Never Let Your Fire Go Out...

Shampula Storm

“No matter how rough it gets, never let your fire go out” Zeke

Last night’s rain cleared the atmosphere revealing a labyrinth of mountains with lurid definition yet as I write these meek words the omnipotent raindrops plunk on my tin roof as a misty curtain draws over Shampula which fades to dismal grey. The aroma of sweet moisture satiates my nostrils along with the parched landscape and thirsty crops, this is spring in the last Himalayan Buddhist Kingdom of Bhutan. The rainfall soaks the moldering leaves on the groves soggy bottom, sinking into the roots of the potato plants in the fields, pouring over the sinuous road, dripping down the ancient stones of Tsangma’s ruined fortress. Like the mountains I am also emerging from my muzzy state into a moderate degree of lucidity. By midafternoon the showers have ceased and smoke has filtered into the valley limiting visibility to Blithing and the landslide under the road. In the morning one could see the seven mirrored ridges interlocking towards the eastern horizon and now only two remain.  Sometimes I feel like an interloper in a strange land but at least I’m a grateful interloper and know I add something here. The real test of ones mettle is in the classroom where the most paramount contributions are made. Afterschool was Social Service Club and I am thankful to have Ashish AKA Butterfly co-coordinating with me. Today the students filled in an old latrine that had become a de-facto trash pit. Usually I am picking trash alongside the members but today I supervised the more labor intensive project. Nearby hair club barbered their primary volunteers with locks scattering in the breeze. The little ones tie handkerchiefs onto their miniature gho or kira to dab their runny noses and at assembly one can hear a lot of phlegmy coughs. I’m feeling better every day realizing my last posts were melancholy. Those melancholies are a part of my soul but fortunately a zestful exuberance burns at my core so you never have to worry about me. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t so privy to the darkness but some of us have that gift. But joy is the foundation for existence even if that makes me a hedonist. Of course one has responsibilities and duties so in these areas one must be the most mindful of joy, like a pixy romping in primordial forest one can approach the dishes. Attitude is everything in life and it can be a battle to stay positive. We all admire those people who seem fortified and at peace, that was my impression of J.D a teacher who served in Bidung who I only met on a few occasions. I am not cool like the other side of the pillow possessing a restive spirit, that’s why I love the kinetic rhythm of dance though ironically I can’t learn the Bhutanese steps to save ‘my life. The students borrowed my portable speaker for dance practice as cultural activities are perpetually burning like everlasting butter lamps in the Kingdom. OH BHUTAN NEVER LET YOUR FIRE GO OUT! Those who serve here must realize the promise of this blessed nation, there is possibility for balance, growth, preservation, and sanity. We observe the workings around us and want to reflect that spirit imbibing Bhutan. Resistance is detrimental to one’s experience as Julia Butterfly says “Life is a never ending lesson of letting go” For me that means my fears, my past which consumes me, and pointless expectations of the future, also known as the present which doesn’t exist at all. Are you with me or am I speaking jibber jabber. My point is human’s waste a lot of life lost in futile thoughts. Damn Consciousness! More evolved seekers pursue the raw moment found only at the brink, my apologies La I always set out to avoid philosophical ravings but my mind wanders like the Madman of Tsenkharla. I wonder what affect these jewel encrusted mountains have on my temperament? They certainly have their hook in me like a Garuda’s talon. Let’s pause for the cause since I have another school dinner, like a meeting with grub. I’ll take it as admittedly I like to load up when possible. Before labeling the author Mr. Mooch remember we contribute into the coffers for such events.