yes, social intelligece said to confidence
we learn and love. we leave, leaves fall, seasons adjust.
we know what we don't know. this is wisdom.
look, don't think, said a girl smelling leaves
in the department of the forest.
orchids blossomed fragrant melodies of lost time
where women gathered their solace
between here and now.
if your legs get heavy
walk with your heart.
yes, said confidence speaking with, not to, independent.
you are my bright shining star.
a constellation.
stars sing sang sung with their light.
be light about it, said vocabulary, laughing.
we are star dust.
sun sailed west over a black and blue sea for 4,000 years, said independent.
welcome to earth. hello babies.
“Are you with us?” pleaded a Cambodian land mine child survivor removing shrapnel with an old rusty saw after stepping in heavy invisible shit, “or are you against us?”
She‘s been turned out and turned down faster than a housekeeper ironing imported Egyptian threaded 400-count linen. No lye.
The thermostat of her short sweet life seeks more wattage. She faces a severe energy shortage if she doesn’t find food.
She’s one of 26,000 men, women and children maimed or killed every year by land mines from forgotten conflicts. Reports from the killing fields indicate 110 million land mines lie buried in 68 countries.
It costs $3.00 to bury a landmine.
It costs $300–$900 to remove a mine. It will cost $33 billion to remove them. It will take 1,100 years.
Governments spend $200–$300 million a year to detect and remove 10,000 mines. Cambodia, Angola and Afghanistan are the most heavily mined countries in the world.
40% of all land in Cambodia and 90% in Angola go unused because of land mines. One in 236 Cambodians is an amputee.
She hears children crying as doctors struggle to remove metal from her skin. She cannot raise her hands to cover her ears. Perpetual crying penetrates her heart. Tears of blood soak her skin.
The technical mine that took her right leg off that fateful day as she walked along village rice paddies expanded outward at 7,000 meters per second. Ball bearings shredded everything around her heart.
It may have been an American made M16A1, shallow curved with a 60-degree fan shaped pattern. The lethal range was 328 feet. Or maybe a plastic Russian PMN-2 disguised as a toy. She never saw it coming after stepping on the pressure plate.
Fortunately or unfortunately, she didn’t die of shock and blood loss. A stranger stopped the bleeding, checked her pulse and injected her with 200cc of morphine. Strangers in a strange land all carried morphine.
Cut the heavy, deep and real shit, said a shaman.
Fear is a tough sell unless it’s done well, well done, marinated, broiled, stir-fried, over easy, or scrambled.
Fear is ignorance.
Language of unknowing is big.
What we don't know is bigger than time. Bigger than the time we are given to understand it.
People are more affected by how they feel than what they understand.
Longer than tomorrow, time is invisible, anxious.
Time weeps. Time laughs.
Time offers rice to a Buddhist monk.
Time disappears into lost wind whispering in pines along the Black Sea.
Time paints a picture of a Lao lover leaving for distant shores where time washes stones.
one morning i assembled my tools.
scrubbing and scouring my day away. see my hand.
two men talked in the market.
one said, i lost today.
what do you mean? you made 3,000,000 lira today.
yes but i lost one day.
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