Animist

Namaste,

The chunchiet animist people of Ratanakiri in remote northeast Cambodia bury their dead in the jungle. Life is a sacred jungle.

Animists believe in the universal inherent power of nature in the natural world. The Tompoun and Jarai, among many animist tribal people in the world have sacred burial sites. 

This is the Kachon village cemetery one hour by boat on the Tonle Srepok river from Voen Sai. The River of Darkness.

It is deep in the jungle along the river. You need a local guide and a translator speaking the local dialect.

The departed stays in the family home for five days before burial. Once a month family members make ritual sacrifices at the site.

The village shaman dreams the departed will go to hell. In their spirit story dream the shaman meets LOTH, Leader of the Hell who asks for an animal sacrifice. The animist belief says sacrificing a buffalo and making statues of the departed will satisfy LOTH.  It will renew the spirit and return it to the family.

After a year family members remove old structures, add two carved effigies, carve wooden elephant tusks, create new decorated roofs and sacrifice a buffalo at the grave during a festive week long celebration with food and rice wine for the entire village. 

Metta.

 

Calibrate

Namaste,

Years earlier I meditated on my equilibrium one hot humid Asian day standing in disparate lines waiting for my visa to be validated by a boy soldier armed with an M-60 in the third world.

He had ammunition to spare and the 90-day firearm waiting period was not in effect. His background check bounces. If he is lucky he eats rice three times a day.

If I am lucky I will get through this transformation, derivation, metamorphosis alive. I will emerge on the other side chanting my mantra, ‘Om Gate Gate Paragate Parasamgate Bodhi Svaha.’ 

His bloodshot eyes checked me out as he rifles luggage. He found a mirror. He saw his destiny. Death by starvation. He slipped it into his pocket giving me a sullen, apathetic, malnourished stare. He needs it. My supply is infinite. 

He pointed at my battered typewriter, “What’s that?” 

I smiled, handing him shredded greenbacks.

He opened my passport to a visa page from the Hanford nuclear reactor in Washington State.

It reads, “Passport - Total Exposure System. Radiation Work Permit.”

I am allowed access to non-radioactive areas with an approved dosage of 10 mrem/hr in general areas. My stay time is 500. Radiological conditions allow me 1K of Beta Gamma and 2 mrem of Alpha. I wear a dosimeter badge to monitor my dosage in high/high-high radiation areas, contaminated areas and airborne radioactive areas or particle control areas. 

His well oiled weapon waves me on.

Metta.

Hue

The House of the Artist at Night with 12 Emotions.

30 word breaths whisper leaves turning color,

invisible memory dialects dance mysteries,

open hand women embroider,

30 tourists with guidebooks in wheelchairs

behind a white haired woman in a rickshaw dawns attention spans,

30 single minded awareness diamond minded white butterflies flutter,

Perfume Rivers flow women laughing at unknown potentials,

30 singing girls on 30 bikes under 30 trees on 30 paths,

30 lightning bolts escape 30 clouds inside 30 central nervous systems. three o

Park it

Where do I park this empty vehicle,

asked a Tibetan monk

burning corpses

after an earthquake killed 2,686 people

in a remote village at 13,000 feet.

A child survivor ate cigarettes,

and paper napkins

drinking his urine to survive.

Life is found in a desperate situation.

Disaster gave the Chinese Party Propaganda

machine a glorious opportunity

to create a new Hero and promote being One People.

amygdala

Namaste,

Survivors were willing victims of their fear, uncertainty, doubt, adventure and surprise.

Their amygdala, a small almond shaped brain structure validated to be involved in fear and emotional response fired up. 

Manipulated by their collective unconscious and the system of socialization control mechanisms and the subtle power of right wing conservative persuasion and media idiots, they either wanted control or approval facing this daily grinding, mind numbing, heart breaking choice.

They struggled, suffered, danced, experiencing gratitude and forgiveness in their heart.

They lived and died. 

It’s essential to die at least once while you’re alive and get it out of the way.

An engraved Zippo lighter in a dusty Saigon museum cabinet, buried under service ribbons read, “You only die twice. Once when you’re born and when you face Death.”

Metta.