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.

Viviparous

Greetings,

Good things happen when you take risks. You risk expanding your perception. You risk losing everything in the expansion. Are you prepared to lose everything?

What is the most beautiful word you know?

Less talk and more drawing is essential. Circles, triangles, squares, lines, curves and dots. Connect the dots.

The asylum IS both a prison and protection.

New life as the wet season shimmers rice paddies to the horizon. Green promise, beauty, creativity, dance, music. How do you describe this sensation of green? Memories of Chinese rice planters inside swirling monsoon. The sound between the notes. How do you manifest this waking dream? Lightning dances from cloud to ground. Bolt. Flash.

You create art to explore your sense of self and find out how you feel you are, rather than who you think you should or ought to be.

Make the right choice for the wrong reason. Make the wrong choice for the right reason. 

Your life is not a test. If it is an actual life your invisible friend will protect you.

Metta.
 

This woman loves her computer and social networking skills. She is very popular and has lots of friends.

In the medical and insurance business.

This woman doesn't use machines and machines don't use her. She is very wise and observant. Her experience is direct and immediate. She dreams about being a European international lawyer with enhanced software development skills. She knows that every heartbeat is a universe of possibilities. 

Hanford Plutonium Waste

Greetings,

Speaking of energy, waste, consumption and a deadly beautiful mess, here's a new story from the New York Times on the Hanford Nuclear facility in Hanford, Washington. Scary shit.

I've blogged about this before. I lived in Hanford in 1999-2001. One Sunday an engineer friend took me out for a six hour tour. I made images. A gallery is on the sidebar. I used material in my literary memoir, A Century Is Nothing, and have included an excerpt. 

...After she left to explore the Snake he went to buy stamps, specifically images from the Hubble Space Telescope with names like Eagle Nebula, Ring Nebula, Lagoon Nebula and Galaxy NGC 1316.

He launched into a brief but stimulating discourse with the young unarmed postal worker woman about how amazing and beautiful were the colors and definitions of the galaxies mentioning how incredible it is to consider, even begin to glimpse them while trapped inside a federal building five short miles down wind from the Hanford Nuclear Reactor where fifty-five million gallons of buried radioactive waste seeped into water table levels near the Columbia River.

Department of Energy teams dived into, under, and through Columbia waterfalls near tributaries where the confluence of Northwest rivers gnashed their teeth snaking, roaring past abandoned nuclear plants as radioactive waste in decaying drums left over from W.W.II was flowing 130 feet down, down toward water tables.

Fascinating. He turned another fragile yellow page marked Top Secret Evidence or T.S.E. “It’s called Technicium, TC-99,” said an Indian scientist on a shuttle between reactors. “This is the new death and we know it’s there and there is nothing we can do to prevent it spreading.”

The waste approached 250 feet as multinational laboratories, corporations, and D.O.E. think tanks vying for projects and energy contract extensions discussed glassification options and emergency evacuation procedures according to regulations. Scientists read Robert’s Rules Of Order inside the organized chaos of their well order communities. Hanford scientists, wives and their children suffering terminal thyroid disease ate roots and plants sprinkled with entropy.

NYT story... 

Hanford Watch...

Metta.