Burma Brothers Grim

Since July, representing an English language company in Mandalay, he facilitated English and Creativity with Grades 1 & 2 every afternoon at a private school in the rural countryside.

Two Burmese brothers owned the new school with 500 students from G1-11. The Brothers Grim - this ain’t no fairy tale.

The last five months were joyful then…

In the last week of Now I Remember, (seven days past) while Grade 2 was drawing and coloring houses, dragons, dinosaurs, sun, trees, flowers, river, fish, boats, rainbows, people and dreams – pain, suffering and stupidity said hello.

100 Grade 11 male and female students gathered in a semi-circle on the cement patio outside the primary classroom. They faced steps and ornate golden script atop the cheap grandiose building:

Developing Youth, Character and Future Leaders Through Fear and Intimidation.

A stack of papers with all the names waited on a desk.

Headmaster brother in a white shirt and purple patterned Longyi, held a 4’ bamboo stick.

His voice echoed into hearts and minds - you failed the exam. You will receive your punishment.

Taking a paper from the stack he called out a name. A girl stepped forward, climbing two steps with her back to the crowd.

He measured the bamboo stick against her buttocks, coiled and unleashed the blow. Whack!

Her face stiffened. He coiled. Whack!

A small tear graced her left eye.

She rejoined her classmates.

99 passive students waited to feel sharp stinging lashes.

Primary assistant teachers oscillated between helping students and watching the angry headmaster swing his bamboo stick.

Name after name.

Chattering with friends, children colored a large red heart floating over a blue river.

Brother #2 entered the classroom.

Why is he beating the students, said the foreign teacher?

They failed the exam. Whack!

Parents want us to punish their children. They see we are doing our job. Whack!

It’s part of our culture. Whack!

Maybe we’ll change it in two or three years. Whack!

The foreign teacher and thirty children practiced meditation.

Breathe in and out.

Inhale suffering and exhale love.

Mindful awareness.

Mindful seeing.

Mindful attention.

Mindful presence.

Calm abiding.

He hugged each child. We created a loving environment.

You are a beautiful rainbow and a genius.

I love you.

Our time together is finished.

You are in my heart.

alive is a miracle

Alive is a miracle.

Smile. Hunt with a camera.

Words are dancing airplanes winging southwest with orange balloon morning and hungover Mekong tourists.

Word weave shuttles. Fire. Spirit. Fog, river, a boat, current, mystery wills, orange glow coasting past a flow. A bell.

Japanese sensitivities in a cloud break.

Mekong sings new puzzling futures, passing, pulsating, wearing an umbrella to protect statues for eye glazed travel books gripped by design opticians with lost favorable vacant eyed distrust and disquiet.

The DISQUIET of chopsticks probing teeth smiling tremendous labor unrest as a character,

A wisp of porcelain skin finalities gently lowers her eyes sublime gesture.

Writing down bi-lingual laughter (a sling was the first human vehicle) a mother sang, cradling her infant from eye candy distractions.

Fleeting retinas shield eyes real eyes realize real lies.

Accelerate around a corner of a dream with a lotus blossom.

Yangon, Myanmar

get to the verb - TLC 57

A German-made Bombardier Metro sped through subterranean optical illusions.

An old man wearing a crumpled white hat negotiated a slippery cobblestone slope with his wife.

She was his noun, he her verb.

“Get to the verb,” he said.

Their language of love complemented autumn browns, yellows and greens, golden sparrows, blue jays and preening lovey doves.

Streets named Regret and Laughter welcomed human potential.

Passion and heartbreak danced with death as a Moon Metro hurtled through folds in space-time.

Silent salient passengers wore sad eyed emptiness. They craved sleep in a tyranny of sheep-less-mess. 

Man Delay, Burma

Wandering Mandalay.

Hey Orphan, your Mystery bike is faster now.

Yeah, we visited a shop after seeing the old tire hanging on a nail next to a white shirt drying in the sun.

It had four months of accumulated dust and grime and road songs.

He was a nice guy, filled the tires, blasted Mystery with water, soaped and scrubbed it down, air hosed it dry, oiled the chain, re-calibrated Shimano gears and said, I'm going to Japan next year to see my family.

Say again. Spin them wheels.

the long now

Events, characters, setting, impressions. Energies and frequencies.

Remember Coco speaking in Fujian, China? She watched all the university students walk past the old village people. "They are all peasants."

Years later the rich Chinese man in Laos served you fresh green Fujian tea at the Luang Prabang guesthouse. "Children are tools," he said. He had two. They arrived in a Raging Rover using GPS.

Discernment with sensitivity.

Engaged by a stimulus. Disengaged from a stimulus.

Truth-Force.

Signal-Noise

High season in V. Perfect for drawing twilight as scooters mumble putt putt exhausted fear based laughter succumbing to circumstance. Yoke said a verb is a condition. Her insight was victorious. Word got back that all but three 8th grade students were caught cheating on their Lao exams. No surprise there. Delight in the sly, cunning attitude.

On 10 November determination chopped ice, shifting passive years, gears and fears into a zonal transparency of blank eyes. Is-land tourists became localized stimuli wandering blank.

It's a meaningful coincidence.

We are literary outlaws.

Explanation is a well dressed mistake.

The long now.

We connect the dots forward. Play an infinite game of chess.

Checkmate, said Death.

Content vs form.

Existence precedes essence.