old poem

Greetings,

Seeing or watching 
even blind people see
- the tailor on the Saigon sidewalk feeling threads, 
a needle points magnetic north, true north? Such a question.

evolutionary GPS navigational systems inside his fingers

sharp diabolical edges of conversations
laying out splendid contorted plans
program expectancies 
there is so much we do not 
or will not or cannot know

where the inside is hidden
in the outside inside
 

old black and white portraits 
of grandfathers from 1936 Spanish civil war years 
feast or famine centuries

cover walls 
eating grass soup 
grandmothers doing their white 
crochet handicrafts wearing fingernails 
down to the bone into the lentil soup it goes 
under watchful framed wedding dress prop remembering

how it was running with bulls
beneath grateful gladiolus spilling their blood
for tourist images

a day after climbing sharp stones steps
over valleys buried in mountains
to Cueva de la Pileta caves

seeing, feeling, hearing, touching, tasting, absorbing 27,000 year old Paleolithic paintings  
bison, goats, seal, deer, archers, fish, traps, calendars, stalactites, stalagmite organ music

sweeter than dream time ancestor stories
 
dripping water pure pools
hibernating marsupials species specific  
2,300 bats zooming toward night
 
fires for illumination
no cooking
eat it raw
fertility symbols
even the archaeologists 
do not know 
exactly what they mean
calcium carbonate 
copper and iron 
5 cm of animal fat pigment
traces of fingerprints
pure water

releases itself inside mountain

we took tea
near heavy ripe lemons 
spring flowers struggled toward faint sun 
crying words 
sharing silence
pink and white petals dancing in a clear blue sky

Metta.

Myth's Mask

Shaman's mask, Vietnam.

Greetings,

People here love to look back. It is a passion. It is a genetic molecule of fear, doubt and uncertainty. Perhaps also just a plain childish innocent curiosity of wanting the past, needing.

Yes. Focus on needs, not wants. Needs manifesting their desire. A desire for a ghost. We are all passing through. 

They look back to see if they see, yes, in their vivid reptilian imagination a ghost. Their ghost. A ghost from a family, friend, lost. Looking for clues at their personal ground zero. 

They've arrived from distant galaxies. Human habitation sites were discovered here 500,000 years ago. Primitive agriculture began 7,000 years ago. A. Go. 

So it figures, accepting an evolutionary premise, their DNA star chart continues its genetic dance today. 

I live in talking monkey zones. They eat rice. They drink water. They wash one set of clothing and hang it out to dry on poles. They burn down the forest. They harvest brooms. Their shamans bring rain. Tropical downpours allow people the luxury to wash cars. 

They use their faint star energy to look, not really seeing, behind them wondering, all the wondering. 

Food is cheap here. Medicine and education is expensive. This has nothing to do with simians. It has nothing to do with the two women sitting in a dark neighborhood food joint. Plastic chairs faces a tall cinder block wall. Chickens, goats and cats prowl, peck and forage through garbage and dreams.

One woman sits quietly in a deep meditation. Her friend parts her hair gently, looking for minute insects, cleaning her scalp. They take turns cleaning and inspecting. This genetic behavior is being repeated in zoos, jungles, and rain forests.

Chattering oral story tellers play Bronze Age drums, pounding out 3rd century tunes.

Healing the people with music.

Males wash their little toy machines. They study the accumulated grime under long yellow curling fingernails. They play chess along the road waiting for passengers. People eat spicy rice mixed with tofu, chicken, veggies, and green and red chillies.

One human creates a brave new world. Forging new futures with a patriotic purpose. An assessment on process in a data based star cluster.

Dream mask mirror and swimming...

She showed me how to swim with gigantic sea turtles and practice sitting.

How to dive deep exploring coral and amazing underwater life forms. How to explore below the surface of appearances.

Experiencing the Temple of Complete Reality on a Taoist mountain in Sichuan once upon a time. Climbing through primal forests with young mature smart Mountain-Nature Girl. She lives in the mountain. Some live below. Others live on. She lives in. She knows every herb, plant, flower, tree, river and medicinal process in the forest.

Mountain-Nature girl with Vivian.

How the heartbeat was an eternal rhythm.

Then we were going up. Now we are going down.

How to breath through a mask. "What kind of mask? Is it hand carved from the wood of tribal memories?" I asked her. 

"Yes," she said, "it is a manifestation of long lost symbols, a primitive culture. It is a shamanic ritual, a dance trance. When you put on the mask you become the thing you fear the most, your basic human nature."

"Does this mean I will evolve into a being filled with the ability to scheme and deceive?"

"Perhaps. This is a highly evolved trait of human intelligence. Do you remember what you wrote about J. Joyce, how he went into exile with silence and cunning?"

"Yes. He knew how to put seven little words in order. He was a cunning linguist."

"Well, this ability to scheme and deceive is your cunning, your instinctual learned behavior. It separates you from less evolved life forms like apes, plankton and sea enemies-anemone (fish eating animals) and androgynous androids in the deep subconscious."

"Are you a clown fish?"

"Look in your dream mask mirror."

Play your drum music.

Metta.

Live Twice

Greetings,

"You only live twice. Once when you're born and once when you face death."                                                   - inscription on a Zippo lighter at the HCMC museum.

 

I see history. Struggles, wars, debris, artifacts, diagrams, maps, tanks, planes, final assault plans, old cars used to haul the dead, dying, wounded, ammunition; statues of men making making pistols, old medical equipment, typewriters for propaganda material, flags, posters, pamphlets, burning monks (1963), photos, villages, corpses, soldiers, politicians, dog tags, gas masks, knives, weapons, tools, radios, helmets, baskets, pots and pans, shoes, shirts and...

Metta.

Means of Production - knife, hoe, scythe, axe, hammer control elephant, stick

Thich Quang Duc protesting against the policies of President Ngo Dinh Diem, 1963.

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.

Wandering

How does it feel in hot, humid, steamy Hanoi? Delightful.

It's the poetry of the street. Diversity of life's energy. Fascinating documentary of modern tribal realities. Blond backpackers wear rubber flip-flops. Hard going through the mud and meadows of reality. Influences and migration.

Ha Noi Handicrafts is a fine place with friendly people. Feel free to see their site: 

I am Anon-o-mouse. Enjoy fresh tea near the lake at dusk. Dancing yellow lights. Fish are jumping.

Massage away your tension, anxiety, fear. Practice sitting and walking and breathing like a monk. Calm, serene and spine. This is a quiet simple dignity.

Metta.