mr. lucky foot

One of my secret names is Mr. Lucky Foot.

What does that mean you may ask, well let me tell you in simple, plain, clear and concise English, the language of barbarians. Just get to the verb.

It means wherever I travel because I’m addicted to new adventures like meeting shopkeepers, merchants in Venice, rest-a-rant owners and nondescript sad, lonely, neurotic and well adjusted humans struggling to find their personal way inside life’s labyrinth, when I show up, because 90% of life is showing up, their day, life, fate and glittering fortune changes. Karmic destiny. For the better. 

It happened in the Middle Kingdom or China per se, in Asia Minor, on the is-land of Amnesia in Southeast Asia, Vietnam, Cambodia, Nepal and Laos. A small journey inside life’s weaving.

after my tongue

I sat up straight, inhaled three deep breaths and exhaled far out into emptiness.

I centered my unconscious on the paper filled with nothing.

The entire world has been reduced to a blank sheet of white paper.

My wisdom mind of intent became water. It was quiet, calm and still with concentration and focus.

I listened to brush, ink and paper. I am a conduit. 

Be the brush, be the ink, be the water, be the paper.

Each essence is pure, free, clear and luminous.

My useless tongue flapped in the cold December Himalayan wind.

Stories and songs are birds. I heard children laughing and singing. They greeted each other in the babble of nothing, playing with strings of word pearls. They dreamed with their eyes open. 

When we are asleep we are awake.

Is handwriiting alive?

ecritureinfinie

bali Aga ikat

Katut knew kamben gringsing.

It took five years to weave the muted colors of reddish brown tones, eggshell and dark blue or black colors into a piece of magic cloth. In the beginning his mother gathered sunti roots and mixed them with indigo to make dyes. His father made narrow back strap looms from trees.

The women spun cotton cloth by hand. According to tradition the yarns were soaked in candle nut oil and wood ash water. They were stored for 42 days in an earthenware jar covered with a checked black and white cloth. The strands were dried for 42 days and covered with open hibiscus flowers to protect them from witches. 

Warp threads were woven up and down. Weft threads woven left and right on different frames for dyeing. Geometric stars, small crosses and flowers were woven into the threads and a very careful matching process tied or bound the different threads together to form intricate designs and patterns. 

Kamben gringsing patterns contained combinations of 14, 24, 37 or 40 fields to make healing garments for men and women in Tenganan. Katut knew there were over 20 basic designs of the cloth. His mother’s main concern was how the cloth was used in the village.   

She told him a story as they walked toward the mountain.

“The word gring means 'illness' and sing means 'not' she explained. “It is the most important social and sacred cultural symbol for the people in our village.”

Katut listened and understood kamben gringsing was their way of life. Kamben gringsing created a social identity, a relationship for their people. Ikat protected them from impurities and danger.

It allowed them to make transitions across boundaries in life’s journey. The villagers used kamben gringsing when they participated in rituals and rites of passage from birth to death.

spilled Ink

After they cut out my tongue I started writing script.

I found a compressed black Chinese ink stick with yellow dragons breathing fire. I added a little water to a grey stone surface and placed the ink in the center. 

Then, using my right hand, as Master Liu in Chengdu showed me, I turned the stick in a clockwise motion. Black ink ebbed into liquid as a drop of water rippled a pond.

After collecting ink I picked up my long heavy brown brush. Pure white hair. After soaking it in water for three minutes to relax it’s inner tension I spread out thin delicate paper.

I placed my right foot at an angle, left foot straight, my left palm flat on the table with fingers spread. I dipped the brush in the recessed part of the stone to absorb ink then slowly dragged it along an edge removing excess. 

I savored the weight and heft. My brush has it own personality and character. There are at least 5,000 characters in my written language. I have much to learn and a long way to travel with this unknowing truth.

in tone a tion

ideogram letter symbol
inside a series of interlocking blades

is a Cambodian

land mine museum displaying geiger counters
radiation blast suits, screwdrivers, shovels, hi-tech sensors

fertile green rice paddies, farms, fields
1,000 Angkor temples built with laterite stones

pachyderms, topographical survey maps
statistical graphic charts
rainbow amputee refugees

relocation centers rehabilitation
co-pay deductible insurance policies
cremation ceremonies

bereaved starving relatives

curious strangers
spilling

desire fear and regret

rappelling through nouns
verbs and ideas with bamboo shacks

submerged mangrove forests
hammocks, charcoal cooking fires
naked children, amputees

short term Australian nurses
laconic teachers
269 orphanages
12,000 orphans

a butterfly farm
a silk worm weaving center
empowering singing women
threading thin and thick yellow

salvia protein based fibers
on spindles and looms
near Son Le Tap lake