kid joy

Ah, to be young and happy.

Where are you now? Central Asia. Where language began 9,000 years ago.

On a warm Sunday he went to the local Siem Reap java joint to draw, color and share stories with three kid friends. They played "king" wearing Merlin magician pointed hats from a birthday party.

One girl, 6, said, "did you finish your story?" She referred to seeing me last week with a red pen and pile of paper.

Subject to Change manuscript, doing a red line edit. Day by day. In the morning, in a quiet time/place before noon, no distractions, bird by bird, page by page, configuring words, structure, sense and flow. 

"Yes, I finished the story..it will be abandoned with intuition and curiosity."

I made images of them in magic hats, drew on blank paper, drank coffee, smoked, laughed with them and wandered off. See you in the next life.

It's always pure joy w/kids. We are innocent and mad. Trust and play.

He is a calm lunatic in the "fun zone."

Dream street

Greetings,

I am dancing down the final farewell sing Saigon long gone song. See if you can scribble down 20 words. Write one true sentence. 

Twenty little words. Twenty quick painless mini-stories about the 60-year old man last evening in the BLINKING LIGHT. An American or European, retired, a widower. Smoking, drinking a beer. He wears a drab flower print shirt. Alone. He calls someone.

Ten minutes later a woman arrives on her cycle. Mid 30's, long dark hair, red shirt, attractive. He greets her, grasping both her hands expressing a deep gratitude, welcoming her. Back into his life. She is his lifeline in Saigon, his hope, passion, unrequited love - his salvation from loneliness, sorrow, suffering and the pain of living.

He hands her the wine list.

'Anything you want. It's yours.' He is eternally grateful to know her. Receive her. 

'I want your heart,' she says. She is happy with him. He is her savior. Her love. Her salvation.

After a romantic quiet candlelight dinner they return to his hotel. They will smell and taste and laugh and sing and dance with each other for dessert. She will trace his spine with her fingers. He will rest his head on her breast, listening to her heartbeat. Hearing the thump-thump-thump of the muscle pumping blood through miles of veins and capillaries and arteries. They will hold each other until dawn sweeps dream street.

For one night they know peace inside their healthy loving mutually beneficial addiction.

Metta.

Two Old Friends

Always up early to get out and capture light inside the old city. It's always a delightful feeling to be free, curious and wandering. Before noise and lightning bolts of laughter's language fill the air.

And so it was in Hoi An. Down to the river and Japanese Bridge to sit near two elderly women.

They were surprised to see a foreigner sitting alone with coffee. Good thick and black, mixed with ice. I smiled. They smiled and whispered. Strange man. Alone. Has a camera. It's so early for him.

They invited me to join them. We had our humanity and morning in common. It was enough.

I imagined their lives extended all the way back to childhood, growing up here and now meeting every morning for conversation, walking and tea. Then, holding each other's arm, they'd walk through deserted quiet streets, passing yellow walled homes with red tile roofs protecting long deep brown interiors.

Interiors where ancestors whispered stories from the 15th-19th century when Hoi An was the major port in Southeast Asia and the first Chinese settlement in southern Vietnam.

Ships from all over the world arrived to purchase, among other things: high-grade silk, paper, porcelain, tea, sugar, molasses, Chinese medicines, elephant tusks, sulphur and mother-of-pearl.

Couples played badminton, stretching, talking. A boat woman set up her small portable clay figurines.

The two women finished their tea, gestured goodbye and walked across the wooden bridge to continue their morning exercise. Taking care of each other.

Metta.