To Cousin Larry from
Balky of Mepos
Big kaleidoscope
lavender lotus warbles
for the time is now
Avid Simpson’s fans will remember that classic episode where
Homer went to the Springfield Chilli cook off and ate the super hot chilli and
proceeded to run into the forest howling and hallucinating. The voice of Johnny
Cash was his spirit guide as a coyote and Homer woke up on a mini golf course
after being mowed down by a ghost train. Well a similar thing happened to me
lately after eating a dried red chilli. (Smokin Hot Emadatsi) I also ran for
the hills in frantic ululation and in the forest saw a kid who had fastened a
beard and long Jesus hair out of shaggy leaves, he looked ridiculously amazing.
My spirit guide was Bobby naturally. The Bhutanese have a quirky side that is
revealed especially after ingesting fire chillies. For three days I’ve seen a
rainbow over Tawang actually more accurately, a slice of rainbow, a dollop of
rainbow, a smear of rainbow, a piece of rainbow, a patch of rainbow, a smudge
of rainbow, a splatter of rainbow, a splash of rainbow, a splotch of rainbow, a
drop of rainbow, a segment of rainbow, a splay of rainbow, a spray of rainbow, a
swatch of rainbow, a vaporous rainbow, a rainbow blotter, a trail of rainbow, a
tail of rainbow, an arc of rainbow, a flare of rainbow, the beginning or end of
the rainbow, rainbow dust, rainbow coil, radiant rainbow, rainbow roll, reading
rainbow, rainbow feathers, a gold potted rainbow, a peace rainbow, a rainbow
bridge, a backwards rainbow, an inverted rainbow, an out front rainbow, an
outright rainbow, give me a rainbow, a resplendent rainbow but definitely not a
complete rainbow. OH NO! (Rainbow, Clouds, snow, and lightning make it fun!) The
thick squat colors ranged from topaz to violet in that dazzling arrangement
that I can never quite reassemble. ARRANGEMENTS WHILE YOU WAIT! This rainbow
was particularly peculiar being that it appeared on the first day of the
monsoon floating on a sea of clouds smothering the mountains in a steamy paste.
Night time brings rain that dins on the tin rooftop (Do you remember the rain
Jamie?) So for three months we will live in a steam dream of clouds. These are
strange clouds that get inside the forest of our mind, curling around our brain
trees a warm thick soup of sweaty clouds that digest the ripe landscape of our
grey matter. A tide of clouds in the sea of dreams. Now is a magical and dismal
period with mud everywhere a Woodstock for birds and beasts. Excuse the
psychedelic allegories but my first word was bus. So let’s go Furthur into the
mists...Like the ghost of Neal Cassady haunting Mexican rail yards. Gliding in
a delirious speed dream rolling down the tracks of imagination while juggling a
ballpoint hammer. NEAL IS GOD, THE
TRACKS ARE SAMSARA, AND THE HAMMER IS YOUR SOUL...YOU UNDERSTAND!
Central marking is in full swing. Locked in a room for five
hours at a table full of papers as we pass them assembly line style. The septic
tank was also backed up sending noxious fumes inside. Yum! But the grind is
almost done and the students trickle by for help now and again and I scramble
to get my puddle ducks quaking in a nice little row. Quack Quack! The system
still confounds me a bit to wit. In the
USA 70% is passing but here its 40% So a teacher must lowball the kiddos
according to the standards. As they say “we don’t want them feeling too good
about themselves” And so it goes central marking every day from 1-6. Exams are
not permitted out of the room so I can’t mark my own papers like last year.
It’s a hell of a thing that I feel depersonalizes my efforts and obstructs
assessment. But I’m talking to myself here!
Can’t wait to get back in the classroom proper and meanwhile I enjoy
casual encounters with the students. On Saturdays a group of boys came over to
rap and have lunch.
As the rain rattles on my bar car it sounds like I am
rumbling through a waterfall, or one of those monstrous carwashes. As a child
my biggest fear was getting permanently stuck in that evil apparatus with giant
soapy tentacles sloshing me to death. That and the monster at the bottom of the
lake. As an adult I still fear the deep but not the dark. The locals think it
mighty odd that your author goes night walking, insisting I ought to be afraid
of the demons. Perhaps being a host for a few demons of my own makes it easy
for me to become acquainted with external menaces. In between downpours I went
roaming into the cypress grove an emerald cathedral of ferns, rocks, bark,
lichens, and mosses. Through the foliage one can sneak a peek at the gaping
void. The mountains at the edge of the earth veer left into Tawang. Countless
summits, pinnacles, and spires reside beyond the huge humped Shampula. Temples
gleam in both Tawang and Bhutan almost in synch. In the void live abundant
animals and birds and many cows. Not to mention swerving light orbs, Himalayan
elves, pixies, sprites, demons, and deities. I’ve seen some of it and felt more
of it. The bon stuff is the same round the world, but the pantheon of Buddhist
entities are more mysterious and elusive to this woodsman. Perhaps a few incantations
might lure them out to play. But the ancient elfin and pixie inhabitants of the
world’s forests are tricksters but proven benign. Meanwhile the land teethes
and grows in front of the eye. Maize that was planted seemingly yesterday is
twelve feet tall. From the raven’s perspective it’s a lurid green labyrinth
with some dry craggy slopes and others furnished with thick forest. But endless
ranges stretch in all directions with secret nooks and crannies harbouring lost
world civilizations. LET IT GROW! It’s juicy ripe and smells like backcountry.
Standing on the lip of the precipice I peer out over the olive basin trying to
assimilate with the mountains. (Mountain Worship at its peak) But no success
yet! Probably for the better, how can
one teach being a mountain? But I do get to teach atop a mountain which is also
pretty good. In fact from different points on campus one can see both the
Kulong Chu and Dagme Chu but not where they converge. We go deeper into the
onion this second lap peeling back layers always getting closer to the thing.
Coming to Bhutan is a constant collision, of culture, ideas, and karmas. It’s not
a violent clash but a cosmic collision of the most intriguing kind. CALLING ALL
INTREPID TEACHER TRAVELLERS, COME JOIN THE PARTY. BE WARNED I HOPE YOU DIG YOUR
VILLAGE CUZ THAT’S WHERE IT’S AT MOST OF THE TIME!
I have a lot of bug bites
but it’s nothing like the legions of insects Becky reports from Phongmey. You
remember Becky right? My friend out in Phongmey... Both Phongmey and Tsenkharla are the end of
the earth for vastly different reasons to wit. Becky lives across two sloshing
rivers that often swallow the road whole stranding our heroine. Her locality is
known for demons and intense religious fervour. The rounded perfect MEME is shipwrecked in a gorgeous
narrow valley with enormous mountains towering everywhere (gateway to the
Bropka/Migoi world cue the clouded leopards and blue poppies) Where as Tsenkharla
looks out on the open basin at the edge of time perched on the deity superhighway.
So for those reasons and many more that I will not state provide evidence that
both Becky and I live at the end of the earth. YOU UNDERSTAND...
I lunched with Karlos today and tried to be more open and
cheery with the nationals. I try not to take their good natured ribbing at
central marking personally. But we all get hung up on the cultural gap at times
I suppose. Bhutan Stretchable Time, the jelly warp of the monsoon afternoon. I
awoke at four Twenty in the morning to here a haunting blend of night creatures
like crickets mingling with the early birds and ravens. (Ravens caw sixteen
hours a day hereabouts)The strange grey lag outlined this ancient medley. Older
than dirt birds, ravens calling out to the morning sun. Have I written that
before since I just got déjàvu?
Anyway what have you missed while I was foraging in the void
for truth trinkets and celestial nuggets? Oh yeah it was Guru Rinpoche’s B-Day
last week. Long ago in Afghanistan or the Swat Valley of Pakistan Guru Rinpoche
spontaneously emerged an enlightened eight year old from a blossomed lotus in
the middle of a huge lake. I took a stealth Tuesday trip up the mountain hoping
to get in synch with the second Buddha. (Could there be a separate or second
Buddha HMMMM?) receiving a blessing from Zangtopelri as a bare footed Rinchen
Wangmo looked on with baby strapped to her back in colorful cloth. Ah Rinchen
Wangmo embodiment of Bhutanese beauty, the essence of a country girl. (Worldliness
is overrated as these people truly know how to live skilfully) At this point I
can hardly separate the temple from the woman. From there I got lost for
several hours in the woods finding a remarkable Chorten with a stunning view of
Gods handy work. I never did commune with the precious master having no epic
vision. Only the swirling sky, a giant phallic cloud growing into the ether,
and the mountains breathing in that soft light vortex. (The Holy Matrix, The
Seed, the sacred spore) But I did get an inkling of a message in the dragon’s
breath reminding me that Guru Rinpoche was a precious teacher and I should
strive harder for that aim. Okay Mr. Dragon or is it Miss? Us mortals always
are hung up on gender. DOES GOD HAVE A SEX? OR DOES GOD HAVE SEX? Polytheism
seems much more fun, isn’t it? Heck god might get lonely too, right? While I
was out there I again postulated a theory on the Bhutanese extraterrestrial
link. Those pointed Chortens could be beaming signals and hiding alien objects
in their base. BASE! Too much entropy and not enough action for MR. FROG MAN! (Rocket
Man!) So I abandoned the alien theories and thought up strategies to improve my
teaching in the precious few moments that remain in this long strange trip in
Bhutan. ARE WE THERE YET? NOT YET SON YOU HAVENT AWAKENED? BUT I WANT A YAK
BURGER? HEE HEE...
Okay so this is my last update before I hit the road on a
journey West. What will the next sojourn entail? Stay tuned or rather in tune
with the moment which always delivers on time. I intend on reaching the capital
city Thimphu and from there, who knows? I say intend because roadblocks are par
for the course on Bhutan roads actually dirt tracks jammed with multicoloured
ta ta trucks and compact cars. All agendas and planning have been abandoned and
the nets have been removed for this cosmic crusader walking the tightrope of
terror. THIS IS NOT A TEST...
TO BE CONTINUED...
Flight of the Guru
An aquatic sky shatters
in gazillion shards
refracting topaz clouds
into Tawang funhouse.
the mountain mandala
sucks from an organic lotus
under a pastel fisheye encrusted
by shimmering ivory disc,
and a festering mushroom
transmits the rapturous pock faced Luna
who bangs on our earthen drum
with translucent silver palms
accompanied by the click clack
percussion of a million insects.
her mischievous eye
spy’s an azure serpent
wriggling through gashed valley
liquid lightning
activated in galactic jar.
a raven’s thunderous caw
rocks the basin
its metallic velvet crumple
vibrating vacant terraces,
spilling a bottle green carpet
over austere terrain.
Pull up the fringe and ride
the tiger of your imagination
to Zangtopelri on copper ridge
where a lovely gold pagoda sits
at the cusp of cypress coppice.
touch your forehead
to the refreshing emerald marble
prostrate to the flickering butter lamp
and gilded Guru Rinpoche,
take a sip of grainy water
from a golden chalice.
then chase the leopard
through air fragrant
with wood smoke and manure
to Prince Tsangma’s Castle
rubbing noses with pixies
in the twilight,
playing hide and seek with psilocybic elves
under a string of rainbow prayers
...Bhutan is the lushest bride!
 |
| Long View |
 |
| Tawang Rainbow |
 |
| Monsoon Kick Off |
 |
| Merry Pranksters |
No comments:
Post a Comment