Two Angels

There was this angel in Spain. She was really an English angel but she lived in Spain for a short time with her English angel husband. He loved her more than anything in, on, around or above the world. This was angel territory. This was where they found true happiness.

The male angel’s name was Tom and his angel wife’s name was Franklin. She loved her angel name, bestowed on her by her angel parents in Devon.

They'd met at angel school taking flying lessons. Franklin started flying off the coast of Cornwall where the air was thin and pure. She received her first private flying lessons from Tom who had more angel experience.

They were young angels, relatively speaking as angels go, she was 22 and he was 18. Which is young for angels but not out of the ordinary. Their love, devotion and passion for each other was out of the ordinary.

Most angels when they meet a kindred spirit are, shall we say, quiet, dignified and reserved, especially if they are English angels.

“Like this,” he told her, holding her tight against the wind above the shale cliffs of Cornwall. Franklin was scared but knew she had to trust him. He let her go and she flew into the sky. It wasn’t the last time he would let her go.

“Look Tom,” Franklin yelled into the wind as her white wings sent her soaring. “I’m up, I’m up, I’m flying. Watch this.”

She zoomed high above the shore and did a somersault in mid-air. He joined her in the sky. He realized she was not only brave but fearless. Franklin was always ready to try new things.

Tom loved Franklin with all his heart. He was quiet and Franklin, well, she was a little more rambunctious and ready for anything.

Their angel nature was passion and dreams. They acted on their dreams after marriage. They traveled the world, well not the whole world, part of it, down to Africa. They helped others develop their powers. They flew back and forth between Africa and England for seven years. They spent summers showing English people how to play and create magic with African musical instruments. They spent winter in Africa creating a butterfly farm.

She loved traveling with Tom, seeing the world, meeting new people. She was always on the go. He liked the quiet life.

They settled into a comfortable yet exciting time together. One day, while they were flying over southern Spain heading to Africa for the winter Franklin spotted wild birds high above mountains.

“Look Tom, beautiful birds. What are they?”

“Let’s have a look,” and they adjusted their wings to descend. They caught thermals and drifted in circles.

It was a family out on the morning breeze. They were brown and golden Egyptian vultures with sharp eyes and curving beaks. The adults had a huge wingspan. They floated toward the angels.

“Here they come,” shouted Franklin.

“Wow,” yelled Tom, “they’re vultures. Amazing.”

The young ones stayed at a safe distance. Whenever Tom and Franklin moved in their direction they flew near their parents. Their parents investigated the angels out of curiosity.

The land beneath wild birds and angels was beautiful. Rolling hills full of thick green oak and cork trees, rivers coursed through fields around gray rocks, high mountains covered with green forests and canyons extended as far as they could see.

“Let’s go down and have look,” yelled Franklin. Tom waved his wings and they landed in a clearing. They went into an old white village.

“Where are we?” Franklin asked an angel on a narrow cobblestone street.

“Arcos,” said the angel. “Where are you from?”

“Many places,” Tom said. “We left England and are passing through to Africa.”

“Africa,” sighed the angel. “I’ve heard it’s lovely there this time of year.”

“Oh, it’s a special place,” said Franklin. “They have the most beautiful butterflies there. We’ve been going there for years now.”

“Must be nice,” said the angel. “I live here now.”

“Really,” said Tom. “What does Arcos mean?”

“We have some fun with that one. Here’s various ARCOS ideas from some of the angels and children in the village.”

“Angel Reunion Class Of Society”
“Angelic Resolve Celebration Over Shallowness”
“Angels Rejoice Calling Other Spirits”
“Angels Remember Consternation Of Species”
“Angels Remind Civilization Of Spirit”

“I like the last one,” said Franklin.

“Yes,” said the angel, “it’s a good one. Like a I said there’s a lot of work to do. Not only here but elsewhere.”

“Why Arcos?” said Tom.

“Oh, it’s simple really,” the angel said. “I passed through many places in the world and liked it here from the moment I landed. Work to do.”

“What kind of work?” asked Tom.

“Some of us are establishing a new angel school. Others are helping with various families and children. We’ve received the vibrations from here and chosen to stay. It’s a gift.”

“Sounds terribly delightful,” Franklin said looking around. The streets were white, house were white, the sky was cobalt. Nice, she thought. “Where are the kid angels?” she wondered, not having any of her own but loving them.

“They’re around.” said the angel. There was a mystery about the place which appealed to Tom and Franklin.

Late that night while they were curled up in early angel pre-sleep she said, “Tom shall we come back here someday?”

“Yes. We can come back. Perhaps we have something to offer.”

“Yes, perhaps we do,” said Franklin and they huddled together, kissed goodnight and dreamed.

That was seven years ago and now Tom and Franklin do not live together. They live with other angel friends. It was Franklin’s decision they should take a break from each other. She wanted to remain friends. Some angels can do this and some can’t. It’s hard for some angels to shift their feelings from married partners to friendship. After all, they wanted to give it a try. Tom had no choice but to accept Franklin’s wishes.

Franklin had an itch under her wings. She wanted to fly again. Really fly. Her itch was deeper than her heavy heart. It was gradual, this heart of hers growing heavy. It was a feeling, a lingering troublesome anxiety. It was a dream. Her angelic desires were wants, wishes, dreams.

There was a sad and lonely angel and a restless angel.

This was very hard on Tom because he loved Franklin with all his heart and missed her a great deal. He hoped they would get back together in the future.

The future for angels is very long. She said maybe. As an angel she really needed her space. It was just something that happens to some angels. Some are grounded in places where they feel really comfortable and some are always ready to fly away.

“Where will you go?” asked Franklin after she told him of her decision.

“I’ve always loved Africa,” Tom said. “We had some good times there. I miss the butterflies. I think that’s where I’ll go.”

“Great for you. I’ll come and visit you someday.”

“It’d be great to see you again,” he said. He felt like crying.

“Oh Tom, it’s really ok. Don’t cry,” said Franklin. She wanted to cry as well. “It’s just that I need to see and experience new things. I feel I have some new work to do in new places.”

“Goodbye Franklin,” Tom said one bright day when they were on a mountain above Arcos.

Franklin tested her wings and took off flying east. “Bye, Tom,” she said, “I’ll see you. Be well.”

“Take care, Franklin. I love you,” yelled Tom. He lifted off and headed south over the Mediterranean.

“I love you to,” Franklin’s voice echoed as she gained altitude and caught a thermal.

Kuwait 2/2

My management responsibilities involved targeting the top 10% of the Kuwaiti population; hiring, training, writing operations manuals, establishing budgets and marketing materials.

Members included Dutch real estate investors and developers, English bank managers and economists, American-Lebanese shipping owners, Egyptian managers of locally owned wholesale imported foods, British military defense consultants, international computer marketing directors and various embassy staffs.

I did public relations, purchased fitness and medical equipment and established the tennis program. I had a staff of 30 including a female English masseuse, Russian and Tunisian aerobic and fitness trainers for separate male and female classes, Jordanian lifeguards, an Egyptian squash coach and Filipino receptionists.

Dr. Ramadan, from Kuwait University was the cardiologist in charge of the Supervised Exercise Program. He conducted personal physical evaluations for every member. He measured strength, flexibility, oxygen consumption, body fat percentage, and resting heart rates before and after stress. He created personal fitness goals and programs.

Visas were impossible to come by. Tourists visited Bahrain and Dubai where there were fewer restrictions and more social life.

Nomadic Bedouin traders lived in the desert and gradually settled along the Gulf and began cultivating plentiful rich pearl beds. The Japanese cultured pearl industry knocked the bottom out of that enterprise. Due to a lack of fresh water supply until a desalinization plant was built, Kuwait sailed dhou boats into Iraq for fresh water.

Old photographs of Kuwait city show people filling up goat skin bags near mud walled fortresses before returning to their families in the desert.

While most of the population settled along the coast to trade with India, Persia and other Gulf regions, many remained connected to the land, focusing on natural seasonal migrations.

In the spring families and friends retreat to the desert with tents, televisions, servants and supplies. The eyes of the goat are reserved for visitors. Basic courtesies are: 1) eat with your fingers of your right hand 2) talk about family not business 3) never show the soles of your shoes 4) observe protocol and proper, correct manners. All the Kuwaitis I met were very kind. It was about hospitality.

The Kuwait infrastructure is well established. Extensive highways or ‘ring roads’ circle the city. The U.S. government has a Federal Highway Projects office here to guarantee the construction and modification of the road system. With over $50 billion invested in the states, Kuwait can easily afford to have the best highways money can buy, suitable for M1 tank battalions. Just in case as the first Gulf war in 1991 proved. Hospitals and clinics provide free health care services.

A simple existence became complicated and full of dramatic changes. Communities expanded as families exchanged sons and daughters forming connections in arranged marriages. They selected leaders to accept challenges by forming alliances with other gulf elders and created councils and cooperative states to face storms of various intentions.

White European explorers and businessmen arrived with maps and machines to drill into the desert looking for black gold. They redesigned maps to serve their national interests. Their discovery transformed the Bedouin’s lives. More and more strangers followed with their heavy equipment and map-making expertise.

Older generations settled down to conduct savvy business deals and work the international market. Japanese and Korean construction firms took advantage of the boom times to construct gleaming monolithic structures for banking, real estate and investment offices.

Daily state-run television news programs forecast a fourth consecutive day of ‘rising dust’ as yellow clouds obscure the earth. The temperature climbs past 100 and stays there.

A muezzin cries out from a mosque. Pure white crescent spires and booming speakers call the faithful to prayer five times a day. Men remove their shoes at the white marble entrance and kneel to touch foreheads on thick carpets as history repeats itself throughout the kingdoms. Part ritual, symbol, dream, reality.

I meet people on their pilgrimage through the desert.
A Filipino computer technician stationed in Baghdad on temporary assignment talked about retiring in five years to open his own fish farm at home with his wife and young boy.

I shared delicious fruit with a South African in the souk after he completed his pilgrimage to Mecca. I thanked him as we sat in the shade of crumbling mud walls, removing sweet tangerines from their skin.

“It is good fruit,” he said. We ate in silence seeing sandstorms near ancient cities waiting for archeologists to arrive armed with brushes, old maps, hammers and neolithic tools looking for knowledge and wisdom.

A businessman from Bombay going to Iraq invited me to visit his family for Divali, the Festival of Lights, celebrating the triumph of light over darkness, fortune over misfortune, good over evil.

“Oh, yes, surely you must come,” he said. “Our family will welcome you with open arms.” I agreed to try and visit but never made it.

A woman from Iraq in transit through Kuwait was returning home after seeing her husband in Abu Dubai. We met by chance. She was in a terrible emotional state.

“I don’t want to return home. I have no friends in Iraq. I have lost hope in my country. I failed my crucial third year exams in physics and cannot return to school.”

“I understand,” I said, feeling her sorrow and pain. “You will find the strength to continue on your path with good choices. I wish you well.”

In my heart I knew the scared woman didn’t require a degree in physics to see a bleak future full of famine, lack of medicine, starving children and deprivation in her country.

old man's hands

Old man’s hands.
Left hand’s purple veins, left ear hearing aid.

Adjusts watch on left wrist, withered tilted thin pale hand long purple spider web veins.
Right hand folds thin watch strap on thin wrist, compressing time flat.
Right hand dusts rice from table edge into middle. Hand brushes forehead skin.

His left hand, like my father’s dying skin, white veins dominate action, feeling space.
Many pens in pocket. Old down vest warming 60 year old skeleton.

One old man waits for his Japanese take-out meal. Carries it, trembling hands.
One grain of rice.

gathering material

full moon Hokkaido farmer
Ando Tokutaro -
Hiroshige (1797-1858) - orphan, woodblock artist
Edo period

collapsing kitchen utensils,
steel reactionaries
fish in moon reflection

obstinate tyrant selves dressed as elves
7 dwarves gather delicious apples
secrets of repressed fear, anger,
investigate
AIDS collusion secrets
collisions inside wild
stallions with maximum efficiency

monkey mind grasping attachment with desire
shake, rattle & roll

noble suffering
flaying corpses
for vulture’s lunch meeting

spinning clay
eating fire

sublime paradox

"It was love & passion that made us suffer"

“It’s not so much that there is something strange about time....the thing that’s strange is what’s going on inside time. We will understand how simple the universe is when we recognize how strange it is.”

the writer escape the tyranny of what really happened
dreaming his fictional dream

calculating - cost risk liability (CRI)
estimating - cost benefit analysis (CBA)
return on investment (ROI)

loom rivers flow in silence of words

- translated summer 2005

A Lhasa Temple

After entering the Barkhor you eventually reach a well fed flaming chorten on your right. Women sell juniper and cedar. Next to the chorten is a rectangular building containing a large prayer wheel as pilgrims pace worn stone spinning the wheel. Around the building are copper prayer wheels.

Up a small alley is a small two-story temple. This is where you go every day after dawn to sit with monks, often more than once a day. It has the feeling and energy you need.

Chanting, drums, incense, people being blessed. After spinning rows of copper prayer wheels lining the building, they enter and either pass into a small temple at the base or climb narrow stone steps and through a well worn door hanging into the upper level.

There are three ornate, copper plated Buddhas facing you. Past, present and future Buddhas. Their base is on the ground floor. Rows of butter lamps, fruit offerings, kata scarves, money, coins. On the right are two worn wooden benches. On the floor is a large pan full of round clay balls. People take a ball when they enter and rub the paste on their faces and hands before dropping it into a pan. They join people waiting to be blessed.

A monk sits on a raised platform swathed in burgundy robes. He holds the vajra diamond thunderbolt and bell in his left hand ringing out a continuous tone as he chants sutras. Gathered with bowed heads at his feet are jostling groups of pilgrims to receive his blessing. He goes through the cycle, chanting, touching people on their heads with the thunderbolt, then pours holy water on their heads. They ease away as others push forward.

Pilgrims flow into the room, spoon butter into the flickering candles, move clockwise past the Buddhas making their offerings. You rub the paste on your face and hands, kneel and feel the water penetrate your scalp before sitting on the bench next to smiling old women and men focusing on the compassionate eye.

Wandering in freezing January air appreciating the brilliant sky, snow covered mountains ringing the valley, joining the river of devout pilgrims mixed with sellers - skins, carpets, hats, heavy wool coats, prayer flags and kata scarves in rainbow colors, old saddles, bridles, gongs, cymbals, incense, prayer beads; turquoise, coral, glass, wood, stone, yak bone, cheap plastic.

It's a curious mix of the devout making their kora circular motion, spinning prayer wheels, clicking beads, moving along with the odd Chinese police, merchants, kids, and beggars.

Side streets offer tables of huge yellow cakes of butter, slabs of meat as laughing men hack through bone, weighing it up on old scales. Piles of yak heads, glistening butter, rolling carts of dried fruit from Xinjing - apricots, raisins, dates. Merchants from the far west in skull caps, white beards.

Off the Barkhor down narrow twisted alleys - found a coral and silver necklace from a single woman emptying her bags on a metal table covered in cardboard. She was all alone against a wall.

Severed tree branches with prayer flags stapled to their thin arms stand against a house. The trees have been cut into long slender segments. This New Year, or Losar, people will buy them, climb onto their roofs and replace the old ones on four corners.

A smiling man inks prayer flags. He sits in partial sun with rolls of white, red, blue, yellow, green cotton cloth to his left. On a pillow are two 8×10 carved wooden blocks. Black ink from a plastic bottle sits in a small pan. He sponges up what he needs and coats a block. He pulls white cloth over it, centers a segment, slides his hand into a torn plastic bag, starts at the bottom and applies pressure up, down, sideways. Ink bleeds fabric. He pulls fabric through, re-inks the block, repeating the procedure.

A man next to him cuts dried cloth into individual prayer flags, stapling rainbows to thin branches.