life is a dance

It's real freedom.

Freedom is knowing how big your cage is.

Freedom is having no choice.

Freedom from need or a need for freedom.

Free from others.

To many people depend on others. They manifest their feeling of loneliness with silent tears. They project their fear and defense mechanisms on others.

Where is meaning?

Meaning is MIA.

Where is the pure joy in being?

How or why isn't he talking? Where did his voice go?

Maybe it joined other voices waiting for articulation.

There's a big power in speechlessness.

Life is a dance.

The dancer and dance are one.

Dogen Zenshi

That the self advances

and confirms the ten thousand things

is called delusion;

That the ten thousand 

things advance and 

confirm the self is

called enlightenment

- Dogen Zenshi

The ability to be fully present yet not controlled by conditions create a stable mental and emotional foundation even in the midst of turmoil. - Dogen

Return to Mandalay

Hi. My name is Timothy Mouse. I am a wanderer. I wander and wonder. 

I was in Mandalay three years ago at a private school playing in the Montessori program.

The kids taught me to say I am a miracle.

The management wasn't very professional so I left after ten weeks. Probation is a two-way street. You can read a story about my experience in STORIES on the sidebar. 

It's called Dr. Scary and Mrs. Marbles. They were a strange dysfuntional couple. I really enjoyed Myanmar. The people are gentle, kind and smiling. 

Anyway, last year I had the chance to return with a language company in Yangon. It was a fantastic combination of helping others develop their vocabulary, criticial thinking skills and laughter while doing my street photography experiments. Everything I do is an experiment.

The CEO was mean and selfish. He lost the lease on one building where we had classrooms so I was downsized with three other teachers after five months. I was grateful for the opportunity.

I returned to Seems Ripe, Cambodia and did a volunteer English project in a rural reality for two months with low income families. I polished a new book of black and white images called Street 21, about Yangon. O joy.

I accepted an offer to return to Mandalay and here I is. I have classes with 9th graders, college prep seniors in a fancy air-con room and primary grades 1 & 2 at a rural private school. It's the first time any of them have had a native speaker.

Young learners teach me songs. We dance, sing and play games using the alphabet and colors.

It's the same old story - young ones have no fear and the older ones have been tyranized into passivity. Big ears no mouth authoritorial conditioning. As Einstein said, "Learning is an experience. Everything else is just information."

They are emerging from imaginary shells with a new sense of love, responsibility, leadership ability, polite manners, teamwork and courage. They experiment in creative notebooks. It's a joy to be a small part of their process. 

Taxi Girl - My Name is Tam

Where are you from?

Vietnam.

I am from here. This is my country. I am a rich businessman. You are very beautiful.

Thank you.

How much for one hour?

I played stupid. What do you mean?

He laughed. Are you stupid? I said how much for an hour.

I looked at my girlfriends. One raised her right eyebrow. Go for it.

How much are you willing to pay?

$50.00.

This was the most money I’d ever heard of. I gambled. Make it $500 for one night. I’ll take good care of you all night. Maybe you can help out my friends.

He looked at them. Five hundred is easy money, he said. Let me make a call and have another drink first.

Ok, take your time. He bought me a whiskey talking about making money, exploiting the poor, twisted business deals using connections, property land grab development. I pretended to be interested. It was getting late. I gambled. Time’s up, I said. Are you going to help my friends? If you want me it’s $500. All night.

Ok, he said. He called someone. I have some chickens for you. He laughed and hung up. I have a place near here. Get me a taxi.

We went through dark streets and stopped at a house. Inside were two older men, drinking. They looked at the girls, paired off and disappeared.

I was a virgin and he was my first man. It hurt like hell, he was rough but I handled it and didn’t cry in front of him. I swallowed all my bitter tears. He fucked me all night. It was brutal.

In the morning I could hardly walk. He paid me in cold hard cash. Five clean crisp hundreds. I couldn’t believe it. I gave Miss Tan her cut and she was very happy. The pain will pass, she said. Get used to it.

I was in business. Easy. Turn on the charm, smile a lot, dress up, be smart, gamble, be open to suggestions, don’t drink too much and be ready, willing and able. Be a passive machine. Close your heart. Pretend you’re somewhere else.

That’s how I became a taxi girl. I was beautiful and tough. Miss Tan saw this and kept me busy. 

My Name is Tam

Welcome to earth - TLC 9

Dreams and nightmares snarled on nationalistic winds. Hot air swept north from Cambodian jungles in snow taxis playing cello solos.

Calm, sad, neglected women do, did, done all the work.

Their universal mantra: I work. I breed. I get slaughtered.

Welcome to Earth. Babies of sweet sixteen having more babies were busy sexing, texting, birthing, cooking, washing, sweeping, cleaning, and crying.

Tibetan tears melted Himalayan glaciers. Waterworks flooded rivers and deltas in Bangladesh, Laos, Thailand, Burma, Vietnam and Cambodia.  

Global media bought people. Media created and sold exaggerated disasters and fear marinated with the gloom and doom of catastrophic dramatic human foibles.

Sixty million drowning SE Asian farmers and fishing people struggled for higher ground after greedy governments constructed twelve dams on the Mekong in Laos. Thailand purchased the electricity for red light districts. They recycled it back to Laos at amperes profit. Dam the torpedoes, full speed ahead. Eye captain.

Idle boy/men raced oil-soaked 125cc engines in Asian motorcycle cultures. Bored, they played board games shuffling global play money in offshore top-secret laundering scams. Millions needing a lucky break milled around with hands buried in empty pockets Waiting For Godot.

No one showed up. Nothing happened.

Fate, destiny and death watched with humorous disinterest.

*

Richard, The Language Company director in Istanbul called Lucky in Fujian, China for an interview. “Why Turkey?”

“I’ve never been there.”

He laughed. “Good enough for me. How’s Ankara sound? We have a big center there. See you when you get here.”

“Ankara’s fine. Thanks for the opportunity. It’s my lucky day.”

He gifted Leo and Chinese teachers plants, bamboo mats, the I Ching Book of Changes and The Diamond Sutra, the worlds oldest printed book circa 868.

Non-attachment illusions of freedom were gift-wrapped.

Winging away as Winter Hawk he exhaled on western winds.

Copper boy in Ulus, Turkey.