After my tongue

After they cut out my tongue I started writing script.

I found a compressed black Chinese ink stick with yellow dragons breathing fire. I added a little water to a grey stone surface and placed the ink in the center.

Then, using my right hand, as Master Liu in Chengdu showed me, I turned the stick in a clockwise motion. Black ink ebbed into liquid as a drop of water rippled a pond.

After collecting ink I picked up my long heavy brown brush. Pure white hair. After soaking it in water for three minutes to relax it’s inner tension I spread out thin delicate paper.

I placed my right foot at an angle, left foot straight, my left palm flat on the table with fingers spread. I dipped the brush in the recessed part of the stone to absorb ink then slowly dragged it along an edge removing excess.

I savored the weight and heft. My brush has it own personality and character.       

There are at least 5,000 characters in my written language. I have much to learn and a long way to travel with this unknowing truth.

I sat up straight, took three deep breaths and exhaled far out into emptiness.

I centered my unconscious on the paper filled with nothing.

My wisdom mind of intent became water. It was quiet, calm and still with concentration and focus.

I listened to brush, ink and paper. I am a conduit.

Be the brush, be the ink, be the water, be the paper.

Each essence is pure, free, clear and luminous.

A Century is Nothing

Kalapuya

“I speak in tongues, in ancient dialects about love. Dialects of ancestors who lived here for 8,000 years before where you are now. In the forest near the river all animal spirits welcome you with their love. They are manifestations of your being.

“I am blessed to welcome you here. You have walked along many paths of love to reach me.

“My dirt path is narrow and smooth in places, rocky in others. I am the soil under your feet. I feel your weight, your balance - your weakness and your strength. I hear your heart beating as my ancestors pounded their ceremonial drums. I feel the tremendous surging force of your breath extend into my forest. Wind accepts your breath.

“I am everything you see, smell, taste, touch, and hear. I am the oak, the fir and pine trees spreading like dreams upon your outer landscape. I am your inner landscape. I see you stand silent in the forest hearing trees nudge each other. “Look,” they say, “someone has returned.”

“I love the way you absorb the song of brown body thrush collecting moss for a nest. I am the small brown bird saying hello. I am the sweet-throated song you hear without listening. At night two owls sing their distant song and their music fills your ears with mystery and love.

“I am warm spring sun on your face filtered through leaves of time. I am the spider’s web dancing with diamond points of light. I am the rough fragile texture of bark you gently remove before connecting the edge of an axe with wood. You carry me through my forest your flame creates heat of love. I am the taste of pitch on your lips, the odor of forest in your nostrils filling your lungs. It is sweet.

“I am the cold rain and wet snow and hot sun, and four seasons. I am yellow, purple, red, blue, and orange flowers from brown earth.

“Language cannot be separated from who you are and where you live.

“I say this so you will remember everything in this forest. I took care of this place and now your love has the responsibility with respect and dignity and mindfulness.”

Source: A Century is Nothing.

flowering tears

neurotic tourists leafed temples

flowers waved goodbye

we grow without you

elephant cried

freedom

confidence

yes, said confidence speaking with, not to, independent.

you are my bright shining star.

a constellation.

stars sing sang sung with their light.

be light about it, said vocabulary, laughing.

we are star dust.

sun sailed west over a black and blue sea for 4,000 years, said independent.

welcome to earth. hello babies.

time sweeps history

Once upon a time and such a wonderful time it was I wore a BIG watch.

Living in the past is time consuming.

Small wrist. Bone, skin, vein.

All the weight. Shake time. Wake up!

This BIG watch was not huge never ending gigantic e normal mouse time. Rather small time. I thought time was big. Life is big. Time is short and small. Time is a mass of white seagulls pirouetting in a pitch black sky. White light fragments flutter by and by.

A woman's long face studies sorrow at her feet. 

Another read Turkish coffee grounds. You will experience a personal earthquake. I see a child. You travel many roads. A bird has a good message. 

I see a spirit place in the mountains, said another reader. Many people are praying. There is a holy man. It is a Buddhist place. There are many rivers and mountains. I see a man and woman. You will meet a cat. It is a woman. She is a potential enemy. Be careful.

Miracles Revealed! Faith, hope and alienation.

A Trabzon bus lot director in shiny black shoes, orange tie, and white hair with hands behind his back sings Italian opera. His voice is a long distance trans carrier between Georgia and Greece. 

Here we go, I stutter.

Language of what I don't know is big. Bigger than time. Longer than tomorrow, a faceless facet of time's ticking, sweeping a hand around a dial. Knowing and understanding tried to communicate without speaking. Zap. Down, done, did, do the do.

I know but cannot say. Others say but do not know. Babbling tongues.

After escaping Persians, 10,000 Greek warriors ran down mountains layered with leaves yelling, THE SEA! THE SEA!

The warrior wears a medal from Korean service. Once upon a time.