The Enlightenment Factory

I drag my mother to impossible places, said Asian daughter #1.

I follow my daughter to impossible places, said her mother, following her daughter's shadow. The slanting afternoon sun in LP is behind and beyond them.

Mother's shadow comforts her daughter's back.

Mother carries water.

Her daughter carries love seeing her husband, a thin bearded memory waiting.

Memory waits.

Patience becomes Memory.

Memory dances with sparrows.

Attention! says frangipani releasing itself, falling.

It landed on a steel PSP roof.

Bang. Thunk. Not hard and not soft enough to create a sounds wave.

It bounced into stillness. Air twirled it, it flew up, away. It floated to the ground. It's floating Beauty penetrated eyes, cones, retinal rods of a man sitting. He picked it up. He inhaled fragrance. Zap.

Beauty has no tongue.

Practice is allowing everything in your life to wake you up.

beauty has no tongue

Be the rhythm, said a woman with flaming hair.

They meditated in the weaving village. 

Lucky loved her passion for silks.

Elephants danced with zodiac symbols.

Weavers click clacked threads.

Beauty has no tongue.

Practice is allowing everything in your life to wake you up.

 

world is a village

Red clouds on a soft day. Japanese kamikaze snappers.

Rivers and sensation perception. Small people big voice. Orange monks. Women oranges.  Street love.

Serenity of sitting one afternoon in Boua Mon's village. Paper village.

The world is a village.

In this real zone dust dances with laughter. Women gossip, cook, swaddle infants. Joy and connections away from Disneyland myopia circus.

How it works in Laos. Unspoken. Men make the rules. Women take care of the home.

Below the surface. Subtitles.

Women worship in temples, men sit around drinking beer.

A village maintains the other world.

Morality, ethics, behavior.

You don't leave the village.

Everything I need is here.

Symbiotic symbolic relationships.

Meditation awareness.

Gentle undying nature.

Once upon a dream there was (is) present.

Ink said, hello now a few words in simple English hilarious. 

star's story

How slow can you go?

Slower than a breath. 

Slower than stillness.

Slow slower and slower.

One night star bright moon light senses our mutual loneliness.

Star shows me scar marks on her wrists. My father died. I lived with relatives. They beat me. I tried to kill myself. Twice. I ran away. I became strong. I decided to live.

I met a man. I got pregnant. I had my son. He is 17 now. I studied Lao massage and worked for three years.

A good fool is hard to find.

Acrobatic spine torso. Ride the pony. Flexibility. Drive it home until dawn.

We are buried deep inside narrow dark muddy passages.

We are surrounded by women gossiping, telling stories in the market. They discuss the Lao woman with a tall foreign man. She inspects green beans. With theatrical brilliance she throws them back. Disdain. Too expensive. Poor quality. She negotiates greens, bamboo, vegetables.

You don't see foreign ghost spirits in this market.

 

The Lover

Ling one night. Her smile, vivacious. Take her to another level of pleasure.

Trust your intuition.

Fish new waters. Explore, experiment outside bamboo shack zones after dark. Dark is the night. Cold is the ground.

Sweet and slow. Give her long luxurious pleasure. Return to her rose sensations feeling her need. Curl up in night's silence.

Sleeping alone is boring, said Sunflower, a blind masseuse.

Smell her fragrance. Soft connections w/o fear, haste, tomorrow. One night is all. Positive energies. Far away a bell.

Loves meditation at dawn welcomes restless dreamers. They turn, curl, embrace, soft and slow skeletons in shadows. Shadows on her breast, valley, legs, fingers kissed. No illusions of futures in the long now.

Love's meditation.

Rain. Angular clitoris stimulation's bliss, slow gentle, sunrise. Release rain inside soft fresh air along her skin.

Her skin is a meandering river of valleys, mountains rising hips, slow easy caresses memory's fascination.

Sitting posture dances ink.

Sleeping dreamers take a serene slow pedal along deserted foggy streets in mist.

Mountains across the Mekong sing Zen.

A Chinese painting is a floating world.