Bubble Life

Greetings from a sleepy little town down south along the mighty Mekong,

After finding a pillow and delicious local cold java swimming in a glass you get a hair cut and your ears cleaned.

It's essential, as we've said previously, from China, Vietnam, Cambodia and now Laos to relax.

Sit back close your eyes hearing the whirling overhead fan rotating like helicopter rotor blades over rapid cobalt rivers inside deep forested green jungles, skimming granite mountains, swooping toward rice valleys allowing a thin man with shiny silver tools to clean, vibrate, scrape, identify, probe, assess, magnify, illustrate and remove old historical debris, leaves, brooms, the click-clack of shuttles, blue and yellow butterflies, children's laughter, language acquisition cycles, tonal frequencies, vibrational shifts and so forth.

A new marveLaos gallery is live.

http://tmleonard.squarespace.com/marvelaos/

It contains clouds, art, design, black & white, wats, paper making, rice threshing, weavers, kids and big serious humans.

The Luang Prabang airport has one simple concrete runway. The control tower needs a coat of paint.

There are two gates. A French tourist is worried because their boarding pass has a big number approaching infinity. "We only have two gates," said the serene and helpful girl behind a desk.

"Oh, my goodness," said the tourist holding a can of white paint and a brown sable hair brush. "I was so worried I wouldn't get home for Christmas. I mean I was feeling so anxious and neurotic and lost and dazed and confused and sullen and tired and suddenly I felt comfortable in a calm way knowing I will realize my vacation dream and paint a control tower at a small airport in Asia." 

"Be a work of art or wear a work of art," said the smiling girl, or, as Picasso asked, "what is color?"

Metta.

Paper is an essential part of Lao life. The art of paper is in the making, using, honoring paper in the community and burning paper to honor ancestors. Artists use white fibers from plant stems to make paper. To soften it they mix it with ash and soak it in wood fired 55 gallon drums. They pound it to a pulp. The woman spreads fibers over a screen. It is dried in the sun and used to create tactile textured paper books, umbrellas, bags, cards, lanterns, envelopes and airport control towers.

Elevations

Greetings,

From the HatSa river zone to Phongsali at 1430 metres is a twisting 20K dirt road ride. It is cold and delicious with splendid mountains. It reminds me of Dali and Lijiang in Yunnan and Tibetan landscapes.

At 5 a.m. loudspeakers blare a mantra from a bare tree. "Welcome to a new day in your eternal mindfulness..." This continues forever. 

Mountains and valleys are shrouded in early clouds. The old town rocky paths feature Tibetan and Chinese red wooden homes made from bamboo, straw, packed dirt, wood and cement plaster. "Modern" homes are cinder block. 

This is the simple complete rhythm in a northern tribal zone of human energies peaceful laughter inside language music.

In the market village women lay fresh green veggies on banana leaf mats.

• A woman chops chillies, a mother hauls water.
• A woman puts on her bright yellow socks.
• A woman tears lettuce leaves for her steaming noodle soup.
• A woman sells crabs wrapped in banana leaves.
• A woman unloads her heavy head yoked woven basket filled with greens.
• A woman carries her world on her back.

In slow motion I meet many children. We draw the chalk alphabet on cinderblock walls. We sing and dance. They sing, You are fool whether you dance or not so you may as well dance. 

Metta.

barefoot

Greetings,

early dawn streaks orange skies. two barefoot mendicants are walking down the cambodian broken dirt road. one looks well fed. he wears simple tattered white cotton clothing. a red and white checkered kroma scarf is knotted around his head. 

he carries their possessions in three white rice bags on a simple bamboo pole balanced on his shoulder. he is followed on the dirt trail by his friend, a tall gaunt man. they are talking.

man #1. these bags are heavy. i am tired of carrying them. you carry them. 

he drops the bags and stick on the ground. they crash on the dirt. startled birds leave leaves. a river changes direction. he walks over to a large cistern filled with water. he splashes his face. he drinks deep. 

his friend stoops over, adjusts bamboo through twine and hoists the stick and bags onto his shoulder.

man #2. where are we going?

man #1 (muttering to his feet in red dust) down this road.

Metta.

 

Firefly

Greetings,

Culture is what you are. Nature is what you can be. 

I faced a challenging ethical decision at the Chinese steamed bun and iced java joint. I pulled up on my little simple blue bike. There were three HUGE extraterrestrial vehicles parked on the sidewalk. A group of men were having a morning snack and discussion at round tables. They were the economic Knights of the Round Table. 

All the men wore buttoned down long sleeve shirts except for the leader. How did you know he was the leader? When he spoke all the men at his table listened. He wore a striped short sleeve shirt. He wore a gold watch and a big radiant red ruby stone set in a gold ring. He looked well fed and rested. 

His driver held the keys to a big black Caddy. It looked like a tank. I showed him my bike. Want to trade your bike for the Esplanade? he asked me. No thanks, my simple bike meets my needs. It's really efficient. Ok, he said, just asking.

The leader shifted in his plastic chair. He got up. Everyone got up. He walked out. Everyone followed him. The driver opened the back door. He got in. Let's go for a drive through luminous green country, he said. The driver gunned the engine making powerful noise. His friends followed him down the broken rutted dirt road.

There are no stop signs or traffic lights here. Everyone operating a moving vehicle trusts everyone else. This is fair. 

Cambodian children, like children everywhere love to play. They have a game called Kick The Sandal. They use their sandals. They take turns kicking a sandal on uneven cement pavement to see who can reach the goal. It''s exciting and fun. The cement comes from Siam.

A firefly named July zoomed around my dark room one night. The yellow flickering light was illuminating, mesmerizing and hypnotic. A multi-facted dancing yellow white gemstone. It was looking for a way out. I opened the door so it could live in nature.

Metta.

My girlfriend is smart. She wears a helmet. We are happy. We are going nowhere fast. Passengers wearing a helmet here is almost as rare as clean drinking water. 

Random Connections

Greetings,

After living in a small sleepy little southern Cambodian river town for four point five months doing my work, I've shifted my base to another small, yet slightly larger, little northern river town in the now a days.

It feels good to be exploring new geography, engaging the senses, observing energies. I found a room in a rural area outside of town in a family compound along the brown river. Go with the flow. It's the perfect zen zone for gardening and writing. Playing in dirt and rearranging sentences.

No internet. This means fewer entries for now. My focus is on more extensive creative work. It reminds me of living in remote Spanish mountains immediately after 9.11 while working on the literary memoir. Writng every morning and climbing in the Sierra Grazalema mountains every afternoon. Balance. 

There, I'd jump on a local bus into Ronda at random to see electronic communications, blog and post images. Here, I really wanted to get a big black Hummer with tinted windows so my neighbors would be impressed, shocked and amazed by my ostentatious lifestyle, however, I will frugally settle for a small black bike with a bell, basket and generator light. Low tech, efficient and fun. Traveling at the speed of a single rotation.

You are a fluke of the universe. Take advantage of it. Being disconnected from the distraction of the web is a cosmic comic blessing. 

Metta.