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Entries in memoir (65)

Sunday
Jun012014

Hope Married Exile

Hope was a tribal woman. She had many choices and chose Exile. They married at the Cathedral of Dreams and danced through fields below Spanish mountains. They reached an edge of the Mediterranean.

“There’s a big world out there,” she said pointing over the sea.

“Yes and that’s only the top of it. Shall we share an orange?”

“Yes.” Hope smiled at real and imaginary worlds past the horizon where one reality edge met another reality edge in a singularity.

“We will sacrifice the peel to enjoy the fruit.”

“Delicious.”

Hope birthed a girl named Patience. It was hard raising Patience. She was a test for Hope and Exile. Patience gave them the test first and the lessons later.

Exile was a free wild bird and Patience tested his love. She tested his stability, honesty, devotion, and his way of constructing a world inside a world, a universe inside dancing phenomena. He was a risk taker not a ticket taker. Patience grew to admire this ability.

Together they evaluated their respective character traits and perfect imperfections. Patience tested his trust, his ability to let go and forgive with gratitude and generosity.

Patience handed them finite illusions of fear, anger, jealousy, ignorance and desire. Sitting together in meditation they created a diamond mind reflecting 10,000 things.

They lived on the edge of a forest. The old forest, seeing an axe handle approaching, said, “Look it is one of us.”

Exile raised Labrys, his double-bladed laughing axe. Streams of splinters blasted into air. Exile chopped. Hope carried.

“Patience never dies,” he said.

“She will live forever because she is magic. I felt it before she was born. She was a stream of light floating inside me.”

“She is radiant,” Exile said. “She is beauty, truth and wisdom incarnate. She will learn how to project her spirit energies. She will be a wise healer.”

“He was at the cemetario today,” Hope said.

“Who?”

“The nomad, the forcestero.”

“And yesterday as well," said Exile. "Wonder why?”

“No why. Visiting spirit sources. Emotional connections. Renewal. Affirmations.”

“Indeed. They will be out tomorrow with the full moon.”

“Clearly.”

Hope and Exile danced in a meadow under the moon.

Light pierced being. Humans did not see them floating and dancing. They were protected by light. Their energies were free from physical being. They were spiritual beings in a human world.

“What you perceive as fantasy is the product of your imagination.

What you perceive as reality is also the product of your imagination.

Without imagination reality is nothing.” - G. Seto

They released their temporal bodies and floated down to the Rio Guadalete to connect with water. The water was clear, cold and refreshing. Following rocky paths it flowed in a rush of sound from dark gray Sierra Mountains. Flowing flowers released scents. Rose water sang through fresh turned soil, olive and cork trees, forests thick with pine, fir, evergreen, pinsapar, maple, and trees without a name.

Bare trees pointed at pulsating white stars.

“Look there,” trees said, pointing thin arms into the sky, “there, there we are.”

“Yes,” they sang, “there we are.”

“Look,” said one, pointing in another direction, “there we are.”

“And there, and there.”

The wind listened as stars telling star tales containing star trails across the emptiness of sky whispered secrets about magic inside a vast vacuum of silence.

Hope and Exile were light.

"Hope is the last thing that dies," whispered wind.

A Century is Nothing

Saturday
May172014

her eyes are the world

A voice was missing.

Dozing, it concealed inherent pixel images of sad-eyed curious Chinese children trapped behind educational gates near women struggling behind plows and oxen or bent over Butterfly sewing machines threading conversations and manufacturing tongues in Maija village shoe factories years away from wealthy cities and dummies in display windows. 

One joy was selecting the cover photograph. The girl’s image expressed emotional honesty with natural innocence.

She was trapped behind a hard steel grate-full educational reality.

Her eyes held world secrets and unlimited potential. She’d stared at a professional stranger and an aberration in her universe. Her sisters and schoolmates pushed against her. She was trapped against a locked gate. He was on the other side.

He raised a small black machine to his eye. She heard a subtle click. A shutter opened and closed freezing time, capturing her soul on a memory-fiction card. He smiled, thanked her and disappeared.

She had no way to know her child eyes would grace a book cover for everyone to see, breathing her immortality in alchemical manifestations.

He’d visited her primary school speaking strange unintelligible words and singing and dancing.

His laughter and smiles were a relief for the kids after the autocratic, punishing manner of bored illiterate women teachers. They didn't want to be prisoners any more than the kids.

No one had a choice here.

You did what you were told to do in a harmonious society filled with social stability, fear and shame ordered from Beijing well removed from a world where farmers followed oxen in rice paddies.

Green rice stalks revealed their essence below a blue sky in mud and meadows of reality.

A Century is Nothing

 

Sunday
Feb232014

nahuales

“My family, while emotionally cold, distant and abusive yet well-intentioned, kind and loving were dysfunctional, trying to understand my vagabond spirit nature. They had no choice in the matter and by now they’re used to receiving strange word-strings full of mysterious symbolism and tragic truths from diverse twilight zones. I transmit between crystals and gringsing decorated with universal binary codes.”

“Really now?” said Mary.

“Yes, I gave my folks a world map for their anniversary. They loved it, inviting friends, neighbors and strangers over for trivia games using postmarks, stamps, decals, flotsam, thread, needles, bark, cactus fiber, beads, charts of tributaries, topographical maps, animal skins, hieroglyphics, and Tibetan prayer wheels with Sanskrit characters.

“They caressed burned broken shards of Turkish pottery, Chinese bamboo brushes dripping blood, torn out pages from esoteric Runes, Paleolithic fertility symbols, vitreous unusual writing, and one of my favorites, a Quetzalcoatl image full of written narration based on the oral performances of Central American myths."

“Fascinating,” said Deirdre.

“Yes, I gave them Olmec nahuales shamans containing animal powers dating back to 1200 B.C. speaking their wisdom. They blended the spirituality and intellect of man with the ferocity and strength of the Jaguar to create their nahuales. Their soul required an animal medium to travel from the earth to the heavens and into the underworld.

“Additional cultural reminders were beautiful blank black mirrors. Some displayed faces others contained scripts written backwards with stories of people, geographies, forbidden objects, and a box called Pandora." 

A Century is Nothing

Sunday
Aug182013

Through the center

I climbed through the center of Bali inside magical light past an extinct sacred volcano at Lake Batur carrying spare ammunition, a small portable typewriter, a map carved on narwhal bone, a roll of scented four-ply toilet paper, codices or painted books and texts on bark paper called Amate, and cactus fiber including palimpsest animal skins and dialogue of Mayan origin.

My hair caught fire. Gathering flames I lit a piece of bark for guidance.

I mixed volcanic ash with water, creating a thick paste of red ocher, a cosmetic balm rich with antioxidants.

I applied this to my skin to gain entry and passage through the spirit world of ancestors. 

Source: A Century is Nothing.

Saturday
Mar012008

Druk Yul

Published in A Century is Nothing and Subject to Change.

I visited in 1987 after receiving a single tourist visa for eight days through their embassy in Kuwait and approval from the capital, Thimphu. While there I met a government official who approved an extension allowing me access to Bumthang in the east.

Bhutan, then and now, limits tourist visas to approximately 4,000 a year and focuses on groups. It cost $185 a day.

King Jigme Wangchuck had seen the effect of unregulated tourism in Nepal and realized the importance of protecting the environment, thus the small number of annual visitors. I understand they now have internet and one traffic light in Thimphu.

+

We left Dhaka aboard a fourteen passenger Dornier prop jet plane known for their ability to use short runways in high mountains. We flew over deltas, flooded monsoon farmlands, and small fishing hamlets into Himalayan valleys.

We approached the Paro valley at 7,300 feet, above the Paro Chu River, Tibetan homes, green rice terraces and thick forests covered in low clouds. Our landing was fast.

Guides took us to the Olathang Hotel on a mountain overlooking the Paro valley where the population is 20,000. The hotel is a beautiful building featuring hand painted inlaid spiral art motifs and relief work common to Tibetan paintings.

Lunch was a buffet of red rice, steamed vegetables and canned mutton with dessert. The Bhutan Tourist Corporation hired the World Tourist Organization in France to train 300 employees, including eighteen guides. They covered all areas of tourism operations.

Our group visited the National Museum or Ta-Dzong, a 369-year old ornate structure with inlaid wood, Tibetan interlocking blocks, flowers and hand carved paintings in fantastic detail. This featured a display of Bhutanese culture and history; wall hangings, archery (the national sport), pottery, script, textiles, jewelry, animals, yak butter lamps, and an intricate "Tree of Life." The raven is the national bird.

Bhutanese believe in reincarnation and sects of Buddhist faith. We were told by Kinley, our guide, that lamas or abbots in Bhutan gain knowledge through books and the great lamas can be a reincarnation with magical powers. The lotus tradition came from a lake in India. A great lama was found on a lotus and Buddha said that in the 8th century, according to Bhutanese history, a man more knowledgeable than him would carry on the teachings. Guru Rimpoche was this man and the founder of the Drupa School in Bhutan. He had two reincarnations and is credited with building all the dzongs and monasteries in Bhutan while also conducting battles against Tibet.

Guru Padma Sambhava or Guru Rimpoche (Precious Teacher) was the spiritual founder of the Nyingmapa 'old' school of Himalayan Buddhism in 800 A.D. which is still taught in central Bhutan. Tantric Buddhism in Bhutan dates to 450 A.D. and is the esoteric form of the Drukpa Kayyupa Buddhist School. The state religion of Mahayana Buddhism or the 'Great Vehicle' was established in the 8th century. The Tantric sect of Buddhism found in Central Bhutan have monks called Gomchen. They marry, have children, and unlike the Drupa Sect practised in the western part of the country, the monks have given up all their worldly possessions. The Tantric sect believes in magical spirits and the power of rocks, sky and earth nature.

Below the museum was the Rimpong Dzong built in 1646. Until the 17th century, dzongs were fortresses against attacks both internally and from Tibet. They now serve as state monasteries and district administration headquarters for Bhutan's eighteen districts. They are all elegant and massive architectural structures with a pitched roof, rich woodwork and a distinct pattern. The Rimpong Dzong in Paro has a brightly painted yellow roof and a gold utse or chorten tower. Chortens are quite prevalent on most buildings because they protect against evil spirits in dangerous places. The single entrance is composed of large stone steps and two heavy gigantic wooden doors.

Inside was a large stone courtyard surrounded by walls which house the monks' quarters, kitchens and administrative offices. In some dzongs the courtyards for the monastery and administration of the district are separate. The upper room of the dzong is devoted to religion. A room called a chhoesham is an interior temple with wall paintings, altar, statues and books.

Many children monks with shaven heads, bare feet and burgundy robes greeted us at the Paro Dzong. We removed our shoes and entered a dimly lit room walking on well worn wooden floors. Ceiling high statues of the guru stared down at us as light from yak butter candles flickered and danced around the room.

Prayer wheels turn clockwise to send prayers to heaven dissolving earthly desires.

The next day we visited Tiger's Nest. The shepherd had horses ready and we started off through Blue Pine and Chir Pine in dry locations, rhododendron, fir, spruce and hemlock as the altitude increased from 7,300 feet in the valley to 9,840 feet at the Taktsang Monastery. The green valley supports barley in the winter, maze in the spring and paddy rice, buckwheat and African millet in summer giving way to red clay.

A two hour climb brought us to a rise covered with white prayer flags on weather-beaten brown poles. The valley, Paro Chu River, homes and rice fields stretched out below. We continue on foot, climbing steep trails and reached another prayer flag on a ledge before making a sharp descent down a twisting path and stone steps into a deep gorge. A waterfall crashes from a mountain and small meditation huts were tucked into crevices on the mountain at precarious angles.

According to legend, Rimpoche subdued many demons in Paro and central Bhutan. At one time he had two wives, an Indian and a Tibetan. He transformed his Indian wife into a tiger and flew to establish the Tiger's Nest or Takstang Monastery in the 8th century.

Tiger's Nest is a series of small tight buildings built into the cliff. It is composed of intricate staircases, stone flagging, a small open air kitchen, balconies, rooms for sleeping and meditation. We are welcomed by boys and monks who showed us the meditation room filled with statues, offerings of rice, coins, fruits and vegetables. They showed us the cave where Rimpoche lived for three years. Three monks appointed by the chief abbot in Thimphu live here for three years for meditation study to be followed by novice monks.

We visited the Druk Gyel Dzong (Bhutan Victory) monastery, eighteen miles from the Tibet border. It existed from 1647-1951 before it burned down after a monk fell asleep with an unattended butter lamp.

The drive to the capital Thimphu with a population of 20,000 takes two and a half hours. Glacier activity carved deep valleys north and south.

We stayed at the Molithang Hotel where the lobby has a gigantic brown bear holding an offering of flowers. Hallways are painted with universal symbols; dragons, wheel of life, and each room features intricate detailed artwork.

The Memorial Chorten in Thimphu was built in 1974 by the Queen Mother in memory of her late husband, King Jigme Dorji Wangchuck. It contains three levels of teachings.

1. Phuruba Teaching. Consists of small animals wearing masks when a person dies. We need nine days to take another form and during these nine days we meet all these animals.

2. Kaghav Teaching. Buddha's eight orders. The Eightfold Path or Middle Way exists between self-indulgence and self-modification. The eight orders are: Right Views, Right Purpose, Right Speech, Right Conduct, Right Livelihood, Right Effort, Right Awareness, and Right Concentration or Right Meditation.

3. Gondhu Teaching. The male represents passion, the female represents wisdom. Completion of these three levels of teachings brings the person to Buddhism.

In the evening, we met four Western doctors in the hotel. They've been working in the Thimphu hospital an average of two and a half years. They say the Bhutanese people are slowly accepting Western medicine. If someone is sick they normally visit the lama, then use Bhutanese black medicine, then use Tibetan medicine, normal Bhutanese medicine and finally Western medicine.

The next day I left with Kinley and a driver for Tongza, seven hours and 200 kilometers east.

From Thimphu at 7,800' we climbed to 10,000' and dropped into valleys and climbed again. Various elevations consist of grasslands, croplands, forests, hardwoods, coniferous forests, soft woods, alpine meadows, yak pastures and glaciers. Barley, wheat and potatoes are primary spring and summer crops from 7,500-13,000' with the tree line coming at 12,000-14,000' and coniferous replacing hardwoods above 8,000'.

The Indian Army Corp Engineers are responsible for maintaining the road system in Bhutan. We passed West Bengal, Indian road gangs working at quarter-mile intervals. They perform basic tasks; carrying large rocks away and crushing granite to repair and fill the endless washouts. They live and work here for two-three years maintaining the roads before being replaced by new workers. Their living situation is very grim. Most shelters are woven reeds, fortified with any materials they can find along the rivers. The health conditions are unsanitary. They carry their children on their backs or leave the younger ones under torn umbrellas in the shade.

The Tongza hotel had eleven rooms overlooking a deep valley. The Black Mountain range lies to the north.

The Tongza Dzong, built in 1574, is below a white watchtower. At a school a group of girls say they are interested in business, medicine and teaching. Most Bhutanese students, given the chance, will attend university in India.

The drive to Bumthang crossed a pass at 11,635'. The Wangdi Choling Tourist lodge with twenty-four rooms is empty.

Ten thousand people live in the Bumthang area. Small shops and stores along the single street serve as homes and business. Built of wood with small steel stoves and chimneys, the rooms are multi-purpose; selling in front, eating and sleeping quarters in the rear.

Merchandise includes thread, wool, fabric (as the home weaving supplements income), canned goods, small toys, sweets, local spirits, spices, eggs, limited supply of green vegetables, a few green apples and soap.

The architecture is Tibetan, buildings are rectangular and 2-3 stories high. The pitched roof allows for open space to store firewood and fodder. The middle floor is for storage of grains, seeds and foodstuffs. The upper floor is the living quarters, broken into smaller rooms. The ground floor, on a working farm, is for the cattle. If not, windows are found at this level and there is a shop, storeroom, kitchen and servant's quarters.

We arrived at a monastery where 300-500 Bhutanese have gathered to receive a blessing from a lama. Children and adults sit and talk on rows of timber slabs on the hard sun baked ground.

Three monks blew long wood and silver jallee horns to chase evil spirits away. The lama, Nam Kha Nen Boo, is Khenbow, a reincarnation of a former monk known for his fortune telling power. He was seated and read in a low tone of voice for twenty minutes and using a small hand held drum and bell. Finishing, he moved among the people touching them on the head with a statue called a Tshtshto. This dignifies the life of a human by saying "have a long life."

People approached to bring offerings for his blessing. Bags of red string, flour and jenlap, a nutmeg-like substance, were offered. One lama handed each person jenlap. Another lama gave each person a single red string to be worn around the neck.

We visited the Jakar Dzong. The head lama opened large doors in the quiet spiritual center. Ornate sculptures of Padma Sambhava and yak butter lamps filled the center wall. Inside another room was a fantastic display of the guru, bronze statues with salt and butter flower carvings about 10' high.

Long display cases with hundreds of identical 5-6" Buddha statues sat in tiered arrangement. Larger images depict historical and religious levels of spiritual attainment.

Our nine hour drive to Thimphu took us through valleys, past people working in green and golden fields, up mountains, past grain, road workers, waterfalls, rain, clouds, birds, hot sun, cattle, pack horses, down mountains, hairpin turns, and along rocky roads barely wide enough for a single vehicle.

We moved through sharp steep elevations offering panoramas, rice paddies, shacks, new homes, dzongs, trekkers, water carriers, rock breakers, babies on backs, wicker baskets full of green ferns, wide-eyed children and prayer flags flying in the Land of the Thunder Dragon.

Peace.

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