Kalapuya

After Morocco, he sat down and listened in a Crow Forest.

“I am an old dialect of Kalapuya tribes. I respect the spirit energies. I hear with my eyes and see with my ears. I understand your love for the spirit power guardian. I am an ancestor speaking 300 languages from our history. Now only 150 dialects remain.

“A hunting gathering people, speaking Pentian, we numbered 3,000 in 1780. We believed in nature spirits, vision quests and guardian spirits. Our shamans, called amp a lak ya taught us how seeking, finding and following one’s spirit or dream power and singing our song was essential in community.

“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 pound 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 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, 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.”

A Century is Nothing

Relax

People take life too seriously. They need to play more. Relax.

Invention of writing in 3300BC. Pictograms - abstracted into cuniform.

Impressed vs drawn.

Akkadian magician - askhipu

Bliss with N. vocab touch, clean sweet clear slow ... pleasure her rosebud O sensation - stimulation - relaxed, she enjoys long deep rapture, exhaust her gently.

Taste the tantric essence. Her enlightened freedom. Oracle premontion predicts future.

Gratitude. Respect. Trust.

Sweet strong trees kiss sky w/ leaves of love.

Green umbrellas celebrate twinkling stars.

Hiding & Courage.

Sex.

Java bridge flowing river.

Dancing trees & snowing leaves.

Beauty & Respect

Tell me about the village. It is a microcosm.

Simple happy people live, work, breed and die.

They know desire, anger and ignorance exists outside the village.

Inside they practice compassion and meditation. They love singing and dancing.

They cherish nature with beauty and respect.

They accept responsibility for their choices and actions with free will.

A free people they practice gratitude with an open heart-mind.

Kind and loving they walk to the pagoda or wat

daily to make offerings and receive blessings from the monks.

They sit in meditation together. Their calm heart-mind is a lotus blossom.

A monk rings a bell.

Echoes flow to the village and beyond. Frequencies and vibrations dance.

Chunchiet

The Chunchiet animist people bury their dead in the jungle. Life is a sacred jungle.

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

  The Kachon village cemetery is one hour by boat on the Tonle Srepok River from Voen Sai near Banlung. It is deep in the jungle. You need permission from the village chief to visit.

  I was there.

  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. 

  New tombs have cement bases and carved effigies with cell phones and sunglasses. Never out of touch.

  See your local long distance carrier for plans and coverage in your area. The future looks brighter than a day in a sacred jungle.

  Fascinating, said Leo, a shaman monk from Tibet.

  Walking is the best form of travel, said Rita. Take your time quickly. How did you get here?

  Leo said: By walking. The paved road from Pakse, Laos to NE Cambodia is for tourist buses.

Grow Your Soul

Mommy's Meltdown

“Mommy I saw you screaming and yelling at the man in the high chair. Why?”

“Yes, my darling shining star of fairness and gender equality. I was feeling unhappy, angry and cheated by life and if that wasn't enough I was playing like shit. The other girl was playing better then me.”

“Oh mommy, did you need a time out?”

“I needed more than a time out. I needed coaching from my box.”

“You mean like cereal from a box?”

“Kind of. It's a human signal thing when your coach in the box moves their hands close together meaning go to the net.”

“I've seen you go to the Internet. After you had a meltdown millions of sad, angry people went to the net to express their feelings and opinions. Most were about the mean old man in the high chair, tennis rules and something called double standards.”

“That's write honey bunny. Millions of my fans including 23,990 in the stands expressed their anger and vitriolic bitterness at the cruel tragic reality. I was going down in flames created by my inability to let it go, get focused and back in the match. I was facing elimination, loss, shame, and character assignation. I felt betrayed by the system.”

“Is that why you smashed your racquet mommy?”

“It's part of the reason, sweet. I knew I’d lose the match to a better player. She served better than me. She returned serve better than me. She moved better than me. I broke my racquet to show the world I am a strong woman.”

“The man in the high chair was calm mommy.”

“Don't be fooled my dear. He's a liar and a thief.”

“What did he steal?”

“He stole a point from me. He stole a game from me. He gave the other player my game. It wasn't fair. My actions had consequences and it wasn't fair.”

“No one said life is supposed to be fair mommy.”

“You can say that again darling. Anger and no self control is very expensive.”

“What happened to the other girl?”

“She ignored the crowd's psychotic behavior, took deep breaths, focused on her game and played one point at a time. She closed it out with Zen precision.”

“She handled the situation well didn't she mommy?”

“She had the right attitude. I was just another tennis player to her. She was cool to the end.”

“You displayed good emotional intelligence on the stage mommy. You hugged the girl and told the crowd to stop booing.”

“It's about self R-E-S-P-E-C-T and respecting others.”

“Life is a hard teacher, mommy. If you don't learn the lesson you have to repeat it.”

“It's not about tennis. It's about character. Tennis begins with love. Now get out of your high chair. I'm late for my anger management class.”

(The writer has twenty years experience as a certified tennis teacher/coach. He worked as a linesman and chair umpire for the Irish Tennis Federation Inter-Zonal Davis Cup matches.)