Every Day

The world is a village.

Your village thrives near rivers and pine-mountains.

You plant it. You nurture it. You harvest it. You eat it. You carry it.

Every day starts at 4:00 a.m.

You put food into a wicker basket, heave it onto your back and either walk to town or ride with other villagers in the back of a small diesel belching tractor or truck. Perhaps a tuk-tuk overflowing with soil smells, green life talkers. Maybe on a motorcycle as chilly winds blast your face. It feels good to be alive.

Get there early. Spread your treasures out on a rice sack near the curb. Cold winds refresh the street. Say hello to friends. Broken dawn breaks over eastern mountains shrouded in fast clouds. Mothers and daughters arrange labors of love.

Women arrive to unload bags of corn, dead civet cats, onions, greens, bamboo shoots, apples, and language. They grow rice, ginger, beans, peanuts, peppers, bananas, squash, sugar cane, corn, papaya, cucumber, and sweet potato. They only leave villages to sell to townies.

A smiling old man crouched on the corner wearing a green army pith helmet from a forgotten war sells bells and musical iron instruments for oxen and water buffalo.

An ancient shaman woman with a deep lined face bundled against morning displays roots, herbs and small bundles of natural remedies. People trust her innate knowledge. Her dialect and wisdom is older than memory.  

Practice

My body.

My breath.

My practice.

monkey mind

After climbing Qinchengshan mountain in western Sichuan where Taoism began 2,000 years ago he introduced meditation concepts to his Grade 8 Chinese students.

“Mediation is sitting quietly to develop a calm mind,” he said.

“You sit tall with your hands on your knees, gently lower your eyes and focus on a single breath, ‘in, out, in, out.’

“If your mind becomes distracted by past or future thoughts you bring it back to your breath, ‘in, out, in out.’ Your single point of awareness. Be your breath. Do it for yourself. Not your friends, parents or teachers. Meditation allows you feel a harmony and balance.

"You will feel more peaceful and happier than other people busy rushing around. Your goal today is just to sit for five minutes. Sit and practice for five minutes every day before school. Eventually you may want to sit for twenty minutes every day, whenever and wherever you like.”

He wrote Chinese words on the board. Jing — quiet, stillness, calm, and Ding — concentration and focus - so they’d see the linguistic connection in Mandarin.

“When you begin to sit in meditation your mind will be very uncooperative. The ego or emotional mind will fight against it’s extinction by the higher forces of spiritual awareness. The ego loves the day-to-day circus of sensory entertainment and emotional turmoil. This game depletes your energy, degenerates your body and exhausts your spirit. We call the ego the monkey mind.”

They laughed.

“When your mind is calm and focused in the present it is neither reacting to past memories or preoccupied with future plans. No regrets, no fears. These are two major sources of chronic or long term health problems. People suffer because their monkey mind is busy regretting the past or afraid of the future and it drives them crazy, this little monkey. Do you want to try it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Great! No books, papers and pens. If you don’t want to try it, it’s ok. Please just sit quietly respecting others sitting in meditation. See how it feels. Let’s begin. Adjust your posture with shoulders back. Relax. Focus on your breath, ‘in, out, in, out.’ He dimmed the lights.

After five minutes he rang small Tibetan bells.

“How did it feel?” 

“Beautiful,” said a girl. “I was flying.”

Metro Woman

Namaste,

He saw her through a window when the metro pulled in.

Alone and cold, she waited for the green metro door to open.

It was late. She wore a thin black sweater and long gray skirt.

She was slight...olive pale skin, black hair pulled back, around 45. 

She limped into the car dragging her right foot. Her left foot was normal. Her right foot looked like a case of elephantiasis. She sat twenty feet away. 

She bent over and slowly raised her skirt from around her ankles. The burned and bloody skin damage ran three inches across and ten inches high. Either first or second degree burns. A layer of skin was exposed, red, lined with white. Bare and exposed. She needed medical attention.

Two men across from her stared and diverted their eyes.

She sat, fingered a phone and grimaced. No tears, just a stoic face. 

The metro rolled through night. It passed a river, a neon bright Everest furniture store, fast food emptiness and an expensive private hospital filled with antiseptics, bandages, lotions and potions and patients with money.

She inspected her ankle, touching an edge of fried skin with a white tissue. Clear cold air sent shivers through her central nervous system shutting down pain receptors. 

Metta.

Bliss Salad

Greetings,

Ah, spring. Let's begin with a delicious Blissful Salad food poem recipe. Directions for making something.

Gather and prepare the following:

• feta cheese
• bacon
• green peace
• olives
• lettuce
• tomato
• cucumber
• Khmer herb mustard
• olive oil dressing
• garlic bread

Work your culinary magic. Enjoy. 

Metta.

He has been carving for two years.