Namaste,
when I learned the alphabet
late in life toward primordial birth
infinite moment before now and then
air whispers sang
from my trash collector’s plastic bottle
pulling my rolling cart filled with cardboard
singing a muscular rhythm
stirring sonomulent dust on broken stones
in a deep forest
Metta.
Namaste,
act of writing
touches minute pressure
dances on clean white virgin parchment
distracted clear focused voices
inside a seed of consciousness
bridging knowledge and imagination
between two crutches
feeling pressure under arms
hands on handles
support lightness
someone eases my voice
a reading one, a listening one, a writing one
glowing ink
chiseling paper
an arrow of impatience
channels beauty's awkward shyness
this seed of day
blind sensations
missing limbs speak their eternal loss
Metta.
Namaste,
In the street life of Bhaktapur is Pottery Square. 250 people from immediate families make clay, create pots, piggy banks, animals, bowls, living art, dolls, bells, oil lamp bases, and cooking containers. They dry them in the sun. They slow fire them using straw fuel in large kilns.
"We live here as a family," said a girl, 12 with her twin sister. "My father makes piggy banks. My mother moves them into the sunlight." A potter uses a heavy staff to get his wheel turning, rotating faster and faster until it is a blur. He shapes a pot.
Finished products are sold locally, throughout the Kathmandu valley and exported faster than light.
Metta.
Greetings,
He's been in Cambodia for a year. One year seems like a day. Here are six random images.
Many thanks for your support and kindness.
May your new year be filled with joy.
Metta.
Handicap International in Siem Reap. They provide rehabilitation and prosthetic devices to land mine victims.
Inee, a weaver in a Kampot training center for disadvantaged women.
Angkor Wat
Blacksmith
Clean water
Share Article 