once upon a time there was a continent, country, classroom
it looked like this
thousands of hungry children
hungry to learn and play with organic language
streamed through shuttered light
passing wood worn habitats of humanity
taking a seat
they opened their head
they opened their heart
they opened their mouth
In a remote Cambodian jungle village along The River of Darkness they carve images of their dead.
The Chunchiet animist people bury their dead in the jungle.
Life is a sacred jungle.
Animists believe in the universal inherent power of nature world. The Tompoun and Jarai, among animist world tribes have sacred burial sites.
The Kachon village cemetery is one hour by boat on the Tonle Srepok River from Voen Sai. It is deep in the jungle. Many go in. Few come out.
The departed stays in the family home for five days before burial. Once a month family members make ritual sacrifices at the site. The village shaman dreams the departed will go to hell.
In their spirit story dream the shaman meets LOTH, Leader of the Hell who asks for an animal sacrifice. The animist belief says sacrificing a buffalo and making statues of the departed will satisfy LOTH. It will renew the spirit and return it to the family.
After a year family members remove old structures, add two carved effigies, carve wooden elephant tusks, create new decorated roofs and sacrifice a buffalo at the grave during a week long celebration with food and rice wine for the entire village.
New tombs have cement bases and carved effigies with cell phones and sunglasses. Never out of touch. See your local long distance carrier for plans and coverage in your area.
The future is brighter than a day in a sacred jungle.
He saw his first , or maybe second, it only takes a second, Cambodian woman with a prosthetic leg. The majority minus arms and legs or fingers and hands are men and kids. Kids love to play with buried things. Dirt play.
Today it was her turn.
It was her gait. How she dragged the drab olive green right leg behind her.
It reminded her of a lost conversation where one whispers more than they know. More than they can reveal. Truth be said.
She was maybe 40. Give or take a moment.
It was a moment years ago when she stepped on the invisible mine. What you don't see is fascinating. Her story evolved into family taking care of her after they heard the explosion. After it rained dirt, rice, weeds, tears, light, broken clouds, false dreams, expectations, celebrations and musical thunder notes.
A doctor. Blood. Pain. Loss. Tears and memory comforted her. She absolved her faint quick belief in Buddha beyond all the mysteries.
After she went to Siem Reap she got her new artificial leg at Cambodian Handicap.
If her husband and family rejected her then she ended up in the city, like today, sitting on a sidewalk offering handmade bags and bracelets or selling her sorrow and loss and smile and understanding among friends and polite distant tourists afraid to look her in the eye. Later, she dragged it through night comforted by the fact it was a long way from her heart.
If your legs get heavy walk with your heart.
A web site, my-planet.org had a photo contest.
They asked for trees. He sent them an Angkor Wat monster.
They said it was a spectcular angle. They gave it an honorable mention. Here it is.
Towering, the tree said, thank you to the sun.
Do you want to understand us, asked a Khmer girl.
Yes.
Ok. Here's a story every child sees, hears, smells, and eats in school. It says everything.
Once upon a time there was a hungry rabbit.
It saw a woman coming with a basket of bananas on her head.
The rabbit thought, I will play dead and see what happens.
The woman stopped when she saw the rabbit.
She said, “A dead rabbit. Meat. We will eat good tonight.”
She picked up the rabbit, put it her basket and continued walking.
The rabbit ate all the bananas and ran away.
What a clever rabbit.
She gets home. Her family is happy to have food.
"I found a rabbit. We'll eat good tonight."
She put the basket down. "O my."
Lesson? Don't put all your bananas in one basket.
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