Zen garden magic
Heart sutra
Swimming exercise movement breath
Tai-chi below blue surface
Float on back
upside down clouds
drink sky vision
calm water feels soft
yellow green leaves float
bird song wings light
hello blue sky
black butterflies
mating moths
blue water reflects spirit energies
pure clean radiant
Mandalay, Burma
Lucky shifted to a serene garden zone after sharing a house for two months with a sad young Filipino math teacher in the gated community of Alam Sutra.
The boy/man fathered a five-year old girl and left her with her mom in Manila Vanilla. His favorite expression was, “Let's Eat.”
Truth is powerful. You don’t have to remember what you said. Lucky mentioned choices and consequences. Math man didn’t hear, listen or care. Being a calculating teacher he figured a job with a decent salary in Amnesia was worth the emotional compromise cost.
A Hanoi survivor yelled, “Any fool can have a kid. It takes courage to raise them as independent free thinking individuals.”
In the new garden Lucky planted thirty flowers, red and pink roses, apple trees, deciduous shrubs, watercress, dill, oregano, parsley and thyme.
He refocused healing energies an hour west of Joke & Choke plus trolls tolls by taxi nightmare traffic due to poor urban highway planning. City pollution was a killer. It blasted throat and eyes. All east-west traffic passed through the city center. No ring roads. Duh.
“The center cannot hold,” said W.B. Yeats.
Air quality was refreshing in walled estates with tropical flora. Butterflies, songbirds, cockroaches, big brown beady-eyed rats and contemplative speckled frogs existed with copious little people.
Some homes were Mac Mansions. Greek and Roman columns with Ironic and Corinthian spiral decorations shouted, Look at my huge monster home. I made it. Empty palatial rooms collected dust as in China where it was all external appearances. Goes to show ya. Most homes in the gated communities were a bland 1-2 story cookie-cutter style.
Everyone had a maid in Java jive some older than spoiled offspring. They cleaned two cars, swept dust, watered stone passages, cooked, scrubbed clothes and fed kiddies while parents were making money. It’s a job.
Making money is a job. You need plates, ink, paper, press, a paper cutter, distribution system and government backed IOUs.
Illiterate slaves supported families surviving in a no-name village memory. A never-ending human supply system on an archipelago swarmed with 230 million hungry worker bees.
Food was cheap. Medicine and education were expensive.
Keep them poor barefoot and happy.
Favorite Jakarta sports were: 1) Driving huge 4x4s. Gas was $2.40 a gallon. Sitting in endless long traffic jams. Paying parking fees to paramilitary uniformed men blowing stainless steel whistles.
2) Wandering around enormous prosperous numerous say it fast three times vast shopping centers, huge playgrounds for brats.
Out-of-control kiddies expended spoiled energy. Families enjoyed A/C climate controlled conditions admiring Ankara-like dummies behind glass in a museum quality of artificial life filled with diversionary stimuli and unsatisfied desire.
The private Alam Sutra School named for a fictitious beatific saint had 1,800 students from kindergarten through high school. It began in 1993 when a Catholic priest from Yoga Posture escaping Interpol child molestation charges joined community leaders using a fake I.D. to promote formal educational tyranny and religious intolerance.
Five barbarian elementary English teachers complemented friendly local teachers. Oh, I just love your hairstyle. Your diamond-soled shoes are divine. Your handbag woven from creeper vines is elegant and eco-friendly.
Native teachers had seen colonial invaders come and go for centuries. Lip service.
The English supervisor was an anthropologist from New Hamster, Nova Scotia. Formerly a tenured professor in Malta, she left the job, house, marriage, mortgage, cars, airplanes and yachts for a meditative life. Her resume extolled extensive international educational administrative experience with time and space.
Greetings,
If you're reading this while flying the friendly skies, Earth is outside and way below. Millions of you are to be congratulated for finally managing to escape the forces of gravity.
You have successfully overcome terminal inertia. You have departed one small place on Earth for another small place on Earth. You deserve a medal.
Step outside your plane for panoramic views of infinity. This may be your last and final chance to be famous.
You hope Earth is there when the machine goes down. If it's not there check the overhead compartment for an instruction manual. Please read the fine print.
Mr. Gripe in seat 23A turned to Ms. Impatient. He talked with his mouth full. "You know, I used to complain about airline food, but this processed chicken is ok." Ms. Impatient, being well lubricated by 90-proof fuel dribbled saliva down the front of her urine stained blouse she'd used as a towel. "Yeah, it ain't half bad. Want my peaches?" They were succulent shock absorbers.
If you're on terra firma, plant a seed, start a community garden, spread manure, water the orchids, smell the roses. Practice a walking meditation.
Nature is your inspirational teacher. Celebrate your daily existence on Earth.
Metta.
Early light, silent, slow step into a garden.
A black and white symmetrical large butterfly is resting, taking shelter after a night of rain tears.
Purple wings. Perfect white colorations. Green leaf security. Do not disturb.
Metta.
It's just another lousy amazing day in paradise, oh my, such a comedic tragedy, such an oral transmission.
Such is the way of planting. Digging soil, edging out the supporting cast, red clay, stones, pebbles, harvesting snail shells, rusty musical instruments, soundless bird wing music on piano keys at dawn, pink light.
Bamboo hustled in at twilight. Seven twined secure groups, some exposing green leaves. Ah, the joy of bamboo. Inherent resilient, dignity and calm way. This resilience, factored by leaf. Root word. A stem. Resiliency.
Metta.
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