Namaste,
You know the lyrics. Remember the music.
They call it Stormy Monday. Tuesday's just as bad. Wednesday's worse and Thursday's just as sad.
The eagle flies on Friday and on Saturday I go out to play. Sunday I go to church get down on my knees and pray.
Lord have mercy.
Ain't nothin but the blues kiddies. Elementary
Metta.
Namaste,
Being a student is a tough assignment. 6th and 7th grade. English, religions of the world, history.
He walks through the monsoon now, sooner or later.
I am not your mother, father or nanny.
Pay attention. Stay on task.
Focus on student production. Request feedback.
It's not how long you are here, it's the amount of work you do.
Coming down.
Welcome to the tropics. Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller.
..."One walks the streets knowing that he is mad, possessed, because it is only too obvious that these cold, indifferent faces are the visages of one's keepers. Here all boundaries fade away and the world reveals itself for the mad slaughterhouse that it is. The treadmill stretches away to infinitude, the hatches are closed down tight, logic runs rampant, with bloody cleaver flashing."
Student ideas. What do you want to learn? How will you improve your English and general education?
Learn how to feed yourself.
Metta.
Namaste,
He received an offer to be a student in a private school in Laos. 82 days after applying from Nepal. High to low elevations.
She spoke specifics. Grade 7 history. Grade 6 social studies. They need to understand more of the world.
He said, it's a small world. Let's paint it. She said, bring your palette. We provide paints. Students need to understand more of themselves, our small significant way in the world. Yes, we do. Thank you.
He shifted from Cambodia to Laos. A prop jet in clouds.
He sits near the Mekong. Deep, wide and fast. Ride a bike through mud. Delicious. Follow your bliss.
Engage, study, activate.
Metta.
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.
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
Share Article