sound

My speech voice is missing.

I make rolling guttural sounds expressing metaphors, similes, intonations, frequencies, meaning, sense, time, ideas, dreams, relationships, secrets, my traditional family values, fear, passion, heart and sadness. Joy.

By the time I learned the alphabet it was late in life toward primordial dusk.

Late in the moment from before now and then. Late in the whisper of silent air singing from the trash collector’s plastic bottle. He pulls his rolling cart. Filled with cardboard. A muscular rhythm stirs sonomulent dust on broken stones. I see, said the blind girl. You can’t step in the same river twice.  

Possibilities and probabilities, chance and coincidence flutter finger fragments. Unknown mysterious sensations fling from my signing hands. Fingers and hands are language extensions. Blossom being. My lover visualizes me in tropical brown skin toned worlds. He imagines I will join a hearing impaired community. He’s a dreamer. I jump ahead in my story. It won’t happen. I am a slave.

Finding Rita

Greetings,

After nine months away Banteay Seri, Kabal Spleen river source and Ta Som temple were a deep JOY.

One day-in. One day-out. Delightful return feeling reconnected with ancient energies. Simple, immediate and direct.

At Ta Som I was delighted to be reunited with Rita. She was with friends near the East temple. They were hoping tourists might stop. Perhaps to say hello, see their hand-made items or get to know them. They sell before and after school. I met Rita in February. She is 14 and in the 6th grade.

We had a wonderful reunion. She said she still rides her bike, uses the whiteboard, markers and English books to teach the village children. They were gifts from Julia. "I see a leader in her eyes." 

Rita looked radiant. She's a happy kid.

Below is a link to the original post. 

http://tmleonard.squarespace.com/julia-wakes-up-in-cambodia/

Metta.

Rita, (L) and her friends at Ta Som.

Hello June

Greetings,

May said goodbye. Goodbye. It's been fun hanging out with you for 31 little clicks. Yes it has, said June all bright and beautiful. Now I'm here with the sweet smell of summer. I am filled with destiny and hope.

Hope for what, asked May. See what happens, said June. You are history.

Yes you are, said the Khmer woman with a long dark shadowed shallow lined face slowing crossing the street. She wears a floral sarong, green blouse with a checkered red and white cotton scarf around her neck. She has a walking stick. She hopes for charity. Her hands are pressed together in a sign of blessing, gratitude.

Her age is unknown. Someone gives her paper money. Her dark recessed eyes say thank you. Raised palms say thank you. Her life is a walking meditation. Daily. Two barefoot monks wrapped in bright orange robes pass by. In silence. 

A man rings a bell. 

All the expectations were from the outside. 

Metta.