Butterfly of Consequence

The bats are back. They are roosting in the shade and protection of wide green fronds. Shhh.

Thumbing through the Moleskine. Here's a spring flashback entry. On March 23rd I gave my 90-day notice at the introverted strange private Catholic school in Jakarta. I sculpted the clean, real, honest and clear missive focusing on a June departure. Thank you for the opportunity. Time to fly. Enough.

I'd been alerted on January 9th when the Director sent an SMS to Surely, my supervisor. Ironically the big D wasn't wearing her specs and also sent it to me. It was a Friday night, Surely and I with her two kids had visited a local bookstore and then sat down at an Indian restaurant for nan, curry and sustenance with flavor. We were outside. The SMS arrived in a brown paper bag. Innocuous.

Briefly, it said, "Grade 4 parents called Terrible, the principal, and they want Tim replaced. We have to talk."

This was a positive sign. It alerted me to the realties, the parental influence and how I needed to refocus and redefine for myself, kids and parents, the specific balance between academic responsibility and freedom. Simple.

I learned some were not happy with the academic progress and structure. Some, not all, the parents were unhappy with my methods, the material and the personal evaluations and feedback I was giving their child.

I took immediate steps in class to make sure the kids and their parents were:

1) writing/sharing this balanced approach to learning in their daily Agenda notebook. Some parents, especially those activily involved in their child's educational progress would read it. Accountability.

2) understanding the benchmarks and various assessment on process tools - speaking, reading comprehension, listening and writing classroom evaluations and academic expectations. Get it in writing.

I shared the responsibility with kids and parents to understand the what, why and how process in the classroom and beyond.

I considered my options. They wanted me to stay for another year but I'd learned what I needed to learn about their system, parental controls, influence, mediocrity, became a better teacher and knew it was time to complete the little chapter and turn the page.

After I submitted a copy to the Director of English who was shocked to realize I'd acted to regain my freedom from the tyranny with such a responsible dignified and professional personal action, I dropped one off at Human Resources.

On my way out of the administration zone the final door handle came off in my hand, cheap stuff - "Oh, NO! I'm trapped in the system!"

I laughed, seeing the cosmic significance, handed it to an office girl and pried open the door. Close call.

While traversing a green lawn back to class tombs breathing deep relief I found a brown butterfly with a damaged wing. I carried it on my folder to a safe place. Then I planted seeds with the kids and we cultivated a garden. Together.

Metta.

A Chiroptera

I am an Old World bat. The family name is chiroptera. The sub-orders are megachiroptera and microchiroptera.

I am the only, yes! the only mammal in the entire known ecologically diverse animal kingdom that can really fly, sustaining myself on wind currents, up/down drafts and rough drafts of manuscripts and blog entries before they get cut down to size. I am too agile to get cut down. My size is perfect. I am a very valuable, important and productive member of the eco-system. I will explain.

It happened like this.

After a night of flying through amazing black skies illuminated by a faint moon and eating insects with delicious fruit for desert I was resting in a fifty-foot tall coconut palm tree between two squashed together homes in a Ha Noi suburb.

I've been roosting under the long thick leafy branch for awhile now. It's a temporary home until my younger brother gets his wings. Soon I hope because we need to expand our territory. It's a comfortable habitat high away from predators like snakes, cats, and creatures who enjoy tasty bat meat.

Anyway, like I said, I was roosting upside down which is the normal position for bats using my claws to grasp green fibers and I had an itch. I needed to stretch out my voluminous wingspan, my membranes. Natural enough. I rustled around and then, due my superior enhanced audio and visual systems which allow me to navigate, find food and survive, I detected a pair of eyes on me.

Yes me! I'd been seen. Discovered. I shriveled into myself. I pondered this dilemma.

After remaining as quiet as a mouse (easy to catch at night by the way if I'm feeling hyper aggressive) I peeked out from under my wings, through the leaves. Much to my surprise, sitting in his third floor room looking at me was some strange creature.

I hung on for dear life. He seemed harmless enough.

Actually, to tell the truth I am a hybrid bat, or to be really scientific about it, a CHIROPTERA. Write that down. Try and say it fast three times and you can impress your friends at parties.

I am the MEGA and the MICRO in the Bat Kingdom. Kind of like the Alpha and the Omega.

I have the most highly developed combination of DNA characteristics found in bats. The Mega has large eyes, excellent vision and claws on their second digit. The Micro has small eyes and uses echolocation to find nourishing insects. I have amazing visual and hearing genetic traits. 

Twilight's calling.

Metta.

Two Old Friends

Always up early to get out and capture light inside the old city. It's always a delightful feeling to be free, curious and wandering. Before noise and lightning bolts of laughter's language fill the air.

And so it was in Hoi An. Down to the river and Japanese Bridge to sit near two elderly women.

They were surprised to see a foreigner sitting alone with coffee. Good thick and black, mixed with ice. I smiled. They smiled and whispered. Strange man. Alone. Has a camera. It's so early for him.

They invited me to join them. We had our humanity and morning in common. It was enough.

I imagined their lives extended all the way back to childhood, growing up here and now meeting every morning for conversation, walking and tea. Then, holding each other's arm, they'd walk through deserted quiet streets, passing yellow walled homes with red tile roofs protecting long deep brown interiors.

Interiors where ancestors whispered stories from the 15th-19th century when Hoi An was the major port in Southeast Asia and the first Chinese settlement in southern Vietnam.

Ships from all over the world arrived to purchase, among other things: high-grade silk, paper, porcelain, tea, sugar, molasses, Chinese medicines, elephant tusks, sulphur and mother-of-pearl.

Couples played badminton, stretching, talking. A boat woman set up her small portable clay figurines.

The two women finished their tea, gestured goodbye and walked across the wooden bridge to continue their morning exercise. Taking care of each other.

Metta.

Ulus Club Scene

I came across a story in the NYT today about a hot new expensive trendy fancy pants nightclub in Istanbul called Ulus 29. I lived in Turkey for a year, teaching English, finishing my little opus, A Century is Nothing, making images and staying alive to tell the tale.

In Ankara there is an ancient part of town called Ulus. The excellent Museum of Anatolian Civilizations is in Ulus.

Ulus was my favorite area in the cold boring government city filled with Russian hookers, Mafia, faceless paper pushers and friends. Did I mention the well adjusted people and anxiety ridden urban population wearing huge watches to tell time something important and popping pills to relieve themselves of anxiety, passionate guilt, remorse, loss and fear? Probably.

I went to Ulus on my day off to sit with cafe owners, carpet makers and dealers, ceramic artists, painters, booksellers, antique junk sellers and the working class. Here are nine images.

These people probably have no idea there is a club named Ulus 29 in Istanbul and they could care less. You may as well be talking about extraterrestrial life in a distant galaxy.

Metta.

Buy the ticket, take the ride

We've all heard various people say over the course of their life, "There's no such thing as a free lunch." Free. As in no cost, gratis, gratuitous, complimentary, costless. Cost nothing.

The other day I invited Nga to visit the Bookworm, an excellent well stocked bookstore in Ha Noi.

We found a couple of books. She loves politics and history and picked up one by Obama. My choice was The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz. He'd been on my list and a used copy had just arrived.

Outside as we were leaving Nga spotted a a box of books on a table. "What's this?" she asked. The owner said, "They are free."

"Really! May I take them all? My school library needs more English books."

"Yes."

A heavy thunderstorm had saturated the books. I was loading them into plastic bags and spotted a dog eared paint splattered thin bent spine rag of a book near the bottom of the pile. I picked it up and the cover stuck to my hand because of the water damage. It was an abstract paint job with black and yellow smeared with white. Pure Jackson Pollack.

I could make out part of the title, "Fear and Loath.... by Hunter S. Thom...."I smiled. An excellent find. Perfect renewal of wild rambling Rolling Stone adventures.

As Hunter said, "True Gonzo reporting needs the talent of a master journalist, the eye of an artist/photographer, and the heavy balls of an actor." He established the style and standard. Often parodied, never duplicated.

A gratis spirit.

Metta.