hello december

tomorrow is national day here in laos, said orphan.

big deal, said a little red rooster. cock-a-doodle-do.

ain't nothing but the blues, said a sallow shallow faced female teacher. a skin teacher.

i dance. i drink beer. i hunt foreigners. it's a job. 

rooster crowed. cock-a-doodle-do.

orphan said, it was blatant child abuse and he was one pissed off kid. i tried to murder his attitude, his free spirit. 

i was trapped in my chair. he was trapped in the relationship. he learned how to be a pain giver, an efficient manipulator. he carried his heavy bag of neglect, emotional pain, shadows and independence into through and out of relationships. he distributed gifts of emotional suspicion. 

he practiced the ancient art of abandonment. loving and leaving. 

i finished doing my wheelchair time. i posted bail. i was released on my own recognizance. i stumbled, adjusted, and found my balance. i renewed my sense of self determination and self reliance.

i walked on the curvature of the earth. a simple walking meditation. a kinhin.

my kensho was a liberation and a loneliness.

practice smiling

Namaste,

act of writing
touches minute pressure
dances on clean white virgin parchment

distracted clear focused voices
inside a seed of consciousness
bridging knowledge and imagination
between two crutches
feeling pressure under arms
hands on handles
support lightness

someone eases my voice
a reading one, a listening one, a writing one
glowing ink
chiseling paper

an arrow of impatience 
channels beauty's awkward shyness
this seed of day
blind sensations 
missing limbs speak their eternal loss

Metta.

blind mystery

seeing or watching or looking
blind people see
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 wrapped
in the outside

what people don't see is fascinating

like a land mine

below the surface of appearance

Ash's images

Greetings,

Ash has released images of salvation after the volcanic burst of energy.

Millions of humans have never seen an airplane. They've heard it's a very large metal container filled with hot air and nervous humans packed like peasants on a bus in Asia.

They've heard it consumes massive amounts of fuel during the nerve racking period of time called take off when it must achieve a land speed of approximately 150-180 miles per hour. After take off pilots must quickly fly through seven sectors to reach cruising altitude around 33,000 feet. This requires a tremendous amount of fuel. 

Using all the fuel to get up, get off and get going explains why planes fly fast at 33,000 feet. They are now gliding on thermal currents caused by exploding Icelandic volcanoes. It's a cause and effect ratio.

Do a risk assessment. Scientists do not have ALL the answers. They have determined humans cause global warming. They cannot determine the density, volume, location or effects of Ash. Ash is real mystery. It's all hypothetical speculation. 

You are an experienced international long haul pilot. You ask yourself. "Is it better to be on the ground wishing you were in the air or in the air wishing you were on the ground?"

Fly now pay later? Sit it out? File for legal resident status? Ask to be adopted? Immigrate? Stay another day?

Millions of stranded tourists file a claim with the United Nations for reparations from Iceland for:

inconvenience 
misery
lost employment
insufficient scientific data
terrible high fat, high sodium airport food
lousy sleeping arrangements
expensive mood altering medicine
missing spouse
messy divorce
trial separation
lost children
lost sense of humor
family counseling for long term emotional post-tramatic stress disorder  

Start walking. Carry a map, extra water, energy bars, a towel and sturdy walking stick.

Metta.

Headroom in coach. 

A Chinese ticket agent.

 

A departure lounge refugee.

Business class passengers.

Grounded somewhere over the rainbow.

Elephant Tears

Greetings,

A girl from Argentina who arrived in Siem Reap after midnight broke down after breakfast. Tears streamed down her face. Her boyfriend stood helpless. He handed her a tissue. He didn't know what else to do. She cried and cried. He suffered in silence.

She blubbered in Spanish. "I miss mama...I miss mama. Where are we? What is this strange place? Everyone is trying to cheat us. The food is terrible. They charge extra for butter. Where's the beef? The bus scam from Thailand was long, bumpy, grumpy, expensive, a drag, a mistake, a terrible tragic drama. I can't understand the people here. O woe is me, us." She discarded a soggy tissue.

Her macho man suffered in silence. 'She's a basket case,' he thought.

They'd argued recently. About their trip, lack of good sex, decent food, hot sticky weather, poor planning, lack of planning, expenses.

'Maybe it all comes down to sex and money,' he thought. Clean and clear understanding. In Spanish or Splanglish or deeper emotional levels of complexity. 

She blew snot into another tissue. She crumpled it into a ball and dropped it on a plate glass table. It shattered under the weight of her sticky mucus. It's not what she thought it would be. Her expectations were shattered by illusionary possibilities. Her life was one big question.

She gradually composed herself. They started to leave the restaurant. They paused at the top of the stairs. It was a long way down. He whispered to her. Calming poetic words. He put his arm around her shoulder. She was frigid. Mr. Romeo had his work cut out for him and there was nothing to fix.

Metta.