BIG Time

One curious phenomena here in the land of Turnkey is BIG Time. It is predominant, predictive and highly fashionable. BIG Time is displayed in a wide variety of large grandiose opulent design styles, colors and assorted analog displays. You can't miss the huge pieces of Time displayed on wrists with panache and glamour.

Frequent sightings include super sized chromatic sundial devices featuring a weight lifter because, for the majority of wage slaves, Time is a heavy burden.

Their second hand laconically sweeps piles of debris stranded on corners past extremely bored women studying their undulating reflection between numerals 12 and 6.

A wild rabbit dragging a pocket Watch Out! ran down Dream Time Street yelling, "I'm late, I'm late for a very important date, no Time to say hello, goodbye, I'm late, I'm late, I'm late!"

The rabbit passed Mr. Historian holding out his hat.

"What are you doing?" said Mr. Rabbit.
"I am begging people to give me their wasted hours."

Turnkey questions

People love asking questions. Can you make a question a statement? That’s a fine question.

The Turnkey people find it amusing and perhaps vaguely interesting when I tell them the first question a Chinese persona asks you.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Why do they ask this,” wondered a mechanical engineer.

“Millions of Chinese starved during various dynasties. Many perished for lack of food during Chairman Mao’s attempts to industrialize the country. He said, 'Let them eat grass,' so they ate grass.”

It’s an old song and dance, this question, this opening move in life’s chess game of experiences people get to play.

Most people here only know about China through the media. Discovery this, discovery that.

One thing Turnkey and Chinaware share is a poor, shall we say, inadequate education system. People here in the Kingdom of thirteen civilizations are not afraid to say it. They say it straight.

“Our education system is poor.”
“Can you explain?” asked a visitor from somewhere else, from out near the eastern border where nomads grazed nocturnal beasts under a full moon inside a lunar eclipse.

The moon is red because the sky is blue.

“I can try. To begin with, it’s top heavy. Too many adminstratlords grazing their flocks of paper. They love paper. Perhaps it’s the same in Chinaware.”

“Most definitely. Writing and paper was invented in my country. Ink and brush and paper; thin, strong yet pliable silk. Have you ever tried writing on silk? It’s amazing because the ink blends in and soaks through. If your turn it over you can read characters backwards. Did you know, perhaps it’s the same story with some minor modifications, how in Chinaware every single citizen has a file?”

“Really, a file?”

“Yes, a file containing every single bit of data, every fragment of their life from birth to the present day or Now. Files on every single solitary family member; their place and residence of birth; location of their hovel complete with straw mattress bedding, iron wok, dilapidated radio, rusty bedpan which is carried outside every morning and dumped in the hutong community sewer where it attracts flies; their school records (if they are lucky enough to attend school which is usually the case in the cities, but not the extreme interior or far western lands where children work in fields and never see a classroom); their WORK unit factory, area schools and local hospitals.

“You see,” they continued, “the state government has always needed to control it’s citizens for various reasons like fear, power and propaganda and so, hundreds and thousands of years ago, a powerful solitary eunuch in the Forbidden City came up with this idea about registering every citizen.

“They ran it past the Emperor’s advisors who chopped a piece of paper with their official seal to indicate approval. It was a blood red chop engraved with a character indicating their name and position. The chopped document passed through the channels until it reached Mr. BIG.

“Wow, I imagine some have very large files.”

“You better believe it. In fact I met a Chinese teacher at a private business university and asked her about the possibility of her finding another teaching job.”

“You must be joking!” she exclaimed, or explained with pain inside her heart.

“My heart is heavy,” she sighed. “They require or force us to sign a five-year contract. Then after one year, they give us another five-year contract to sign.”

“What happens if you decide not to sign another contract and tell them you are happy to finish the original one?”

“Are you kidding me? They will make my life miserable for the next four years. They will tighten the screws. The old man behind the big brown desk will solemnly nod and say, ‘You’d better think this over very carefully.’”

“In other words, when you open your mouth and express your personal desire he will issue you a subtle threat, a warning?”

“Of course he will. He realizes I am capable of changing my mind, of making a decision, a free choice. ‘Unheard of! he will think. This one is dangerous. She can poison others with her radical counter-revolutionary ideas. She is a threat to social order and a harmonious society.’”

“It sounds like a bad dream.”

“More like a recurring nightmare,” she said, “if you want to know the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me Mao.”

“How now Mao?”

Chinese Teachers Report For Duty

Ah, what a great summer in China. I don't make much money as a University teacher you understand, so I use it carefully and wisely. Family is big deal here and to avoid relationship clashes of dynastic proportions, I shelled out roughly $200, or a third of my salary, for a round trip train ticket home.

After paying my University an exorbitant rental fee on my drab, empty apartment and electricity and water, I barely had enough left over for soggy onions, fresh spinach, tofu, rice and fruit.

Home is where, they say, the heart is. Well let me give you a little advice about that. I left my heart in San Francisco. Just a bad joke from an old song. Singing the blues, which is life's way of talking, I dutifully lugged my broken suitcase home to hearth and kin.

Whew! So much guilt, so much Duty. I am overwhelmed by the heavy burden of my family's expectations.

After fulfilling all my academic responsibilities (meaning - Pass all the students - or face the dire consequences) given to me by the University Authorities who, will for the sake of Social Stability and Harmonious Educational Reform Committees, remain faceless, nameless and totally obscure, I escaped from my prison.

It took twenty-two long, boring, tedious endless hours sitting in "hard seat" with three transfers and the stations were packed out with homeless migrants, laborers and prostitutes. People without a wing, hope or prayer. The ancient Oracle predicted this development.

Mothers and fathers formed concentric protective circles around their children to prevent thieves from stealing them. Stolen kids are a HUGE underground economy here as you may or may know. People will gladly pay large sums for a boy because they have a higher value in our NEW economy.

Human life is cheap here so Stealing, Selling and Buying children is just part of the way things work.

Speaking of work, I've gotta run because I must help mother with the cleaning, shopping and endless chores. If I don't perform my filial duties she may threaten to sell me. I'll be returning to my other life as a teacher next week after I report back for Duty and will file another report.

The Three Baboons

Then, one day he saw three baboons. They were part of a tribe living in his neighborhood. This is how it happened around dawn.

A blond corn-plaited hairy one stuck her head out of a 5th story window and spit. She watched the spittle fly past trees and SPLAT! on the pavement.

She looked around and they saw each other. She smiled. Her upper teeth were small and sharp. She started jabbering in her strange language. Her sounds, her words were questions. She wanted to know something.

Here is a rough translation.
“Where do you come from?”
“Are you alone?”

"Do you have money?"
“Do you want sex?”
She made many sounds but that’s the essence. Baboon language is simple and direct.

He just stared at her and smiled. She smiled. They smiled at each other.

She disappeared. A moment later she returned with two friends. One had dark hair, very hard eyes and big floppy breasts. She shook them side to side while speaking to him.

“Look at these watermelons,” she said.
They were heavy fruit.

Another baboon joined them. She was blond with sapphire eyes and straight hair with short spiked bangs. Her oval face smiled and she stuck out her tongue. A shiny silver post glistened from the middle. Laughing like a child, she rolled her tongue around, up and out like a little snake. Every now and then a snake needs to find a cave.  

She appeared to be the most playful one in the group.

All three stared at him and jabbered again, making suggestions and questions with their inarticulate yet clearly understood sounds.

“Where are you from?”
Blah, blah, blah.
“How old are you?”
"Do you have money?"
“Do you want sex?”

The plaited hair one got halfway out on the narrow balcony and crouched down, opening her legs. She started riding an imaginary wild mustang. Her eyes and face assumed a state of ecstasy.

The one with hard eyes started gesturing with her hand, massaging empty space. He stared at this spectacle and smiled.

They laughed. The power of suggestion.

The silver posted one kept smiling and flicking her tongue in and out, like breathing.

They were full of energy and wanted some action. Such amazing, funny and strange wild baboons!
 

Bhutan

Spanish church bells buried in the Plaza de Dreams, a fictitious manifestation of reality, a conglomeration of his experience, tolled as people toiled. He didn’t steal a line, a title from Earnest about ringing bells. He paid his toll and crossed to the other side of paradise.

A wandering Chinese monk shared a talkstory with Omar.

“One day in the Himalayas I hiked to a meditation hut above Taktsang, Tiger’s Nest, in Druk Yul overlooking the Paro valley laced with rice paddies, rhododendron, fir, spruce, hemlock and barley fields.

“Guru Padmasambhava or Guru Rimpoche (Precious Teacher) was the spiritual founder of the Nyingmapa old school of Himalayan Buddhism in 800 A.D. which is still taught in central Bhutan. Tantric Buddhism in Bhutan dates to 450 A.D. and is the esoteric form of the Drukpa Kagyupa Buddhist School. The state religion of Mahayana Buddhism or the Great Vehicle was established in the 8th century.

“According to legend, Rimpoche subdued many demons in Paro and central Bhutan. At one time he had two wives, an Indian and a Tibetan. He transformed his Indian wife into a tiger and flew to Taktsang Monastery in the 8th century.

“Tiger’s Nest is a series of small tight buildings built into the cliff. It is composed of intricate staircases, stone flagging, a small open air kitchen, balconies, rooms for sleeping, and meditation. I was welcomed by boys and monks who showed me a small meditation room filled with statues, offerings of rice, coins, fruits and vegetables.

“They showed me the cave where Rimpoche lived for three years. Three monks appointed by the chief abbot in Thimphu live here for three years for meditation study and are followed by novice monks in their spiritual meditations.

“Taktsang, destroyed by a fire in 1998, was rebuilt.

“I traveled east along the spine of the dragon climbing to 10,000 feet dropping into valleys and climbing again. Distinct elevations consist of grasslands, crop lands, forests, hardwoods, coniferous forests, soft woods, alpine meadows, yak pastures, and glaciers. Barley, wheat and potatoes are primary spring and summer crops from 7,500-13,000’ with the tree line coming at 12,000-14,000' and coniferous replacing hardwoods above 8,000’.

“I passed West Bengal and Indian road gangs working at quarter mile intervals. They perform hard work carrying large rocks and crushing granite to repair and fill the endless washouts. They will live and work here for two or three years maintaining the roads before being replaced by new workers from northern India. Their living situation is very grim. Shelters are woven reeds, fortified with any materials they can find along the rivers. They carry their children on their backs as they work. Younger ones sleep along the road under torn black umbrellas.

“Ten thousand people live in the Bumthang area. Small shops and stores along the single main street serve as homes and business. Built of wood with small steel stoves and chimneys, the rooms are multipurpose; selling in front, eating and sleeping quarters in the rear. Merchandise includes thread, wool, fabric for weaving, canned goods, small toys, sweets, local spirits, spices, eggs, a limited supply of green vegetables, a few green apples, and soap.

“The architecture is Tibetan, rectangular buildings are two-three stories high, a pitched roof with open space holding firewood and fodder. The middle floor is for storage of grains, seeds and foodstuffs. The upper floor is the living quarters, broken into smaller rooms. The ground floor on a working farm is for the cattle. If not, there are windows at this level with a shop, storeroom, kitchen, and servant’s quarters.

“I arrived at a monastery in the foothills overlooking the town where 300-500 Bhutanese gathered to receive a blessing from a lama. Children and adults sit and talk on rows of timber slabs on the sun baked ground.

“Three monks blew long wood and silver jallee horns to chase evil spirits away. The lama, Nam Kha Nen Boo, is Khenbow, a reincarnation of a former monk known for his fortune telling power. He was seated and read in a low tone of voice for twenty minutes and used a small hand held drum and bell.

“Finished, he moved among the people touching us on the head with a statue called a Tshtshto. This dignifies the life of a human with a blessing “Have a long life.” People approached with offerings for his blessing. Bags of red string, flour, and jenlap, a nutmeg like substance, were offered. One lama handed each person jenlap. Another lama gave each person a single red string to be worn around the neck.

“I visited the Jakar Dzong. The head lama opened large doors in the quiet spiritual center. Ornate sculptures of Padmasambhava and flickering yak butter lamps filled the center wall. Inside another room was a ten foot high statue of the guru, bronze statues with salt and butter flower carvings.

“Display cases with hundreds of identical 5-6" Buddha statues sat in tiered arrangement extending the length of the room, reaching the ceiling. Larger images depicted historical and religious levels of spiritual attainment.

“My meditation is on The Eightfold Path or Middle Way between self-indulgence and self modification. The eight orders are: Right Views, Right Purpose, Right Speech, Right Conduct, Right Livelihood, Right Effort, Right Awareness, and Right Concentration or Right Meditation.

“I have a diamond in my mind. I am alive and empty in the here, now, and present. I know imagination is better than knowledge. Now I travel south on a path through the jungle.”

“Be well,” said Omar.