Old man coyote

“A dream is an unfulfilled wish,” answered a kid with a Ph.D in psychoanalysis from the Jung Institute.

“What else did he say?” 

“He said, ‘There is no royal road to wisdom. To arrive in the future I must journey to the past. To attain the sanity of oneness with the One, I must risk the whirling madness of the possessed. One must confront their shadow or be crushed by it.”

“I like it,” said a seer named Rumi. “What else?”

“Well, here’s a cool thing he said. ‘”I liken the formation of a character to weaving fabric. You know what happens when you make a mistake? The whole pattern is spoiled. You have a choice, you can finish the garment, however it will always be botched and ugly, or you can unravel the weaving back to the first mistake and start again. That’s basically what analysis is about. It’s a tedious job. The patient is scared and hostile. The analyst lends patience, honesty and courage.’”

“Excellent,” yelled kids, “here’s to our being patient patients with courage and authenticity.”

“Speaking of courage, I’m looking for someone who knows reading and writing,” Rose said to the children.

“Oh, I don’t know anything about reading and writing,” a child told Rose. “I thought you said eating and fighting. I know about that.” 

“Perfect, let’s go together,” said Rose.

“Do you know any good stories?” a child asked Rose.

“A few. Would you like to hear one?”

“Sure.”

“This is a story about Old Man Coyote.”

“Old Man Coyote stood on the bank of a river with a friend. It was early spring and the river at that point was more than a mile across. After watching the sun set in the west, his friend said, ‘Tell me, Coyote, what is it that transcends everything in creation?’”

“Old Man Coyote pointed at the muddy water in the river and said, ‘When you drink all the water in this stream, then I will tell you.’”

“I’ve already done that,” his friend said. He defiantly crossed his arms over his chest.

“Then I must have already told you!” Old Man Coyote said.

“Very good,” said a child. “Know any more?”

“Ok, one more, then I need to roll along. Lots of children to see today.” 

“One bright summer day, Rabbit asked Old Man Coyote, ‘Where is the right path?’”

“The right path is the one that leads into the forest,” replied Old Man Coyote.

“I'm not asking about that one!”

“Well, what path are you asking about?”

“I'm asking about the Path of Knowledge,” said Rabbit.

“Oh,” said Old Man Coyote. “That path! That path is very clear. It is as straight as a bowstring. You can face it without hesitation. But I’m warning you, all who travel along that path trouble only themselves.”

weave

namaste on new year, new day, new moment.

elf sits with boua mon, a weaver in a village across the mekong. they met in 2010. she is gentle and kind.

her smiling laughter is infectious. women sit, sharing food, stories.

she looms silk threads. click, clack. click-clack. diamond designs. abundance.

 

silk worms

the cosmic free writing curious explorers

began an admirable multi-hued

rainbow experience

inside

outside

their small infinite

portal of no fear dialogue

sensing light and color

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.