FUD

“What happens when totalitarian governments devolve citizen surveillance programs and discover a vaccine for C-19?” Zeynep asked her mother - the mother of all answers.

“Don’t worry my sweet,” said her neurotic mama-san living in bliss, “media, politicians and bankers will invent new improved fake fears.

“They will create problems, spin them for ADD sheep and try to sell us solutions. Ha, ha, ha.

“The joke is on them. They play us for fools and idiots. Anyone questioning authority is imprisoned for life, hauls shit in a Re-Education through Labor camp, is stoned to death, waterboarded, exiled or beheaded with a jeweled word sword. No worries my sweet. The manufacturing sector will rebound when shelves are empty. We’ll always have sugar and we can always go shopping. We shop to reduce our anxiety, a low level of fear. We buy things to make us feel better. It's a temporary fix like religion or Xanax. Take two and call me in the morning.”

“How long will it take until people wake up and pay attention?” said Zeynep.

“Hard to say. Some will some won’t.”

“Self-awareness and authenticity are essential. Letting go scares the shit out of people.”

“Learning to let go is learning to live. They suffer from FUD,” said her mother, twisting her hair until it caught fire.

“What is FUD?”

“Fear, uncertainty and doubt. They are internal psychological/emotional gyroscopes. A human’s first question is, Is it safe? Will it help me or hurt me? FUD are hunger angels with a vengeance.”

“How long has FUD been going on?”

“You ask many questions child,” fanning her daughter’s flame. “A long time. A Century is Nothing.”

“That’s the title of Omar's non-linear book, more like a jazz poem. Few read it. Fewer understood it. So it goes. It’s essential to cultivate humor and curiosity.” said Z. “What about adventure and surprise?”

“Adventure and surprise are life. You see the BIG picture. Talk is cheap. Character is action. Senses and language cannot be trusted.”

“I want to know the truth mother. Living safely is dangerous.”

“The truth,” she said, “is that life is an absurd comic process. If you laugh you last. Our illusionary insecurities and real authenticities evolve. Life is a celebration, a dance and process of becoming. It is a beautiful harsh short messy dream come true. It’s magic. We adapt, adjust and evolve. There’s no rhyme or reason. Life is not a career, it’s a game. Existence precedes essence. We are flukes of the universe. We have a one-way ticket. We feel peace in our heart-mind with gratitude. Wonder, abundance, and compassion. Help others realize their higher self.”

“We are stardust. We trust our power and our song. Let’s go and play now. Take the day off and be creative.”

“Yes, let’s invent a game theory my darling daughter. It’s called mindfulness. Mindfulness gives you time. Time gives you choices. Choices, skillfully made, lead to freedom. You don’t have to be swept away by your feelings. You can respond with wisdom and kindness rather than habit and reactivity.”

“I shared your wisdom earlier in this wandering tale.”

“Yes, you did. Telepathy. Reading about mindfulness it is one thing. Living it is something else.”

Holding hands they came out of the world.

The Language Company

Riverside, Laos

Tourists passed through Riverside in north Laos.

They stayed 2-3 days exploring villages up river, crawling through deep dark unconscious caves where Lao lived for nine years when Americans bombed them back to the Stone Age; trekking through mud with leeches sucking hemoglobin, climbing vertical granite mountains overcoming unknown fears and relaxing.

Lao became refugees in Thailand. 200,000 plus immigrated to Minnesota. Colder than the Plain of Jars in Jan you wary.

This is the life, said an Italian girl morphing into a blue, yellow and white monarch butterfly with wings of light. She flew away on a soft breeze.

Tourists find. Travelers discover.

Traveling isn't fun, said a French father to his whining son, it's an adventure. Yeah, yeah, said son, smashing his fragile heart on a sheer granite stone face rising over a roaring brown river feeling loss and confusion leading to wisdom and delight.

Play.

What am I doing in this primitive natural place dancing with orange, blue, black, brown, white fluttering butterflies? I could be home playing with electronics. My dad drags me around Earth. Life's a bitch. Fat chance said dad. We are here to get out of our comfort zone. Shake rattle and roll.

How did I grow said a fluttering black and blue butterfly. White orange sunsets gathered clouds for a conference. Sky mind, cloud thoughts.

Three neurotic American women sat in the restaurant one morning. Dalao the cook said, the buffet is here, gesturing to the sideboard. Oh, said one woman, we were waiting for someone to bring us something. So it goes in their prejudicial world of expectations, sense of entitlement, profound paradoxes and innate lazy stupidity.

Ha, ha, said laughter laughing, life's fateful joke is on you. Do it yourself.

The stranger said eating well is important for a balanced diet. They found this funny. Momentarily. Time stopped.

Lapsing into personal quicksand they loaded up china with apples, bananas, dragon fruit, bacon, potatoes, eggs, yogurt, and bread. Expectations slathered their small short Laos experience with anxiety. They resumed looking at gadgets. No speak.

Lost human connection.

Isolation, alienation, boredom and fear's patience noted their neurosis.

I feel alone, said Isolation staring at a mirror seeking Beauty who had no tongue. She was the mother of death.

I don't fit in, said Alienation. Smiling talking visitors appear to know someone. Nobody talks to me or likes me.

Boredom said, don't be fooled by appearances, they are all strangers to themselves. Schizophrenics seek solace in the company of other strangers. I'm bored. Pure and simple and I need an AI electronic fix.

What's AI, said Fear's Patience.

Authentic individuality, said Boredom looking for time. I know it's around here somewhere I know I packed it. I should travel lighter being light.

Space-time folded.

The Yankee Doodle Dandies plugged personal electronic gadget DNA into a wi-fi signal. They ignored each other. Now we feel human.

One morning a Spanish man said, my boys love playing in the mud here. We don't have mud in Barcelona only cement. I've never seen them so happy for hours.

A relaxed European man seeing life's river flowing smiled, This is my Shangria-la. There have been a couple of places where I feel this. I don't need to go anywhere. I sit contemplating the river, mountains. I explore. I meet the people. I experience the essence of real life here. I slow. Down.

A French father of two kids said, this is a positive experience for my children. They've seen people making things with their hands; baskets, clothing, boats, bamboo walls for homes, slingshots for hunting birds. My kids' artificial world is pre-packaged junk in supermarkets and department stores with labels, "Made in China." They've seen the real world here. How people live.

One morning the English facilitator watched the man and his wife, son and daughter eating. The boy, 15, got up walked around the table and gave his father a hug. The father's right arm embraced his son. They held each other for eternity. The stranger cried seeing this love.

We are decompressing from cities, said a French mother of three, 4, 10, 12. Sharp mountains wearing forests welcomed floating clouds. Rising water above, flowing water below.

How wonderful, she said, three weeks with no electronics.

The stranger and French family with three kids sailed up the Nam Ou. They stopped near a village in a jungle. They walked through sand and up a steep path. The four-year old studied trails of black ants.

Bamboo homes, orange satellite dishes, packed earth, forests, community. Local girls gravitated to new friends, holding hands, laughing, plaiting French hair and sharing flowers. Language lived outside boundaries. Childhood. Instinct.

Village girls walked new friends to the shore to wave goodbye. Our future is now. They returned to the jungle past footprints collecting memories.

Kids sailed through narrow passages of streaked rocks, past rising karst formations, thick jungles and tenuous black gnarled roots submerged in rapid brown water to Supjam, a weaving village.

Shy women displayed their cotton and silk scarves, rainbows of color waved on bamboo poles outside homes. Soft sell smile.

Sky watered Earth. Shelter from the storm.

Rain lashed everything. Looms clacked as girls compressed threads. Black and white ducklings waddled through puddles enamoring kids. Mother bought a white diamond silk scarf. The facilitator discovered a blue piece. Children mesmerized by looms, hands and feet playing gentle treadle rhythms. Music.

Water melodies danced off PSP roofs.

Puddles muddy paths. Life.

The world is a village.

Cry me a river, I'd like to see you cry me a river.

I'm tired of crying a river over you.

Now you say you love me.

The current carried them down river through rapids. Father snapped images of jungles, trees, mountains, river, moments in time. We'll look at these memories when we get home. Freeze a memory.

They evolved in a Zen painting.

Be the water.

Be the brush.

Be the ink.

Be the paper.

River said, where are you going?

Children sang, row, row, row your boat gently down the stream, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.

Mountains, clouds, forests, spiders, butterflies joined the chorus.

A Little BS

Listen to wisdom and beauty

I am a person who listens for a living. 

I listen to wisdom and beauty.

Hold your space.

Listen deeply.

Zanshin - "the mind with no remainder." The mind is completely focused on action 

and fixated on the task at hand. Be constantly aware of your body, mind and surroundings

without stressing yourself.

- effortless vigilance

- live your life intentionally and act with purpose

- the act of iving with alertness

- awareness and focus.

You arrive in a village. So long, so far you are a stranger to yourself.

Your mask eats your face.

Eight red monks dance through a walking meditation.

Silence feels the gentle rhythm inside labyrinithian joy.

Play the blues harp on the back of a motorcycle.

Your journey is shorter than a breath, in-out.

You have arrived.

Poetry is in the street. It goes arm and arm with laughter.

Words are insufficient.

Burma Brothers Grim

Since July, representing an English language company in Mandalay, he facilitated English and Creativity with Grades 1 & 2 every afternoon at a private school in the rural countryside.

Two Burmese brothers owned the new school with 500 students from G1-11. The Brothers Grim - this ain’t no fairy tale.

The last five months were joyful then…

In the last week of Now I Remember, (seven days past) while Grade 2 was drawing and coloring houses, dragons, dinosaurs, sun, trees, flowers, river, fish, boats, rainbows, people and dreams – pain, suffering and stupidity said hello.

100 Grade 11 male and female students gathered in a semi-circle on the cement patio outside the primary classroom. They faced steps and ornate golden script atop the cheap grandiose building:

Developing Youth, Character and Future Leaders Through Fear and Intimidation.

A stack of papers with all the names waited on a desk.

Headmaster brother in a white shirt and purple patterned Longyi, held a 4’ bamboo stick.

His voice echoed into hearts and minds - you failed the exam. You will receive your punishment.

Taking a paper from the stack he called out a name. A girl stepped forward, climbing two steps with her back to the crowd.

He measured the bamboo stick against her buttocks, coiled and unleashed the blow. Whack!

Her face stiffened. He coiled. Whack!

A small tear graced her left eye.

She rejoined her classmates.

99 passive students waited to feel sharp stinging lashes.

Primary assistant teachers oscillated between helping students and watching the angry headmaster swing his bamboo stick.

Name after name.

Chattering with friends, children colored a large red heart floating over a blue river.

Brother #2 entered the classroom.

Why is he beating the students, said the foreign teacher?

They failed the exam. Whack!

Parents want us to punish their children. They see we are doing our job. Whack!

It’s part of our culture. Whack!

Maybe we’ll change it in two or three years. Whack!

The foreign teacher and thirty children practiced meditation.

Breathe in and out.

Inhale suffering and exhale love.

Mindful awareness.

Mindful seeing.

Mindful attention.

Mindful presence.

Calm abiding.

He hugged each child. We created a loving environment.

You are a beautiful rainbow and a genius.

I love you.

Our time together is finished.

You are in my heart.

Courage

I am fearless and fortunate. Courage.

There are not many things you need to remember about your visit to Earth.

Compared to death all life is short.

Remote viewing. Practice upstairs telephone. Remote intervention.

Ter- hidden. Ton- treasure. Terton (Sanskrit)

It was a Halloween day at the small private school in Vientiane. He wore a sign around his neck. "I am a deaf mute. No speak. No hear. If you want to talk to me please write. Thank you." He carried a pencil and paper.

What was the response?

It varied from ignorance to laughter.

Were there any interesting comments?

One boy wrote, you talked yesterday.

Yes, I wrote, today is a new day.

Another?

How can you be a teacher if you don't talk?

I use pictures. I read lips.

Tell us about your sensations.

Many visuals - kids in costumes, playing games, having fun. The adults thought I was crazy. They didn't write anything.

Not curious?

No, lost, as in absent. Not present. They were mute manifestations of the silent inexpressible FEAR. I was deep in my own world of silence. I appreciate that. Yes. It was subtle, clear and immediate. I learned many valuable lessons. Visual sounds.

Slowing down, meditation, awareness, solitude.

Yes, most ignored me. I imagine either they were too shy, shocked or mute. Too lazy to take the pencil and scribble. Scribble their frustration or FEAR.

I appreciate the value of silence now. More so than when I was afflicted. Being pure and radiant. It is a blessing with gratitude and forgiveness.

A combination of no voice, no hearing is perfect in myriad ways.