The Commander's Wife Buys Confectionary

In Shan State, Burma in the long now, there was a running insurgency - land, freedom, peace, justice, jade, teak, gold - golden triangle profit and greed with Chinese dynasties.

A shiny green army pickup truck pulled up at the New Moon bakery in Lashio.

A soldier in green jumped out and opened the door. The wife got out – longhair tied bun tight, white and silver longyi, designer purse, imperial jade necklace, diamond studed serious face.

Six soldiers exited the back of the truck. They were on a mission to liberate cakes, cookies, sweets from glass shrines.

The commander got out. Short, wearing a camouflage jacket like a forest with depressed green pants and black shiny shoes. Epaulets on his shoulder.

His sharp black eyes stared at a stranger scribbling at an outdoor table. Zero expression.

His eyes lay buried in his face with recessed emptiness. The commander's war camo boonie hat sat at a rakish angle folded in the front. Decorated with a golden military symbol of happiness, compassion and love.

His wife climbed into a new sun. Her husband uttered quick syllables to #2.

Number two had military bearing without a care in the world. He barked into a walkie-talkie.

A military policeman guarded the front of the truck. Smoking soldiers stood around as motorcycles loaded with succulent strawberries streamed goodbye.

She exited followed by a salesgirl trundling bags of roles and sweet goodies. A soldier jumped to attention, took them and put them in the truck. She spoke to her husband. His face said he was an obediant child.

He followed her to the market for shopping. Soldiers marched behind the queen.

Years later they returned with strawberries, apples and bananas. Soldiers loaded everything into the truck.

Someone called the commander. He pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt. He opened his mouth. Perfect white teeth. He smiled. He barked. A soldier open the door for his wife life. She got in.

He got in and removed his party hat. He smoothed his hair. The military police stopped traffic. They drove into a dream come true.

Fire's Aftermath

Mingalar market fire, Mandalay, Myanmar (Burma).

21 laughing Tibetans

Words escaped the tyranny of memory.

Singing, they expressed themselves dancing Beauty.

Resilient. Radiant. Clean. Pure. Luminous.

Words had a discussion.

They discussed choices. Cause and effect.

They negotiated a fine line.

SMILE- WE WILL HELP YOU PRACTICE

Do you feel my pain?

Animate and inanimate objects.

Mindfulness in the moment.

grains of rice

Clean clear cold foggy dawn.

5 a.m. is shawl shadowed on a blank deserted street.

You walk in a glimmer of silence.

Smell cooking smoke. Yellow fire flames on a corner. The woman from last year.

She has a long partial memory.

Her wok oil bubbles in cast iron bowl above forested wood, glimmering bright yellow caresses orange.

Heat. Ritual of fire is repeated from mountainous Phongsali in the north to the south.

Fire & wood.

Before sunlight beams orange silent monks walk single file.

They greet worshipers offering grains of rice.

Dreamlike apparitions follow daily step by step along a path whispering their eyes seeing fire.

No attachment in this transitory visual blessing.

get to the verb - TLC 57

A German-made Bombardier Metro sped through subterranean optical illusions.

An old man wearing a crumpled white hat negotiated a slippery cobblestone slope with his wife.

She was his noun, he her verb.

“Get to the verb,” he said.

Their language of love complemented autumn browns, yellows and greens, golden sparrows, blue jays and preening lovey doves.

Streets named Regret and Laughter welcomed human potential.

Passion and heartbreak danced with death as a Moon Metro hurtled through folds in space-time.

Silent salient passengers wore sad eyed emptiness. They craved sleep in a tyranny of sheep-less-mess.