Mental state

Greetings,

1.6 billion Chinese have been locked up in mental wards. "This is for their own safety," said China Slim, a spokesperson for the ONE party State. 

When asked to elaborate on the mental condition of peasants, pro-democracy activists, lawyers, artists, musicians, writers, poets, playwrights, play wrongs, playing the idiot medication needles and thought control exercise, Ms. China Consumer sighed, "We have so much trouble with these pig headed liberals and running dogs. It's best if we confine them, drug them, torture them and relieve them of their worries and DELUSIONS."

She confirmed the recent Nobel Peace Prize awarded to 1.6 billion citizens had nothing to do with the detention and disappearance of the masses. All communication in and out of the Kingdom has evaporated. 

"After a long vacation with heavy daily medication they will be productive citizens in a harmonious society," said Doctor Zingo.

Read more...

Metta.

One flew over the cuckoo's nest.

Finding Rita

Greetings,

After nine months away Banteay Seri, Kabal Spleen river source and Ta Som temple were a deep JOY.

One day-in. One day-out. Delightful return feeling reconnected with ancient energies. Simple, immediate and direct.

At Ta Som I was delighted to be reunited with Rita. She was with friends near the East temple. They were hoping tourists might stop. Perhaps to say hello, see their hand-made items or get to know them. They sell before and after school. I met Rita in February. She is 14 and in the 6th grade.

We had a wonderful reunion. She said she still rides her bike, uses the whiteboard, markers and English books to teach the village children. They were gifts from Julia. "I see a leader in her eyes." 

Rita looked radiant. She's a happy kid.

Below is a link to the original post. 

http://tmleonard.squarespace.com/julia-wakes-up-in-cambodia/

Metta.

Rita, (L) and her friends at Ta Som.

sorrow

Greetings,

"People who cause you difficulties you should think of them as very, very valuable teachers because they provide us with the opportunity to develop patience."

I'm a mercenary of the false disguise inside poverty's domain.

The land of fairytales inside lost childhood contains historical perspectives. 

Forgiveness and trust dance with passionate ambivalence. 

People here practice saying the I'M SORRY syndrome in the present continuous sentence structure. They say I am sorry from morning to night. When you ask them, "Why are you sorry?" they have absolutely no answer. They stare at you in pure dumb amazement. They know three little words. Their eyes and heart are blinded by fear, doubt and uncertainty. 

They repeat. I'm sorry. Perhaps this sorrow, this feeling of regret and loss and contrition and sadness is history speaking. Does history have a voice? Does history whisper or shout? 

Do genetic structures speak? How do new generations adapt, adjust and evolve with their ingrained, deep rooted genetic and cultural and historical lives of suffering? 1.7 million humans suffered and died between 1975-1979. The older generation teaches, by example and action how to be silent. I am sorry is acceptable.

Nuth is 10. She has parents. The other young people at the NGO supported cafe are orphans. We are all orphans sooner or later. They have a safe place to stay with their friends and learn practical job skills like cooking, customer service and basic cafe operations.

Nuth and I hang out, drawing, practicing English and sharing food. One day, no matter what I said, Nuth said, "I am sorry." I asked her what she was sorry about. She couldn't or wouldn't say. There was no context.

In a sense she was merely miming the older girls. Someone taught her. She heard. She repeated. Everyone here has paid the price of sorrow. It is endemic. They wear their perpetual sadness like a shroud. Their eyes and heart cannot hide their deep fear.

They are easily distracted, unfocused and always looking over their shoulder.

Before someone kills you say I am sorry. I am sorry for everything. I am the cause of all suffering.

Metta.

Death wish

Greetings,

Speaking of a driving school, educational malaise and general laconic ironic bubonic atomic plagues, here we are. In paradise.

The public's death wish is prevalent, precarious, precocious and precious. You see it, taste it, hear it, smell it and touch it. In other words you feel it. Fear cannot mask, hide, avoid, escape, deter, ignore, deny, lie, or try to fly. It is an integral essential element in the genetic strain, a strained well trained artificial injection of reality.

Paradise is the perfect place to pretend you are a crazy English teacher.

"Feed me," yell the adults and children. "Give me the fish. Push me through the system. I secrete sadness."

"Sorry, you need to learn, understand and comprehend the value of learning how to feed, educate and care for yourself and others in your community."

"Are you a lunatic? For decades, for generations we've had foreigners (NGOs) giving us money, medicine, education, food, condoms, handouts, free stuff.

"There's no way we (the majority) are going to begin accepting responsibility for our country, our people, our lives."

"Have it your way. Here's a free ticket to the new entertainment toys."

"Wow! Thanks."

Metta.

Drive

Greetings,

Welcome to the Famous Cambodian Driving School. (FCDS) Our slogan is Drive Fast, No Fear.

We are here to initiate you into the wild wonderful crazy world of driving. We do not have insurance. We don't believe in wearing seat belts because they are expensive. Do not let these minor details influence your decision to take risks. You will be issued a helmet. Wear it at all times.

Remember: you are in complete Control of a large automobile. It is capable of extraordinary maneuvers. You will have a teacher with you at all times. If they are sleeping it's ok. It's part of their job. 

Ok, let's get down to basics. Cars, especially massive 4-wheel drives, are popular with the rising middle class. A car symbolizes many things: freedom, money, prestige, and power.

As you know there are NO stop sings, traffic blights or silent flashing signals on streets, highways and byways. If you want to achieve big things, like getting where you want to go in a big fat hurry, you must take big risks, especially while operating a car. It's fun and exciting. 

Inside the chanting Buddhist monks at the pagoda you have a gas pedal, brake pedal and horn. The horn is the most important part of the car. It is your way of telling others, if they are awake, you are coming through. You will not be deterred. Your goal is to get through, get by and get going. Hit the horn. Hit the gas. 

Using the brake and singing your intentions is for dummies.

At FCDS we believe practicing on small narrow crowded city streets will introduce you to the fun and excitement of driving. You will negotiate limited space with: thousands of motorcycles, children, women balancing bamboo staves and jumbled baskets of food, orphans, amputees, rolling food carts, bicycles, garbage trucks, tractors, push carts, young teams of boys and girls collecting cardboard, cans, and bottles, fast brown rats disguised as health inspectors and endless processions of chanting monks seeking food, kindness and enlightenment. 

Their enlightenment will be their salvation. The horn is your salvation. 

Tomorrow we will practice on narrow red dusty potholed rural roads. 

Metta.