brother’s wedding.

We punched in Waffle House and found one just one exit before the airport.  Stomachs grumbling we were on our way again. Pulled off the highway and did a quick u-turn and we stepped into the Waffle House.  We were created with what only could be a synchronistic moment as Lynyrd Skynyrd came though over the sound system.  Jerry and I looked at each other and just smiled.  Welcome to Alabama we collectively thought to ourselves.

We slid onto the stools at the counter and ordered up our breakfast.  The waitresses were all friendly and the coffee flowed freely.  It was  a comforting to have that grill hopping and our food on the table in a matter of minutes.  This is where so much of America eats.  This is as far from the big city comfort eateries as one could get.  This was the real comfort food!  It was simple.  The food satisfied our souls.

The conversation was deep, as I dug into my cheese omelette and grits.  For those of you not born and raised int he south grits are made with chipped kernels of corn and prepared like a wet rice and seasoned with butter, salt and pepper.  As we gobbled up our food I thought about how hard the waitresses had to hustle for their paychecks.  Jerry wondered out loud to me that following the workings of a Waffle House could make for interesting documentary.  Real people dealing with daily life that only could be seen from the hustle of southern waitresses.

We finished up and left our waitress a nice tip for her hustle.  I really have no idea when I may be back in a Waffle House.  I am still not sure if they are the place to pick up chicks or not.  I do know that the Waffle House will be their waiting for me next time I’m in the American South.

My brother and I had crossed over some railroad track in our quest to find an Indian buffet restaurant in Huntsville, Alabama the afternoon after we had driven up from Miami.  I spotted a sign that said Historic Downtown Madison.  I wanted to stop but our stomach had the better of us and we pushed on to get our fill of some curry.

On the Monday following the wedding I had to be up at 6 a.m. to get Jerry to the airport on time.  It didn’t really bother me to be up so early because the time I am allowed to spend with my family is all precious.  As I was making my way for the countless time to Huntsville International Airport, to our left and right the fields were covered in an early morning mist.  The kind of mist that just hovers a few feet above the ground.

I imagined being taken back in time to when these northern hills of Alabama, were the only occupants of the area.  Just the hills, the grass, and that early morning fog.

Since I had time before I needed to meet up with my family I took a detour back to the hotel so that I could take an early morning walk around Madison.  The construction crews were already on site as I wandered around in the pre 7 a.m. sunlight.

The light filtered in through the majestic trees among the white picket fences.  The yards and porches reminded me to slow down and appreciate the land and the people of Alabama.

I really had little expectations from Alabama.  I know that is a bit sad, but in my mind not much came to me, but I was impressed with the land.  The land spoke to me.  The small town America, that is quickly vanishing, spoke to my heart.

As I wandered around crossing over the railroad tracks I thought to myself what it must have been like to grow up here at the turn of the century.  The hard times only out scaled by the beauty of the surrounding land.

These thoughts all rushed through my head like the morning fog as it began to disperse the higher the sun rose.  Madison was a beautiful trip back to a place I had never been.  All beautiful in the 7 a.m. sunshine.

Time has shifted into another realm over the last couple of days.  After the marathon drive from south Florida to Huntsville, Alabama with my brother my concept of time has reverted to a more raw state.

I can’t count the hours.  I don’t feel the minutes.  All I know is that I am surrounded by people that love me.  And some of these people I am meeting for the first time.  It really doesn’t matter.  The love surrounding us has altered my perception of it.

It is beautiful to walk around an unknown neighborhood and just be.  To look at how the Alabamians decorate their yards, paint their houses, and walk down the street.

To watch the colors liquify in the sky as the sun sets over Mastin Lake Road in the foothills of the appalachian mountains.  So beautiful and in all places, Alabama.

Just a taste of the beauty and the love that surrounds us at this moment in our lives.

Peace to all on this shabbat before passover!

I got some time to spend with hiphopper extraordinaire Sekajipo in Coconut Grove the other day.  Sekajipo is an amazing musician on the hiphop scene in Miami.

He easily moves between ethnically diverse communities of Miami hitting the mic, slinging a guitar, and laying down tracks.  I caught up with Sekajipo on the move down in Coconut Grove for a photo shoot in the jungle meets lucid communication.

Coconut Grove has changed a lot since I was a youth growing up in Miami, but one thing still rings true of the Grove being one of the freshest neighborhoods out in Miami.  There is a gumbo mix of people that make the Grove their home and Sekajipo is at home walking the streets here or just chilling on his yellow and green patio watching the palm trees sway in the breeze.

We hit a few spots in the neighborhood and we had a great time reasoning on all things.  We talked about what he is up to at Catalyst and the news of the day the shooting of Trayvon.

I love working with such amazing people like Sekajipo!  Sekajipo and his music shows me that there are many good people out there in the 305 dropping beats that make one pause and think for a minute.  Well, in reality, they can change the way you view the world.

I look forward to more music from Sekajipo and more ninja style photo shoots too.

If you haven’t already check out Sekajipo’s homepage.

You can add him on Facebook too.

Of course the conscious party doest stop on twitter.

Check out some videos of Sekajipo on Youtube. and more videos here too

His latest one Revolutionary Love is the Jam.

As always, there is more 2 come.

I made a late night visit to an old friend last night.  It was great getting the chance to reason and just be together with him in brotherhood.

As I was walking back to where we had parked on the street I noticed what a beautiful garden was in front of the house.  The land unfolded before my eyes, as the yellow halide light filtered through the trees.

Our little secret garden on NE 135 Street, North Miami.  It was so far removed from the hustle of 135 Street, but this patch of sculptured green was so far removed.  There are places for one to sit and just relax and take in the cool Miami air.

Our family set off across the bottom tip of Florida this morning to visit my aunt in Ft. Meyers.  I always love the drive across the everglades.  Some people will call it flat and boring, but I call it home.

The endless mounds of hammocks floating on the edge of the Gulf of Mexico, or the river of grass that warmly surrounds both sides of highway 41, a.k.a., the Tamiami Trail.

We stopped for a very early dinner in the town of Everglades City, which sits on the edge of the 10000 Islands as they blend into the horizon and eventually meet the Gulf, and the Florida Keys.

Munching on a grouper sandwich I just marveled out across the water.  The houses tucked into the mangroves, the boats on the docks, the birds swarming around trying to get a free meal.  Just a pleasant place to sit still and be.

I got an email from a good friend eat about 6 p.m. tonight telling me that Slick Rick was going to be giving a lecture at the Miami Dade College Kendall campus.  Slick Rick, one of the original emcees from the 1980s, is not to be missed.  I was amped to see the art of storytelling according to Slick Rick.

I made my way over to the campus and linked up with my friend.  We walked over to the music department where Slick Rick was tucked into a classroom.  Hiphop heads from across the campus all came in to hear what Slick Rick had to say.

He didn’t really give a lecture, but he engaged the participants in a question and answer session.  I asked Slick a question on whether the youth coming up should be schooled in the history of Hiphop culture as a way of reclaiming Hiphop from the corporations.  His take on the question was that veterans serving in Iraq when they come back to America, and begin to put their experience into their rhymes and the people have a choice over authentic experience or mediocre sludge, the people will choose the quality.

Another point that really hit home was that Slick Rick also said that you could be the most conscious rapper in the world but if you are whack then you are whack, or if you are fresh then you are fresh.  The point being that in order to get ahold the attention of the public Hiphop artist must come from a point of being original and authentic.

It was a great surprise to wander onto the MDC campus and hear one of the founders of the original old school HipHop. Slick might have been missing his eyepatch, but his soul was in full effect.  Long Live the real Hiphop!

Redlands Fruit and Spice Park in south western Dade County. is one of those places that I haven’t visited since I was a child.  I remember wandering around this vast park quite well.  The best thing about Redlands Fruit and Spice park is that visitors are allowed to eat all the fruit that has fallen from the trees.

It was great to wander around this park as an adult.  Thinking back on the park I know that it had an influence on my own gardening tendencies.  And those being that I like to grow plants that I can either smell or taste.  I do believe that this interest in edible scented vegetation can be traced back to my youthful wandering around the many parks of Miami and Dade County.

The sun was blazing as I wandered around the acres of trees and grass.  I opted to not take the tour and decided to just wander where ever the scents and fruit would take me.

I occasionally picked up some fruit off the ground to give them a taste.  A tiny mango, or a sapote.  There must have been more than 30 varieties of mangoes around the park.

I left the park satisfied having smelled scents from my youth even if I had gotten a bit too much sun.

I love my south west Dade county parks.

The Hiphop crew Plan Beats formed in Miami in the mid 90s.  Originally formed to push the Hiphop trio Plan Be.  Plan Be’s core members were Brimstone, Raganese, and Hattrick.  The Plan Be studio aka The Beehive was located in the heart of Kendal on 127th street.  The Plan Be family quickly outgrew the three original members of Plan Be, and the extended Plan Beats was formed.

We fast forward to 2012 to the bursting art scene in the Wynwood section of Miami where the Plan Beats crew has been reuniting to bring the music to the streets. I attended the March 10th Art Walk event.   The Brass King sums up the Plan Beats vibe when he said, “there are no velvet ropes, so leave your attitudes at home!”  Which was so true when I made it to the Plan Beats block party.

There were 4 turntables set up  and maned by The Brass King on the ones and twos, and Silverfoxx on the threes and fours.  Soulchild was armed with a mic and getting the crowd hyped.  And Choppy Blades of Hiphop News Miami was getting UP as much as he cold get down.

For me, it was a real reunion.  I got to see so many peeps that I haven’t seen for a long time.  Trek Six rolled through (actually an original member of the group Plan Be).  I got to see my sista from another mother Soulflower who came through with her daughter in hand.  Seeing Soulflower always brings a smile to my heart!  The Rumba King came though adding a free live bongo to the street jam.  Artists, musicians, even Chor Boogie  in town from San Francisco exclaimed that “this is the real REAL Hiphop!”

The Miami Chapter of Zulu Nation came out to support.  They added their own flavor with some old school popping and locking.  We also had Bebe of Ground Zero crew rock some b-boying out on the concrete.  It was great to see my extended Plan Beats family come out and support the real, in the streets, Hiphop.

There was so much happening at the Plan Beats Street Party.  The crowd was loving the tunes being spun by Silverfoxx and The Brass king.  Old school Hiphop, Salsa, Jamaican Dancehall, and only a Plan Beats Jam could finish off their four hour plus set with Ray Charles Let Me See You Shake Your Tail Feathers, and Hit the Road Jack.  Now those jams are the original Old School.

I was overjoyed to spend such precious time with my Plan Beats family.  It brings a bit of the old mixed in with the fresh new vibes.  I love my Plan Beats crew.

In order to keep up to date with what the Plan Beats crew is doing check out

Hip Hop News Miami for exclusive mixes, and events.

I got to give an extra special shout out to Brimstone127, my brother and PATH founder, who was there only in the spirit, but will be out at the next jam

Lets see what a real block party looks like.