The Lotus Sutra Chronicles

Once upon a time...

2012-01-02T06:48:00.002+01:00

there was a girl trapped in a woman. That woman wore a uniform and often traveled in service to her country. Often in her travels, she loved to take pictures of the people, because she wanted to remember them. She wanted to value their lives and experiences without passing any sort of judgement. If they were suffering, perhaps she could help, show compassion and give a smile of kindness. One day, she was presented a choice. Kill her heart, her moral compass and in exchange she would be rewarded with position, security, and social standing. If she chose to care, well, it would be an unpopular choice, because as we all have been told, these people somehow had to deserve their circumstances.

2006 - Trinidad

I chose not to believe this belief and I retained what is not visible to the human eye. I can't pinpoint an exact moment, for it was a series of moments, lessons, and thousands upon thousands of people with thousands of miles, assorted pairs of shoes, and many handshakes along the way as an ordinary woman who simply just said, "why not?" I have been called naive. I have been told, 'that's impossible." I have even had to argue with myself, telling myself, "this really is worth it." What was in it for me? Books? Projects? Well, the desire to share these stories is overwhelming. The perspectives, so different at times from my own. The friendships, those dear friendships are absolutely heart felt, even though I will never see a majority of these people again in this life time. But why do it? Why did I feel so driven by this insatiable desire to wander down roads that so many people are afraid to travel?

There was a place called the "Garden of Eden" in a little village that seemed so isolated, surrounded by the jungle. An eden, of sorts, where the owner permitted me to shoot these Buddhist images. A garden of eden, where the tike torches were the light sources at night, the fragrance of the jungle permeated the night. Here, the wealthy came to be served by the common people, and the surroundings were just for show to many. It was in that moment, perhaps, I felt like I was just able to observe without attachment, as though I was able to see without a role in mind and just see. It was a peaceful feeling. I was also sensing that I was about ready to go through a major transition. I couldn't have asked for a more exciting life at that point, one that would have me gaze into eyes of tortured souls around the world.

I was one of those souls, because I knew the desire of most people is simply and truly to have at least one person who truly knows the 'real' person with complete acceptance. The convenience of a stranger, for many, is possibly the most treasured voice to unburden their troubles, share their unspeakable truths or perspectives. At first, that is what I thought. In essence, it is that we forget that humanity is our responsibility. Not to control, but to help.

I had been shown things, I had never knew existed. This tree, that bore fruit that looked like an oblong apple, but tasted like a pear. However, if one has never eaten a pear, the taste is indescribable to them. It seemed to me, in that simple moment, I looked at the fruit and realized that a child in this impoverished and exploited country, knew more about their nation than I did. I did not care what briefings I read, I knew nothing about these people. I knew nothing about what really mattered.

With the 801 Girls in Key West, FL 2007

There are certain advantages with being a woman. This proved true when I was sent down to Key West, Florida. During that time, male personnel were not brave enough to go into these clubs, and I really had no fear of people who were different from me, so that gave me a measure of freedom that enabled me to explore. I didn't have to be these 'ladies', I just accepted them as they were. There was no way I could be them. However, there was just something about them I just honestly loved. I shot hundreds of pictures that night, was generous and though people may have assumed whatever they may, I honestly just enjoyed their portrayals of other celebrities. This is what they chose to do with their lives and boldly and bravely without having to be accepted by society, they chose to be exactly who they were (sort of), albeit through the mask of a publicly accepted persona. I loved who they were and it honestly didn't matter that I didn't fit into their world. At that time, they couldn't fit into mine.

The Two Windmills, Paris in 2008

On 21 December 2007, I wore my uniform for the last time. I was allergic to what I saw coming. I was allergic to what I felt we had become, but somehow the words stopped up in my throat. I was lost. I was questioning myself. I was trying to sort it all out, so I did what so many do. No really, so few do and yet it seems like a cliche moment. I went to Paris. However, this place was a huge exploration of humanity, liberty, literature, wine and the experience of living. There were days seized. There were 'white nights'. There was jazz. There were broken hearts and downcast lives. There were the excesses and there were those deeply wounded. My goal was to try to see every district meet as many wandering souls as possible. I saw the Paris few look at and observed the beauty of beautifully timed moments that weren't artificially created. I saw young lovers wooing each other. The dance of man and woman, and even the dance of love for so many others.

The Apartment Windows of Jim Haynes, Paris, 2008

One person who had a great impression upon me, as he has had on so many others, was Jim Haynes. For those who do not know about him, much has been written. He was an honest discovery for me. Totally unknown to me. Totally without premeditation. The kind of meeting that Jim wanted from the start, by word of mouth at Le Select. Perhaps, random chance or perhaps a fated meeting. The lesson from Jim Haynes was priceless. Always be interested in people. They all have a story they are dying to share. He did not consider it bravery to open up his home to random chance. The world walked through his apartment filled with books and stories. There were those who were eager to share their lives, break bread and drink wine. His Sunday dinners were a staple of the expat community, the arts community, the literary community, the academic community...etc. Each community tried to lay claim to him, but the twinkle in his eye simply just gave him away. He was interested in people. I visited a few times in 2008 and again in 2010.

Me, China 2010

It's a new year. I didn't mean to look back, but it happens. I kind of wanted to remember how I got here. How did I get to the right now moment? How can I continue to go into the direction I really want to go? Also, what was the real purpose of this journey in light of all of the generated hate, chaos, fear and insecurity going on right now in the world?

I have been to places where there was absolutely no ability for me to conform to my surroundings. I had no choice. I could do nothing but be myself. After 20 years of conformity to a system of rules, orders, rituals...the safety of it all, I had to step out. What was the reflection now? What did I think I know? How was I including and excluding people in my life? When did the journey stop being about myself and when was it about others? What did I learn? What did I really want? That last question really has been the hardest to answer.

For Peace and Goodwill Trinidad 2006

This picture has incredible significance for me. These gentlemen allowed me to take their picture, when normally they shield themselves from being photographed by 'tourists'. He asked me why I wanted to take his picture and I don't know what made me say this, but I simply said, "because I don't want to forget you or your land." The others laughed and he looked up, "I will allow it." The respect we give to each other, in this life, on our journey is the first fruits of peace.

It doesn't matter what crazy laws we pass in this world. What I realized the most in that moment of my life is that if we honor each other, what can be said of you, except one thing, "That person loved people." I didn't try to change a single person on my journey.

However, I was changed by my journey.

Enlightened Moments

2011-12-24T07:39:00.000+01:00

I thought this was a strange picture when I took it earlier this year. It wasn't how the skies appeared to my eyes, and I hadn't put any sort of setting to the camera, but this is the image the camera caught. Our senses and experiences is how we form our reality, and who is to say who is correct? Was the camera correct or were my eyes? Were we both?

It has been that way for many people throughout the ages as people have tried to make sense of the powers that seem to keep the people at their mercy or is it that the powers that are, are at the mercy of the people? The problems seem to stem from having to have someone 'in charge'. This could be on many levels. We, as people, continuously trust others (not that trust is a bad quality, far from that, it is a needed quality), to take charge of almost every aspect of our lives. I, myself, have had to learn how to trust all over again. Yes, I might get hurt. Yet, I have decided that it is not in my best interest to hurt others.

Do I still trust my eyes? To their ability, with help, at times I do and don't. Do I trust my camera? At times I wonder if my tools are at fault or if it is a user or if there are happy mistakes I discover along the way.

So what is the point of anything that I am trying to communicate...right now.

I am finding that within myself, I wonder why I am going through the various experiences I am having, and realizing something crucial. Experiences are not necessarily universal. We pre-judge (prejudices) people all of the time for various reasons. We either believe what other people (including media) say or we just get brave enough to love people. Yes, brave.

Though I could personally feel a certain way about someone or some issue, it's not going to be true for all. The 'you all' phrase comes to mind, when I have listened to people blurt out their stereotypes, 'Don't they know where they are at; they need to speak the language.' The anger of a person that observes others who choose not to conform to a group was blazing.

I had a differing view. That person had no choice but to be as they were. Having traveled in very diverse places, I learned long ago, to respect the host nation and also the balance of just being myself. I was a walking taboo in many countries, a woman, divorced, traveling alone and was not trying to emulate the countries. I had enough to learn within myself. Trying to be someone who I am not is far from the type of person I want to be. If I ran into hostility, which I never recalled, but I could only walk in graciousness.

I had also thought about my great-grandparents, who could not speak a word of English. They survived by running a small Methodist parish in Northern Minnesota. They weren't persecuted because they didn't speak English. They had no desire to be anyone else. They were who they were, as it should be.

Often, we forget our own origins and place our expectations on others to simply conform. This world is a lot bigger than we are.

B E L I E V E

2011-12-11T20:10:00.000+01:00

I have been having a lot of strange dreams, encounters, unrelated events that seem to weave into abstracts. That has been my life. I have accepted it. The theme has been belief. I have hated the word. I have always seen the lie in the word. I have been angered by the word. Believe is a word I have extremely hated. I have seen beliefs used against people, and I think that has stirred so much anger within me that I have been blinded by the power of my hatred and blinded to the power of what belief means...the real meaning of belief and that is faith.

There are many in the arts community that hate the religions people follow, because they see the manipulation of these people. Often, labels are thrown on people, "blind, delusional, weak...etc." The negative is that they see that this belief often is used against them, in order to empty them of their resources. Little old pensioners who sign away their estates to a mega-church that gave them love, when their families abandoned them. Perhaps a belief, that would buy their way into a life beyond the mortal one.

That is the abuse, a sample of it, that I have totally hated.

I had a strange dream last night. A dream about belief. I would not call it a religious dream, a conversion dream, but there were religious symbols in it. See, I am an odd one, an odd character that screams in conspiracy with the universe because I laugh when I see the magic of it, but I am careful to profess no belief. So, as I share this dream, I guess I am inviting you into the spectacle that is my mind. An invitation to, gasp, believe.

In this dream, an odd collection of imaginary monstrosities were figuratively chasing me. Some of them were vampiric blood sucking bankers. In order to vanquish them, a sign of the cross was placed on their forehead when they were pinned down to the ground. I wasn't afraid of them, but I had no belief in the symbol. So the beastly creature was still there. Fangs and all, it laughed at me..."ah...you don't believe." I was furious.

Strange dream. Strange perspective. There are times for belief. There are times for faith. I sat there contemplating this dream, and flipped on the non-thinking box, to not think about dreams...and caught a portion of the movie "Polar Express". There were children that didn't believe in the North Pole, or Santa on a dream train of sorts to the North Pole. Let me not bore you with the retelling, but cut to a character that couldn't hear the music, the sleigh bells or even see Santa until he whispered two words, "I believe."

Do I laugh? Absolutely at this point, I have to. A dream about belief. I flip on the Television...and belief is the theme. There was a line about the 'unseen being more real than what is visible.' that caught my ears.

I could blame all of this on my battles with semantics. The one thing to understand about belief...you have to know where you are. You have to know where you are going. You have to BE where you are at. Those are the anchors. Are you at the mercy of what you believe? This is where it gets dicey, because there really isn't anything that is concrete.

So, this is where love has to take over. Knowing is really not knowing. That is how come faith or BELIEF...and I am not talking about anything religious here...but that unknown substance called faith in seeing the whole picture come together...the magic of a unified purpose, really is magic.

Believe. Instead of having the stink-eye of seeing the embedded lie, I kind of got it. By the way, this picture I happened to snap just thinking it was interesting...and somehow there was just something more. There still is love. There still is faith. There is no result without the action in the perfect time.

Just listen for the thunder.

What dreams may come...

2011-12-06T06:42:00.000+01:00

Nothing is impossible, you just have to know what you really are asking for.

I had written a very long entry for this blog, as I selected to publish, it mysteriously was censored. It didn't exist. I laughed because I remembered an important phrase a friend once shared with me. "Some of the best art in the world is just lost on the world." It remains in the dark, hidden from view.

This picture, from March 2008, is my reminder of how to jump off of the high dive, even if you don't know how to swim that well. It's the thrill of doing it, even when others can do it better than you can. The splash is what we all live for. That thrill of just being alive. It's that action in spite of fear. That quality of courage that so many lost by growing up.

So I am getting ready for another adventure because I don't want to miss a single second of this life. I remember how much I just love people and no, I don't want nor need all of the answers anymore. There is nothing more irksome to others who think they can solve your life, when they don't have the answers for their own. I don't always love what we do to each other, but I want to see the best I possibly can see. Through our fears and tears...the greatest desire people have, is to be known. Love is just the action of what we all can choose to do. Love is the action we choose to give.

Life is the smile we can't live without.

Cover Those Breasts, It's Minnesota!

2011-11-21T21:54:00.002+01:00

I had a friend that used to say to me, "You find the strangest people". I think that is why I photograph so many things, because the stories I tell, are the ordinary happenings in my life. Ordinary to most, extraordinary to me, because I notice the story. Now, you might be wondering why I would post this picture of a white man, with a yellow sign that reads, "cover your breasts". You have to consider what state I am in, Minnesota, during a time of year that is kind of brisk. As a matter of fact, we just had our first dusting of snow.

And during these conditions a white man, during the chill of autumn felt the stirring need to protest the sight of breasts, not just one, all of them. To be fair, I would have stood with him, if he were to ask men, to cover their man-boobs, but he spoke. It's November, and in America many do things to raise awareness for breast cancer, or is that in October? It's one of the ...ber months, but no, Bible quotes were flowing and I was wondering how this was making anyone feel good?

And in that moment I started to laugh at what was unfolding in front of me. A white man, telling a large buxom black woman to cover her breasts in the chill of autumn. And the preaching marathon began and the fingers points, necks wagging and hips shaking like a rack of lamb got loose. In other words, complete agitation of this woman who set to unleash holy hell upon a white man, wearing the yellow day-glo sign that became a bulls-eye for my camera.

How often do we go around telling everyone how the world should be, in accordance with our myopic view? What we do to each other in the name of thinking we are right is quite possibly more offensive than silence. We strip away our freedom to simply be. If we are offended, then we might want to ask ourselves a bigger question, why is our skin so thin that the mere appearance of another bothers us so much? Even if it is nearly winter, yes, dear sir, there will be breasts under those coats and a penis in your pants.

Aren't we all are naked under our clothes?

Real Pain...as it happens

2011-11-14T02:45:00.003+01:00

As I began this day, I had thought of my mother, who 10 years ago this month told me she was dying. I didn't believe her. More accurately, I had refused to believe that her body was capable of dying. As I sat outside,
I reflected on how well people know pain and how very few of us know real happiness. It's as if we are afraid to give ourselves permission to do so. It's unknown and foreign to us and often, when we do have happiness come, we test it or destroy it because it is unfamiliar. It's pain that people identify themselves with. It's human suffering that the world knows. It's peace we seem to run away from.

As I boarded the bus to see the remaining shows of the Arab Film Festival I have been attending this weekend, I thought of all of the stories I was to see. A little further down the route, a young man boarded and stood at the front of the bus. He was trying to talk to the bus driver and I couldn't help but overhear him, "I love my mother. Man, you don't get it, I love my mother and I wish she was still here." He opened a plastic bag and pulled out a gift. A large black box with a big red bow. "I bought this for her. I will never forget her." He raised his voice for the whole bus to hear. I watched the nervous look of the passengers and the bus driver seemed to fail to acknowledge this young man. "I love my mother. I love my mother. She died three years ago today. I will never forget." He shoved the gift back into the plastic bag and exited the bus. The silence and uncomfortable exchanges were made as people shifted in their seats. I sat and stared. I heard his pain. His physical gift was how he showed love and he felt the need to declare it in front of the immovable strangers. I heard his pain as an echo of all of the pain we go through in life. The varying levels of suffering we have been accustomed to. The eventual loss of those who come into our lives. In the movie, "If Fog Had Roots", which is a film that I viewed as emotion without a story, there was a very memorable line about death. "Death only happens to those who are left behind."

I decided to write a poem today. It took all of 5 minutes.

Don't Let Me

Don't let me think for you

even though I share my thoughts

Don't let me feel for you

even though I share my feelings

Don't let me act for you

though I illustrate my life through my actions

Don't let me live for you

I have to live my own life

My life is my own

My loves are my own

My feelings are my own

I had my own stories to write

You have your own

Even though there will be a day that comes when my life

will leave you with the sting of my death

Don't let me keep you from living yours

Don't feel that when I am gone

That you cannot go on

Don't say that I can't

Instead, say you will

because I did and many others have too

Let me help you

Finding Gaza in Minneapolis

2011-11-12T06:44:00.002+01:00

Gaza Shield

Do you ever just find things, people and events? I found an event sponsored by the only Arab American Arts organization in the United States by chance. I hadn't seen one flyer, ad or commercial. The information came to me in the guise of my bodily hunger when I stopped at a place called Yafa, noted for their slogan, "Best Gyro in Town". The owner personally tended to my request, and asked if I had just come from the Heights Theater. He seemed so disappointed at my negative response and handed me a brochure. "You really should go, it's only a few blocks down."

A small restored theater that I had noticed during my daily commute, that seemed to show a string of message movies that would catch my eye. Today it had my undivided attention, as it will this weekend. I looked at the red theater, recalling that in the past it showed dollar movies when I was a kid. Seeing it restored to its past glory caught my attention, because I had never seen it look so beautiful. The theater is the place of stories. This story of Gaza, is one that is told to Americans in parcels of programming when you listen to our media, politicians and churches. It is seldom told through those who are experiencing the real conditions that the people are enduring in only 350 square kilometers. People who have only wished to have their homes, families and lands restored.

Though I saw Gaza-Strophe Palestine and Hawi, both highly recommended and rarely viewed in this nation, only seen through events, such as this; I wanted to address the importance of this small 18 minute film called Gaza Shield and what it represents. The power to do something positive with limited resources. Three friends with a small gaming company put aside all of their income generating projects to create a game with an objective to save Palestinian children from being bombed. A tool, as the creators envisioned, to give a voice to the powerless to be able to do something. While you might not see how this might not be so important, this was actually a response to a game that actually encouraged the killing and virtual funding of war efforts called Raid Gaza. The objective is simply to destroy the resources and people of the Gaza strip. It's the conditioning of 'it's just a game' used for violent means for military members to be desensitized to the horrors of war. The term war, I would use loosely, since there is no resistance force that is unified enough to stand against Israel and the massive funding they receive from her strongest ally, America.

I spoke with Tania Khalaf, the filmmaker and David Lee Hamilton, the editor after the viewing because I wanted to thank them for showing one simple thing, it had not mattered what tools they had, but they had the willingness to use what they had to respond. To tell the story, to not be silent, but from right where they were at, they were able to do something more powerful than to fire a single weapon. They told us in order so that all of us can make a difference, a ripple in someone's life. To pass on the knowledge that yes, there are good people that exist and have opened their own eyes to see what really matters in this world.

I also saw this small film as a mandate to not ignore the pain and suffering of others. This is our generation's holocaust. It is also our opportunity for one of two paths. An opportunity towards global peace by realizing the complete insanity of war or it will be a path of total global destruction because we can't cure ourselves of a hatred that never ceases. The art of agreement comes when we realize that we have the capacity to be the person we have desired to be our entire lives, but felt incapable of being. Only you can continue to accept the way things are. You don't need violence to make a change or to send a message.

There were many moments of complete silence I observed tonight, throughout the showings. It was the complete silence of the shared moment as people heard and witnessed the suffering of others. As we view many of the protests around the world over money and austerity measures, the people of Palestine are hoping not to have their homes bombed, hoping not to be run over by tanks and hoping that there are still good people in the world. Let us honor their hope. Let us demand that murder ceases being done in our name.


Tania Khalaf (center) and David Lee Hamilton

Now that we know, we are no longer innocent parties. We know. Now that we know, we must be the change that we desire to see in the world. "Addicted to holding my tears when grieving the most.", was a line that struck me from the movie, Hawi. That seems to apply right at this moment. I continue to be too horrified to cry because I want my eyes to see as clearly as they can without input from a church doctrine, a political party or any other entity of systematic control.

What can we all be inspired to do with the tools we do have?

Same Place, Different Time

2011-10-23T04:44:00.001+02:00

Catching a vision for life was the focus of my day. In a strange sequence of events (for me, it seems that strange is my new normal), I found myself being forced to wait and think about my desires. I won't kill you with my rambling words from my original draft where I hunt down a thought and then beat it to a bloody pulp once I capture it. I will say though, I thought about what a man named, Brooks, who is near 60 shared with me, "There are two types of people in this world. Those that sell their bodies and those that use their minds." Having a job is selling your body, using your mind, is knowing people and building relationships that are in agreement to produce a desired outcome. Now, this doesn't really seem so profound, but the thoughts that followed led me to go out for a day with just myself. I felt drawn to see places where I used to go and to reflect on the passage of 23 years to see the changes that have happened here in my hometown and to share glimpses of my home. I think it was the first time I had felt like and acted like a tourist in my own city. I took out my camera and became the observer.

In looking at the here and now, I am fortunate to be here. Minneapolis is a beautiful city, kind, and in different ways, it's thriving. I shot pictures of places I looked at growing up. I noticed places that had changed, the cityscape had been altered and retouched. Once place I was drawn to was the State Theater. In my youth, it was my church, the former Jesus People's Church, where ironically I had performed with their youth group. I had been on that very stage for our congregation. Over 23 years ago, I watched that church fall under its own weight of multiple scandals that included embezzlement, sexual affairs, and statutory rape. I don't know why I stayed as long as I did, almost to the point of the actual doors finally closing. It seemed like as I became an adult, I saw my innocence die with my church. I choose to think that it was my ignorance instead of my innocence, but that may be wishful thinking. I saw the conflict of teaching and the reality of living life.

Today, as I looked at the State Theater, and see the image of 'La Cage Aux Folles', I remembered a night that changed my life. It was on Hennepin Avenue, at this very spot I had made my first openly gay friend. At the time he was suicidal over his orientation and had been openly condemned by a youth pastor. I found him crying, and instead of walking away, we walked up and down Hennepin Avenue together, holding hands as I listened to his confessions. It was the first time in my life where I began to realize that the practice of condemning people, or more accurately, hating people, was anything but 'Christian'. I didn't talk him out of suicide. I listened. He was the one that chose life. Too often people think they have to save people or change people when we don't possess that kind of power or control over others. All I did was to just accept him as he was. I chose love over judgement, even though my belief 'system' conflicted.

It's 23 years later and the State Theater's marquee was a reminder that change is very much a part of life and that sometimes all you really need to do for someone else is just accept them as they are. Love always wins, though not always in the way that you might think. Maybe that is why I smile so much, after all, it's the best way to take on the world.

Believe A Liar - The Lying Trust

2011-10-19T07:53:00.001+02:00

"When you are at one with loss,
The loss is experienced willingly.
He who does not trust enough
Will not be trusted."--23rd Verse Tao

George Orwell's famous quote about truth being a revolutionary act in times of universal deceit has been pasted all over the world, often linked with another writer's angry words. I know I am guilty of using his quote when I have tried to illustrate my point with all of the injustices I have witnessed. At times, voicing my opinion with the anger of an impotence of how we all seem to be ripped to shreds with our passions when we view our global inequities and abuses of empire powers. Those empires, those power structures are what the individual screams against, just aching to be heard that offers what exactly? Is it a solution? Is it a promise to solve everything? Is it for what exactly?

Today, while trekking across the city, I paused and at random I opened up the Tao to the 23rd Verse. It's/was a nice verse that starts off with listening, but in the version I had, the closing phrase read as follows, "It is by not believing in people that you turn them into liars." For the past five years I had felt the falling away of everything I believed in. The symbols of what I considered to be true was cracking up my carefully prepared and planned out life in order to create the emptiness I needed, but one thing I had not counted on was the fear that came with the emptiness or my personal denial of the fear that was inside. The term, 'real' was gone and Truman Capote's work, "Breakfast at Tiffany's" flashed once again in my mind. I was Holly Golightly, the REAL phoney and I started to laugh because it started to make sense. I believed I was real. I believed I was fake. I was angered by my exposure for the little lies I allowed myself to believe along the way in my life, but I still had it all wrong.

It wasn't bad that I believed. It wasn't bad that I lost my faith. It wasn't good either because it was just a state of being. What was wrong was that I wasn't giving anyone a chance to go through their journey. What made my information more true or correct than anyone's? After all, this subject called truth, is merely what is accepted. Truth is merely controlled information. However, we get angry with the controlling factors because, in my humble opinion, we have the strong desire to control ourselves in as many aspects as we can. However, what we forget, is that we teach each other along the way. We don't know it all. We don't like to admit we don't know it all. We also don't all have the same experiences though they can be replicated to a certain point.

It could be said of any system that if one uses disbelief in one's instrument of control (say government), the resulting effect will be a nation of liars. Count how many times you encounter different people throughout the day and don't believe their words. We challenge every compliment as false praise because we judge from our own actions. Is truth a kindness without motive? Are lies really just to keep our ego protected in order to protect an image of how we want to project ourselves to the outside world?

Perhaps, what is the deeper issue is that we embrace lies more than we embrace the truth. Perhaps thinking about the many ways we lie to the world starts from the outside to the inside. We are told the world is dangerous. However, what makes it dangerous? Is it our expectation of there being "bad" people in the world?

I know I am no closer to solving the puzzle, no closer to providing a usable answer than to say just one word. Trust.

What emotion does that bring out in you? For so many, it brings out just two emotions. Love or Fear. Whether we realize it or not the unconditional surrender to either one of those emotions is present in us from the time we were born into this world. We come here blindly trusting or blindly fearing by our ability to bond with our mother. It's why babies die if they aren't touched. We feed off of our need to be loved and to love.

What we yearn for is not to lose that magic of being able to love because more than anything it enables us to see with human eyes the world with possibility. It restores the beauty that goes missing when we only see how bad it is.

Perhaps that is why, throughout the ages, power structures have killed so many men and women that looked at the world differently. We don't need to silence those messengers. We need to pay attention and ask a simple question, are we willing to allow each other to grow into their own power? Are we willing to stop fearing the good that is within us all? Are we willing to see that even though all of us lie for various reasons, there is a deeper truth that is also buried within. The truth can surface if we can look through the embedded lie and have faith that goes beyond the lies we tell ourselves in order to feel safe and secure in the world.

The first person we all have to stop deceiving is that reflection because no matter how open and honest we claim to be, it doesn't really begin until the journey starts within at your own pace. Then your world can finally change because at that moment, you are at peace.

Still failing at life and it feels wonderful because I have another chance above ground to go further down the road.

Silver and Gold

2011-10-14T07:34:00.001+02:00

Irony according to Fowler's. "Irony is a form of utterance that postulates a double audience, consisting of one party that hearing shall hear & shall not understand, & another party that, when more is meant than meets the ear, is aware both of that more & of the outsiders' incomprehension."

No. That doesn't quit work. I comprehended what was placed before me. As a matter of fact, I became rather excited. After wading through the months of stomach churning thought of ever working for two entities, government or corporation, I found a rebel organization with a capitalistic cause. Not for the sake of profit alone, but the sake of really helping others secure their future in a way that can protect their families.

I smiled. It feels like being Robin Hood singing an Olivia Newton-John song, "Let's get physical". It's knowing that it really isn't too late. It's not about doom or gloom, but I smiled as I found loop holes around prospective reclamation acts. Think about it. A way to do what you need to do without worrying about privacy and having a government take away what was set aside for profit.

This isn't a commercial, but what I am saying is that happiness, feels good. It feels like a rung, a step towards a bigger dream which, goes well beyond the tools of acquisition.

My invisible road has been a strange one. It's taking through all of the different elements of life. It's giving, receiving, learning how to ask and learning how to listen to others and yourself.

What makes me happy, is just knowing inside that even using material tools, you have an opportunity to do something much more than working towards safety and security. I think the coolest dreams have always been when you incorporate others and just let yourself create. When your ego doesn't matter, when competition isn't the goal, you get a vision that 's a choir when you become selfless.

One step at a time. One smile at a time. One vision at a time, until we can all be free.

Protests and Occupation...is it Fashionable?

2011-10-09T14:01:00.001+02:00

Hello Readers, Friends, and life voyeurs,

I came to peek in on my blog, thinking that if I let it be idle, no one would be reading. After all, I touched a subject that rips at many of us. Then again, there are so many people who are totally desensitized, possibly because they don't care about anyone, including themselves. It's amazing what people have sacrificed for material things, careers, and approval. To some degree, we are all guilty of killing what we love most to have success. I have still felt lost at moments, almost impatient for a sense of being something to someone, forgetting everything I learnt abroad, almost being pulled under. It's a sense of seasickness or self sickness, perhaps. That is the one vacation you can never take, one from your own company. Where can you go from yourself? Well, that is when you focus on the world and others, and that is precisely what I did for the past few years to feel a sense of 'cleanliness'. Perhaps I wanted to rid myself from everything I suspected but didn't want to prove.

I found there are two types of blindness, intentional and unintentional. The intentional type comes from desiring to trust blindly. Those are people who are incredibly close to that fall in this category. The reality is we don't want to find anything wrong with them, after all we have enough flaws within ourselves that competing in this area is often not wise. Institutions fall into this category as well. Blind loyalty, to a cause, to a belief, to a mass emotion. The list of forbidden things to speak of was always religion and politics. Beliefs are what people die for. Interesting that our loves are used against us to such a point that it ignites hates and passions that 'make us feel alive'.

Recently, the Occupy movements are starting to sweep across America and to be honest, I haven't watched any of the televised reports or read most of the mainstream press because of how few of the major papers know anything about investigative journalism anymore. 6 major corporations have consolidated all media. That is very worrisome because corporations are concerned with profit and can and do control the messengers.

Earlier this year, I decided to return to America, rather than to stay in China and teach another year. I felt within me that this year, was a pivotal year for us, as a people, as a nation, because we are actually learning more about the world and we have been learning more about how our government has been controlled by outside sources. We have learned how it has been by the contents of a wallet and not character that people are placed into office by those who have deep enough pockets. Our politicians have been purchased all around the world to exercise the will of others. We know it, and have wondered if there is really anything we can do about it.

Personally, I have been wondering if we are serious about changing our ways. I have read many of the signs the protesters carry. They are life stories on cardboard. They are the rule players who are pissed off that the game was rigged against them. In short, it's not really about anything important, not really.

The complaint can be summed up in a word. Money.

The typical American is upset that all of the material is gone, they are in debt, lost their homes, pensions, government assistance, and Occupy Wall Street is our venue, for now. We are going to quickly learn that we do have to change this whole game that no one is supposed to discuss. This game that has only a few winners and far more losers.

We haven't cried out for peace. We haven't cared that we go into other nations and strip their resources. We are mad because we paid for Wall Street bonuses. We are mad that we paid for the bail-outs of AIG, big banks, and continue to fund the Military Industrial Complex, The nation of Israel, and all of those chemicals that are dumped on us (which was authorized in public law, hidden in a National Defense Authorization Act). We want to know why. We really want to know the truth, even if it hurts to know the truth. I never liked doctors that withheld information from me. It would make me distrust them even more. Truth, in its complete ugliness, can be a tool or a medicine that begins its work to either cure or kill you, but you must deal with it and not run from the pain it may cause.

So, I am asking a hard question. Are we just complaining instead of doing something about it? Let me flash back to earlier this year. There was a protest in March 2011 in front of the White House. I was there as an observer. I was there to speak with the protesters. I wanted to record the events of Veterans for Peace, and looked at how the public viewed these protesters. It was kind of astonishing that people seemed to not care about our presence in the middle east. The Washington Post wrote a one paragraph blurb in the back pages. Total media silence usually sends a message about it not happening in America. I also witnessed 105 people get arrested and one of the people caught my eye. Colonel Ann Wright, US Army and former State Department Officer (back when Colin Powell was running the State Department).

Here is Colonel Wright getting arrested. I didn't get a chance to talk to her before they put the zip strip on her wrists, but she gave me a smile.

Mary Ann Wright (born 1947) is a former United States Army colonel and retired official of the U.S. State Department, known for her outspoken opposition to the Iraq War. She received the State Department Award for Heroism in 1997, after helping to evacuate several thousand people during the civil war in Sierra Leone.^[1] She is most noted for having been one of three State Department officials to publicly resign in direct protest of the March 2003 invasion of Iraq.

She was a passenger on the Challenger 1, which along with the Mavi Marmara, was part of the Gaza flotilla.

Source: Wikipedia

Here, without fans or much fanfare was a person who reminded me of the Buddhist monk I had met in South Korea that looked at his life and realized he had spent 20 years on the mountaintop. This peace protester had made a career based on the passionate need to tell others to say no to anything nuclear, a total of 30 years holding a vigil that was actually more tied to a partner than nuclear weapons. In a strange way, I had found a love story and a public display of passion to change the world. 30 years passed and the world had not changed despite the images and signs. We do things that are dangerous in this world. They disfigure people and we do know radiation kills. We have yet to see the full horrors of Fukushima. Chernobyl wasn't pretty either.

Is it that some people feel things more intensely than others? Is it based on a measure of personal pain that one endures until they have to scream? Why aren't we horrified enough to stop harming the world? Is it that we just can't do without all of those shiny things?

I stopped by the nuclear protester's tent with a new friend I had made on this journey. Sometimes we can't see what the impact will be, who will be touched by the life sacrifice she made. However, something to really think about, if the world suddenly stopped using nuclear weapons and energy, this woman suddenly loses her purpose. Think about it. What would she do next?

If we ended poverty in the world, just think about it, we wouldn't have to worry about having nuns in Calcutta caring for the sick and needy. One of the nuns smiled at me and thrust emblems of Mary in my hand. I guess vows are vows.

I haven't stopped caring about people. Humanity is still achingly beautiful and horrific. To see this man in a drained fountain within a mile from Capital Hill illustrates perfectly how we all are in trouble. I went there when it wasn't fashionable, but out of a pure need to ask myself who we are. It was a choice that wasn't safe or secure.

While I Still have Freedom of Speech, Let Me Tell You a Story...

2011-06-09T19:43:00.003+02:00

Once Upon A Time...

I was 14 years old (young) and I was inspired by a teacher. This was many years ago, but this teacher was a history teacher. I adored him because I felt like he gave me a passion for humanity by sharing the story of the Jewish people. I learned a new word, Holocaust. I learned about genocide, and what I also learned was about the role our country played in liberating the Jewish people. I wept over the 6 million people, for at last, I found a story I felt I could relate to.

"Never Again" was my passion and it inspired me to join the Air Force at the age of 21.

I was not aware of the whole story. I didn't know anything about Zionism, but I felt the passion to be protective of the legacy. These people had known such total pain. They had seen their families killed, had their property stolen, and when liberated, they had nothing to go back to. I sought out concentration camp survivors, befriended them, heard their stories...and found one problem. They still had an incredible amount of hate. They never could forgive. It was them against the world and they lived in fear of people. I wrestled with points of forgiveness within my own life. I knew what it was like, as many people in this world have experienced, many forms of pain, suffering and abuses.

Forgiveness? NEVER!

That is what I identified with. I understand both. I understand what it is to forgive someone who doesn't deserve it. I understand what it is not to forgive. I will say that I suffered the most by not forgiving. It was by not forgiving that I was never able to forget. It was by not forgiving that I had kept my own hatred alive. It was by not forgiving that I kept talking about my own pain and the pain of others. I had kept ripping those wounds open over and over again. It had made me an unpleasant person. It had made me an unforgiving person, demanding impossible levels of perfection from all who were in my life.

I went through my own path in personal areas of my life to let go of the pain so my deep wounds could at last heal in my life. I cried easily because I finally was able to cry. I finally was able to laugh. I finally was able to smile. I was finally able to see because my thinking had changed. It wasn't distorted by hatred and violence.

I began to question what we were doing. I began to see a darker picture of the lies that had been pushed on the American people, the world, the UN, and other nations saw through the lies that Americans so readily believe, because it IS incomprehensible that we would not be able to trust our government. A government that professed freedom (but there is none), liberty (but there is none), and the pursuit of happiness (but at least we have it in writing).

What I have provided are three messages that I would like people to share and understand. These three messages alone did not change my mind about the State of Israel. No, far from it. I started following the information by following history and the incomprehensible question that led me on this journey. I had to find out one answer. Like with any crime, you must have a motive.

Nagging away was the following question. What transformed a nation to rise up against a minority group? What caused these people to rise up and slaughter them? I had gone to West Germany as a youth instead of Israel. I looked at the Germans and could not comprehend what I saw. I saw a free and open society, many races, many differences and a very beautiful culture. They were a prosperous people, hard working, strong families, and a powerful belief in their society. Was it Patriotism alone that killed the Jews in foreign soils?

How do you ask a nation, "Why did you kill these people?"

I did ask the question. Several times I asked the question. I received many responses. There were some that still hated the Jews. There were some that were not able to respond. "It was the thing to do at the time." or "It was safe to hate them." but the answer that summed it up the best, "It was like a river of hatred that swept us all in. It was socially acceptable to hate them, because everyone hated them. It was no loss to hate them because they hated us."

Some of the answers stunned me. I didn't comprehend this level of hatred.

One thing that stunned me years later, was this group of people that were representative of my years of service, to be a 'champion' of human rights through my military service, to prevent genocide and serve for humanitarian missions was the content of my heart. I could find reasons to continue serving. Albania, Bosnia, Serbia...and the Kurdish minorities who were abused by the Iraqi Republican Guard...I heard and watched their cried...that is up until Rwanda and Brunhdi. We did not go in because they were black. We could have saved 20 percent of their populations. We could have gone in when the UN pulled out.

We did nothing and I wept when I was in Germany. It would be 15 years later, when I would meet the children of hell who survived and became students of mine in China. I would find fresh tears on my face, not because of what they went through, but of the lessons of forgiveness they continue to teach the world.

I would also meet a Kurdish student who thanked me for my service because of what his people suffered under the Saddam regime. Still, I was not convinced. Iraq had turned into a war for oil and not so much about the atrosicities committed against the Iraqis and Kurds.

Hatred. Genocide. These two powerful words are bolstered with a third, Holocaust.

I have faced these words, vowing always to be on the side of good. On the side of humanity. That to me, was paramount. That was my oath, upon the altar of my heart. Without any doubt, or moment of mental reservation would I stand up for people that I felt needed a voice.

That is my "Never Again". Never again to fuel the fires of hatred. However, there is another truth that must surface. Hurt people often abuse others. Many abusers, murderers, rapists were also victimized.

Within the last few years, I have finally been able to see and willing to look at a place called "Palestine". I immediately would tune out anything that had to do with Israel because of the images of the Holocaust. It was as if it was a form of magic had been used to keep me blind.

What ever I thought I had known about Palestine, was hugely distorted.

The nation of Israel had USED the Holocaust to shield their actions against the Palestinians. I learned from the Jewish people, from soldiers, from the stories and images of the killed and wounded. I began to finally see what many Americans were kept from seeing.

These stories are about humanity. Humanity is for all. No one race is more protected than another, for evil is easy to see. When a woman is beaten and a child ripped from her arms. When a family is forced out of their own home at machine gun point. When people are killed for standing up for their families, their homes and for their community...

it is simple.

It is inhumane.

If you are loyal to Israel, as I was, take a real look at what is being done, using American funding. We have become the evil we have feared by supporting the persecution of the Palestinians. The Palestinians have been occupied, slaughtered and displaced from their own nation. No matter what your beliefs are, your heart should reveal that this is as inhumane.

Before the nation of Israel was established, without the consent of Palestine, Muslims, Jews and Christians lived in peace together.

There hasn't been a lasting peace since 1946. I have heard from Palestinians who have told me, "I will never leave my homeland." They have lived under the shadow of death their entire lives. Isn't it time for the key of peace to be given out?

Which comes from understanding that most of our beliefs are embedded along the way. If we have our media, governments and families shape our beliefs, it is for their purposes and not for us to discover our own.

Years later, I had found my history teacher. I had asked him about Zionism. He had said, "There is no such thing as Zionism." My heart sank. I knew right then and there that he had withheld the truth, which is the same as lying. A person I had held up with such high regard, was not even to marry the woman he had loved because their religions were different. He had begged me to see Israel one day in my travels.

Instead, I saw Palestine. I saw the truth of how these people were treated, with hatred instead of love.

Believe nothing, ever, because believing is not knowing.

Know by learning and teaching yourself along the way.

Namaste, my friends.

Yes, It should have been impossible...but it wasn't

2011-05-01T17:22:00.003+02:00

Upon the steps of the southeastern branch of the DC Public Library, I had said goodbye to some of my friends. Gerard, a PhD graduate from Harvard said "I wish I could come with you." as he sat on the stoop waiting for the library to open. It had been two months and nearly at the beginning of this journey, an anonymous man approached me, while I sat in the garden of the library writing approached me. "I have lived in this neighborhood for nearly 40 years and have never come to this garden. It's beautiful." He paused. "What are you writing about?" I looked over the elder. "I am writing about my travels abroad, and I am also writing about the homeless." I could not have stopped the gush of words that proceeded out of his mouth at the time. "The homeless? Don't write about the homeless. That's been done. Where were you abroad?" I resented this man, with his dictates, yet, I chose to respond. "I taught in South Korea and in China. I found China to be a magical place. The people are incredible, for I haven't seen innocence in a very long time..." He stopped me there..."You know, I am a left-hander, like President Obama. We golf together. I like left-handed people. You should write about China. Forget about the homeless. This country is about God, Sex, and Drugs. You have a mind of a 22-year-old...so idealistic. However this country will kill each other. It's just the way it is. Don't write about the poor. Write about China, that is what we need to hear about. Don't be among the homeless, don't become them. When this nation tears each other apart, we'll be on the golf course when it happens, and after its all over, we'll rebuild it. You can't change the country, let alone with stories about these people." I didn't get a rebuttal. He walked off, not really listening, but dismissive and superior sounding. I was left with those words to contemplate. Was he right?

During my last survey of monuments, I ran across the work of Auguste Rodin, the famed Burghers of Calais. I had seen the larger version in Paris, at the Rodin Museum with my friend Ruzica nearly three years ago. This piece was a tribute to the brave and anguished men who had been sent by France at the end of the 100 years war, these 6 men were being sent as debt payment to the United Kingdom to King Edward III. They were bound together with locks and ropes as a sacrifice (ordered to be beheaded) saved at the last moment by Queen Phillipa when they arrived, keeping their oath to save their people's pledge. Who amongst us would stand as a pledge for our nation and not run?

I had found this tribute to the men who had sacrificed themselves during the fateful sinking of the Titanic on April 15, 1912. Many would say that the Titanic was the vehicle that ushered in the American Central Banking System, known as the Federal Reserve (which is privately owned and created by a meeting on Jekyll Island). The world become dependent on our fiat currency as a reserve currency to secure their own instead of gold or silver. Though many times, through many presidents, we had tried to be free from the banking industry control, we saw a terrible path of greed, excess and the have and have nots growing wider apart. Our 100 years war with the Federal Reserve comes to an end on 21 December 2012. We were led to believe the bank was OURS, but it wasn't ever. Our gold was gathered by Roosevelt, put in Fort Knox, and as the years went on, it was pilfered, nothing remains but the greed of the Military Industrial Complex that weakened our nation instead of strengthened it, making us destroyers instead of creators like we once were.

As I walked along the Anacostia River, under the bridge, I found the remains of the day. A pocket of people who prefer to stay out in the open rather than stand in line to receive shelter for a night. I was reminded by Walter, to not forget their stories, to tell them, because in their telling I find I have compassion. I still remember that a citizen is not defined by possessions, for it is a simple state of being. We are not citizens if we have a home, a bank account, or look a certain way. We have done a poor job of taking care of our own, and a wonderful job of destroying at the beck and call of the special interests of others.

I had finally come to the last monument I needed to meditate at; the Thomas Jefferson Memorial. Thomas Jefferson spoke of knowledge and wisdom a lot during his public service. His focus was on the freedom of the human mind and education as being one of the cornerstones of absolute freedom. We have heard that many of the elite say, "What do I want with a thinking public?" However, it is with our imaginations, creativity we have created in this nation cures for diseases, transport, and our arts. We have lost more skills than we have retained by being a culture of war.

During Jefferson's time, and most certainly during Lincoln and Kennedy's times as well, we were ripe with the birth pains of change. The peoples were not drugged by substances, controlled by propaganda, and had spirited conversations about our nation. It seemed few were required to mobilize a nation, that unified them in the spirit of their day. We argue over semantics, being lawyered about instead of releasing ourselves from the mystical spellings of words, lacking understanding of what emancipation means. Most of us were not alive during the speeches of the great orators. To be inspired is one thing, to live those words is quite another.

Asking ourselves, not why, but how can a nation bind up its wounds to reclaim its birthright and promise comes down to looking in the mirror. If our God is economics and our freedom is material in nature, what does that say about our evolution as a people?

I close with this image from the Florida House. I was surprised to find this house that was dedicated for use for the residents of Florida. You will note the work of Romero Britto is prominently displayed. Though Britto's work is declared by many as not being art within the established community, he is still celebrated, most likely because he created for the people many public works and not just for himself. All art ever does is reflect our society along the way, keeping that in mind, it is why we need an educated public and not an ignorant and drugged one. We have lost much by trying to control the masses instead of allowing them to be free. Just words to think on and to share with you as I have finally found my way back home. I had to remind myself of one universal truth, no single government, religion or institution is ever worth defending when it doesn't care about the people who are members of that society.

That is why family matters and why so many try to destroy it. "There's no place like home."

The Weight and Measure of a Human Heart

2011-03-04T00:55:00.001+01:00

As I departed New York City, I seemed to circle around to see some of the people I needed to see. I heard from several about how people are arrested for being without a place to go. I had to walk around and see it for myself, and those that are a bit jaded, and native to the city, I challenge you to talk to these people and hear their stories. You might be surprised where some of these people were at in their lives. It reminded me of a sacked Hermes designer that an editor pointed out to me in Paris. He was faking his appearance through the city, but you could see that horrible and painful look of fear. You are a criminal if you are poor. Oh Land of the FREE? What have you become when you say to send your poor huddled masses for freedom, is it merely for exploitation and prostitution? I felt anger in my veins. I swallowed my bile. For my plans to look harder at the city was cut off by the simple fact that I could myself get incarcerated for wanting to walk among them. So I went onward to Washington DC. It is appropriate because officially I am a stateless citizen of my nation. So technically 16 square miles is the legal territory of my home.

I arrived on a day of silence in the early morning hours. Saturday, and I was able to go up close and see the places that seemed like an illusion. Everything seems fake on television to me. After all if only 16 square miles controls a whole nation I was reminded by the words flapping on a banner, "The people are ruled by CONSENT." It is through OUR consent that all of this exists. Though we are reminded that it could be worse, WHY aren't we asking the RIGHT questions? Why aren't we seeking to really make it better?

A bell, that isn't the liberty bell, but one that made me wonder if we need to ask ourselves a BIT more about what true liberty is.

And then I looked at the Supreme Court. Half of me wanted to scream at the building, but I realize this symbol of 'justice' is really a form of bastardization. A placebo. For if we are limited by our laws how just are we?

And there in the distance was the Capital complete with the restored "Statue of Freedom" on its pinnacle. This place where our government managed and mismanaged the resources of the people. Where the Military Industrial Complex rose to power in 1963 and expanded through conflicts and a warped sense of a manifest dominions and destiny to extend its undo power and influence. I used to think we had to be one world to have peace, and now I see that we simply need to love and appreciate the differences without seeking to control one another. After all the world has seen what happened and IS HAPPENING through Nazi propaganda.

Don't ever kid yourself. Their best work is in plain sight. They don't hide their agenda. It never ended. When you have a nation that is controlled through hate and fear of others, what do you have? We have a crisis of the soul right now. What will you do for a stranger? For a fellow man or woman? For someone who is not like you in any way shape of form?

In closing the United Kingdom is setting a precedent by calling for legislation to make homelessness illegal. This is where we need to weigh and measure our human hearts. When we equate life to money instead of LIFE, we have become animals. We no longer deserve to call ourselves human. Look at the Holocaust museum. Have we changed yet?

OK darlings, I am walking and talking among them, because someone has to care and speak up for them because ALL life is precious. DON'T WAIT TO SPEAK. NO, this IS NOT OK. People ARE NOT EXPENDABLE. They are NOT WASTE PRODUCTS and if anyone needs to have their rights defended, they do, and trust me, many of them have given up on life and are WELL educated. I have been humbled by these people along the way.

Yes, I could have stayed in China. However, I had to see how ugly we are to our OWN family. People, I don't have a good report for you. LOVE starts at home.

An Examination of Humanity

2011-02-19T00:20:00.000+01:00

I had a dream my life would be

So different from this hell I'm living,

So different now from what it seemed...

Now life has killed the dream I dreamed...

I Dreamed A Dream, Les Miserables

No one is ever going to have all of the answers, yet we keep looking for that one person that will be that silver bullet. It seems, that is where the problem starts, is with us. After about a month of wading around in the finger pointing of American Society, you can feel it, the abyss of fear.

How did we abdicate our freedom? Well, our freedoms were abdicated long before many of us were born. We were born into our systems. We have societies, both secret and known, that we had no choice in entering into. These societies are simple contracts of agreement, and those who are different are often criticized for their differences, told their are the oddities and don't quite measure into a certain mold. Our various differences have been both celebrated and maligned.

There is a crisis of the heart that is affecting Americans right now. We have so many prohibitions that we feel it is normal to be told what not to do. It is to protect us. With every protection that comes along with our laws, we can't even begin to realize what this means. It means our choices are being limited and all we seem to focus on is how bad and evil people can be towards each other. "They" only want to take away from us. "They" hurt us so we must sue them. "They" are evil. "They" destroy our liberty and freedom. "They" have done this or that to us.

Who is this 'they'? It is everything and nothing. It is the system. It is our family. It is our religion. It is our community. It is our neighbor. It is our state. It is these evil corporations. It is our country. It is, oh you fill in the blank.

The truth is, no matter who 'started the fire', it is you. Paralyzed with inaction, perhaps because people are afraid of actually needing each other.

Question: Is our government working for the people or for its self preservation?

Question: Why are we fighting against each other?

Question: Who benefits from us fighting against each other?

Question: Why have we not empowered ourselves to change this system?

Question: How much do you really know about the world around you?

I had a long and interesting discussion with a woman who had no idea that she was looking for someone to save her. A lot of us do. A lot of us are waiting for some sort of Messiah to save our lives. Someone who will magically come along, wave a wand, and then make it all come together. Our lives, saved by either more money or some promise of having the lives of our dreams.

What are those dreams?

This woman kept firing question after question at me. I wanted to laugh because there was no way I was going to even attempt to answer her questions. She wanted someone to tell her what she should do with her own life. I can't live her life for her. I can't take that responsibility on. We all have our own lives to lead, but her desperation made me realize a cold hard truth. People have forgotten what is within them.

She called herself one of "God's Warriors" and I had to laugh. Does any deity NEED a defense? I am not going to debate any sort of religious belief at this point, but the main thought, is this. WHY would a person put that kind of label on, willingly?

It had reminded me of my military service. The oath to support and defend a document that so many before me failed to support and defend. 100 years ago it was violated and the problems that began with our central banking system that marched on to enslave the people under a system called "Capitalism". Believe it or not, the word, "Capitalism" nor "Free Market" is under the protection of the Constitution of the United States.

So what has frightened the American People? Themselves. They look in the mirror and realize that their silence and inaction allows the system to continue. Of course the Constitution needs to be updated, but they have to decide what is important.

During the 1950s, Capitalism was introduced in a wide spread propaganda push. The word "Freedom" was used to talk about the markets, but how free could it really be if only people with money controlled it? The worker had to surmount incredible obstacles to work his way up to the top of this pyramid structure and through chasing this dream, a whole life was spent in pursuit of money and wealth. Somehow money and wealth became the symbol for success and this was called 'happiness'.

Education produced workers with minted MBAs and BAs that were focused on making money as well. When I asked my students in China what they wanted to do with their degree, many told me, "to get a job." A job? Doing what? "I don't know, just a job where I make money." So what is your objective in life? "Objective?" Puzzled looks and strange expressions crossed their faces. I pushed further, "What do you want to be? What are your dreams? How do YOU want to make a difference in this world?"

A degree is just a degree without a vision when someone says they just want to get a job. We have a world FULL of people wanting to be enslaved to work for someone else. They want someone to work for and to tell them what to do with their lives because they need to earn. That is how our system is set up now because what has happened within America is that small business has been killed off and we created a society of servants. That is what you will find in the rolls of the unemployed at this point in time. People who will not think or act for themselves and they haven't bothered to educate themselves on the laws of their land because it is up to someone else to fix it for them.

I have taken the temperature of my country. It is a fearful, and yes at times psychotic place where I have taken the temperature and realize that I am, yes, being at times insulting to the country I have loved. I know I have used harsh and judgmental language. We have been the dark Empire that went around the world trying to overthrow governments and to spread democracy, and we use words like freedom, but in reality, we haven't practiced it.

A new kind of slavery came over people. A financial one. Credit debt, mortgages, car payments, child care, insurances (because we need to protect ourselves), and taxation. The list of taxes that Americans have to pay, is possibly longer than any tax list known. It rivals the United Kingdom's silly list. Freedom, apparently, is a great illusion. Isn't freedom about doing what you want with your life?

Is it really just about money? Financial slavery is nothing new. It continues on and you see it in the expression on many who just want to get out of debt so they can acquire more debt and the people have followed suit with the government. Remain calm. By the time you have worked your way out of debt and are ready to retire, well you hope, just hope that there will be something there for you in the end.

How many states are looking at bankruptcy within America? So what makes this system so great? From a fiscal standpoint, not a whole lot.

See? That is just the beginning of the 'bad news' that is facing the country. I won't get into the other major issues that is plaguing this nation that is so afraid of the world. Americans are leaving America. Other people are coming to America because America is better than where they came from. So you have the perfect storm. The new kids on the block who have jobs, homes and cars who have embraced the American Dream. You have those who worked their entire lives and had the rug pulled right out from under them, and you have an education system that is the machinery of continued enslavement. The gateway debt is the student loan.

I am not really saying anything new. It is all old information. All dream killers.

WE are responsible for the dreams we need to be living and LIFE does not kill those dreams. NO. Obsolete systems kill those dreams. Sure the shiny things are lovely to look at. We can turn off our brains and stop thinking about the world, actually most Americans need to learn about the world.

I don't care if you love me or hate me. Really, I don't care. Who YOU need to care about at this point in your life is yourself.

All of those systems, are only as real as YOU make them. You can get swept away in its drama or you can march to the beat of your own drum.

No. I don't have the answers. No one does. Not all alone where we are just too afraid to let go of all that we think we 'own'. We don't own a damn thing. We are mortals walking around this earth with things coming and going in our lives to be used along the way as tools. That was all money was meant to be, a tool. Instead we created a God, a religion, a faith called Capitalism where profit is made at any cost. Even if it means to go to war to stimulate a dying economy.

The land of the free? The people decide. What is really important? I honestly don't believe they know anymore. I believe they may have let life kill their dream. A nation that does not care for its own, that kills its own, that exploits its own....is not a nation, but has become a corporation.

Settling In During Unsettled Times

2011-01-16T20:41:00.001+01:00

"An individual has not started living until he can rise above the narrow confines of his individualistic concerns to the broader concerns of all humanity."

Dr. Martin Luther King Junior

The day before I left Nanjing, I went back down to my favorite park, as if I wanted to thank it for all of the simple lessons I learned when I would come down here to walk on the Palace Grounds ruins. The old palace that once stood here with the ming lions standing guard. Often I wondered why I just seemed to keep coming back to this place. Nature had grown over these ruins that had been set aside to simply show that dynasties do collapse, what was once too big to fail had fallen all because there was a simple man who observed the actions of the elite, not caring about the welfare of the people. A lion, that held the flower of life, the chi ball, displaying the power, which many are not aware that resides in each person. China, holds still, the belief of the Mandate of Heaven. If things need to change, then they will. I kept going and decided to go within the city.

As I walked around and looked at the crush of advertising and western images come in from all of the MNEs, telling them how badly they needed their products to have happy lives, I stared. Microsoft showing their images displaying two different realities, is just one example of how fear is a factor in product marketing. The false images that seems to just push forward a message that reads, "you are not good enough unless you have our products in your life." I remembered my messages to my students, reminding them that they are fine just the way they are. You don't need your teeth whitened, your skin doesn't need a pile of makeup, the clothes you make are your self expression, and your hair is beautiful as it is. There is a fine line between taking care of yourself and turning into a photo-shopped image that is just like everyone else along the way.

It was early the next morning as I looked at the rising sun at the airport getting ready to leave. Yes, it was both hard and easy to go. It was hard, because I learned how I had been so afraid to come here. I was swimming with my own preconceived notions about how I would 'fit in'. I had so little knowledge about China. I was completely ignorant about their lives, culture, and thought about how I watched each myth and preconceived notion shattered along the way. Whenever I would hear news about human rights violations, I would laugh and think of all of our actions. We sank to a level of targeting people, which because our 'enemies' would do it, that all of a sudden made it OK for us to do the same thing. We used to be better than that. We ignore what we do to each other, and find it easier to tear apart other countries, often not realizing that we are often the worst offenders on the planet. We use the most resources, and yet have still to stand up to the corporations to demand change. We stay divided, and yet the one thing I learned in China, that right or wrong...they stand together as a unified people. Something the rest of the world has to learn how to do. They don't let religion divide them. They don't let their differences divide them. They learn how to change from within. They work together to solve problems and they have not let money be their god. There was a lot I learned when I came here to teach English. I thought of myself more as a student, than a teacher. Where I was not able to go in the world, students from those parts of the world came to me. We honored each other, respected one another and made great efforts to understand our mutual desires of wanting to create a world together of peace, collaboration, and to not give into the message of the "world is going to end in 2012." The world is what we ALL make it.

I knew that I had a bigger pit of fear to overcome, and that was choosing to return to America. Here with our SUVs, traffic jams and decaying urban environments. Here the wealth is drying up, but our wealth has been misspent. Our wealth was never supposed to be about money. Our wealth was always around us.

As we drove through and I saw vacant buildings matched the vacant faces I would see. The once grand New York City seemed to look like a has been, pretending to be something more real. People afraid of each other. What a contrast to where I had come from. In Nanjing, a city of 7 million people and it felt like I could go anywhere. In New York, I will have to see if people are ready to see more. Politicians only see the governments and interact on that level. No, this is a far different view, this is a view from the weeds of life at the street level, where it really matters.

As we headed towards the Lincoln tunnel, I thought about the inspiration a Chinese man had taken from the words of Abraham Lincoln, a man who had many personal failings in his life. Yes, to see Abraham Lincoln so revered for changing our nation, even though it did not want change. I looked and saw not what one man did, but what need to do as the people of our own nation. I had been angered by what I saw in our country. No peace messengers, just war mongering to bail us out of economic depressions. Stirring up strife in Korea, in Iran, in Isreal, in Afghanistan, Iraq and much of it at the behest of oil companies. We the people, at the street level have had our heads down. Good people that look at our large decaying cities wondering what we can do. We don't seem to be able to put aside our differences long enough. We erect more walls, gated neighborhoods, being bought off, and some people have gone off and decided to go ahead and profit off of the fear.

I looked up at the windows and wondered how many people even know their neighborhoods in the land of the 'free', home of 'the brave'. I guess the easy way is just not to look at each other because that is the easy or safe way. We don't make each other laugh anymore. More often, we are making each other cry. However, we all hear and know it just doesn't have to be this way.

I looked at the skyline. This is America. One port city that has been here, representing the American Dream around the world. We sue each other now. We have to be careful now of everything. I looked at what they teach our children now, and I thought of all of the lessons I taught Korean children in English who were only 5 and 6 years of age. They were writing, doing mathematics, science, and having fun. I stared in horror as I looked at the homework of a child in one of the 'best schools' in New Jersey, the assignment was how to tell analogue time on a clock. She was in the second grade. I shook my head. People, dear people, don't let this continue. It may be legal, but it isn't right. It's time to change the dream. No one person changes our system. We change our system.

The Sacrifice

2011-01-12T17:11:00.002+01:00

Greetings my friends. I have returned to my broken battered friend, America. I had heard all of the stories about body cavities searches, scanners and law suits. I braced myself as I boarded my flight from Nanjing, China to begin my journey in total peace. I wondered what I was going to face as I flew in semi turbulent air, but even my past flight anxiety evaporated. If I was going to make it to America or not, well, it was all out of my control. I let the pilots do their job, and I simply did mine. I finally let go of trying to control everything and spoke to others along the journey. I went through security and saw all of the agents, weary, they did their jobs, but all that I had heard seemed to be a huge myth as I walked through JFK. I was back in America. However, I seemed to be looking for the land of the free. Were people still pursuing life, liberty and happiness? Right now, I see what appears like sacrificial lambs. When I left the University I noticed a new object that was installed, it looks like a sacrifice altar set up on the new campus.

Maybe it was an altar, acknowledging the sacrifices of old wars, however I was hoping that it was not an altar asking for new blood. We all have shed enough blood. I thought of all of the stories I had been told along the way from people from all over the world. I have asked many to share their stories for the purpose of promoting not peace, but love and understanding. I have been incredibly flawed along my journey, You can look back throughout my blog. I am human and make mistakes, but I also don't want to talk down or up to people. I want as many people as possible to be able to read and understand and share the message of this simple page. We don't have to have war to be at peace. We can start by learning how to love people and to stop being so self-centered.

As I came in to the United States, I would smile at people and I saw their fear in their eyes, coupled with furrowed brows and looks of pain. We have done a good job of being divided. We sacrifice much for those whom we love; our friends, family, countries, and religions. The things we believe in. The things we love. I want to use this to promote peace and love to all people. For the people I don't know. For the countries who are not my homeland. In short, for strangers. As I myself, have been a stranger in strange lands doing impossible things. Extending hands of compassion to those I have never met before.

So in the future I am going to share stories from all that I have come to understand and know. We all have a story. There is no right way or wrong way. However, I think it is time to realize that we need to stop letting others use our beliefs against us. To stop letting others take our love and turning it into hate. I walked out their in the world and I learned to listen to all over you. I have shaken your hands, smiled with you, cried with you, and shared my life with you.

We all have been torn up enough. I stopped being afraid of all of you. I learned how to love you as you all are. You shared your hearts, dreams and minds with me. Now, some of my friends are going to share their lives with you. We have all cast stones at each other, it is time to end the competitions, comparisons, and see we all can build bridges to each other.

There is no more blood that needs to be shed. There is nothing to forgive. You are all my friends and I accept you just as you are even if you can't accept me. You aren't required to. I am required to accept you if I want to be at peace. We sacrifice only our ego, our self-interest in order to be the change we want to see in others.

I am willing to do that. I have no control over if you are not willing to do that. None whatsoever. It's your choice.

"I am...am I?", said I

2010-10-27T08:48:00.004+02:00

Along the many rides between campuses a single sign seemed to speak. Among all of the advertisements that seem to numb the mind, to motivate, influence, prick away at wants and needs. Across the piles of concrete and trees I zoomed in on words I had thought I imagined. "What did that just say?" hmmm...maybe I imagined seeing that. Depending on the route the driver chose, it would seem odd to me to see these words, in my own language come to me. They seemed to shout. Who is this "I" and why would I care that this "I" is here? What is it time for?

That is one way to look at it. There is a presence about a person who knows who they are. It's undeniable. When they walk into a room, something about the way the person speaks that gathers all of the attention and energy of the moment to themselves. It could be that words are not required, and all eyes are upon them, drinking in their visage. Perhaps we look for a flaw to feel that moment of triumph that confirms their mortality. Perhaps that sounds weak, but the honesty of admitting our strange sense of inferiority when we encounter the gifted pricks away at our own being. People are weak and there are many that can't stand someone that might have more ability.   Those looking glass moments when we see the best or worst in ourselves reflected in everyone around us. Often you hear the smatterings of, "Who do they think they are!" Of course that person is oblivious of the heated jealous nature. Petty and self interested. Frail and insecure. We don't like to admit it at all because we have been driven to compete against each other and competition doesn't actually bring out the best in people, no, most often it just brings out the worst.

"It's a dog eat dog world out there." Or, "people" eat "people".

I said there was another way to look at the sign, and it actually seemed so simple. Many sages since the beginning of time have been telling us a number of things. Philosophers, scientists, writers, mystics, teachers, and leaders from all points of society have all been on the same road. The quest for identity. Here is wherever you are. Time changes and doesn't change.   However it is always now. You are the I. Where does that leave us?

Determining the what. The what to show up for. The what to create. The what is your choice, path, opportunity, decision. The what is your life.

However, it seems there is a huge problem right now with decision making. A huge lack of direction is going on, a lack of vision that seemed to have blinded many able bodied people. We all seem to go after someone because we lack vision for our own lives. We are on the hunt for the scapegoat. The sacrificial lamb to blame for our choices. It is the easy way out.

OR is it? At the end of the day, you still have to look in the mirror and look at your own life. Do you really do all you could with your life? Is someone else responsible for living YOUR life for you? All of those little compromises you make, the selling out points, the quiet justifications that someone else will fix it or solve it...comes down to realizing that you have to be here. You have to show up. You have to realize the time is always now. You have to present yourself.   Finally...you have to decide to make a difference wherever you are.

I thought about it and we could look at it very differently indeed. We don't need to run away from our ego, we need to stop beating it up and hating it, and we really have to stop giving a damn about what anyone thinks. We also have to stop looking for two people. The person to blame and the person to save us from ourselves. What could we accomplish if we never found those two people?

Perhaps we might even understand how empowered we might feel if we actually said these words.

"It's time...Here I am", said I.

and then did something.

Don't look for testicles. You are who you are. Don't be afraid of the reflection. Perhaps that is why vampires fear their reflection. There is nothing to see when someone feeds off others...

A Public Service Announcement From The Youth of the World

2010-10-20T10:57:00.005+02:00

Forgive me, I am a woman. Forgive me, I am a bit naive. Forgive me, I ask a lot of questions without the need to deceive. I just wanted to ask all of you out there, perhaps you are in the choir, but for those of you who sing a long to this song...this is kind of directed to those who don't see eye-to-eye with us. I want to ask how has peace ever come from war? I can't think of a necessary war, not really. Most of the wars would or could not have happened if they went unfunded within the last 100 years. How much is life worth? How much could be done if we allocated our resources towards getting ourselves off of oil? Maybe that is what the oil-rich countries are afraid of. That we would not need them, that we would use less of them and perhaps collaborate more towards a positive future.

If we learned to be self reliant instead of dependent, think of all of the things we could get done and how exciting that might be to build and create with each other instead of having enterprises emphasizing our differences, and though they are bad things. Really, do we want everyone to be the same? With the same thoughts, the same beliefs, the same everything when we need our differences...now more than ever.

So dark, the media in the west seems to appear. Fights for money and not for life. Fights over pensions, taxes, wages...between class systems that are driven by one tool. A tool that has been given life to take away or add to our lives. A thing has been given power over the breathing people who have a pulse and don't realize how important being an individual is. A tool that is fought over instead of shared. A thing that rules even the elite and moneyed classes. How far we have to go that we would given intelligence to a hammer and not retain any wisdom. A thing that has taken lives to pay others to take lives not because war is noble, but because it is paid for.

That we give so little thought to the youth of this age who remind us that "Peace is OURS...IF we want it." That would mean for all of us. Revenge? What good is it? Revenge can only come back time and time again for it is never satisfied. Nothing can bring you peace but yourself. Nothing can bring you peace but the triumph of principles. (Emerson)

When will we rise up out of the dark ages and stop our blood sacrifices to our gods? Be those gods of money, material, profits and religion or power, take down those sacrifice pits. Blood spilled for nothing. Wasted lives that we have no concept of how rare and precious each life is. YOU were a ONE in a 300,000 Billion shot (Amram Scheinfeld)! Each life is beyond calculation as far as potential impact. So why are we told we have to BE like each other? Oh what opportunities we miss when we fail to see and realize we all are needed.

So on this beautiful day, as I looked at the sunrise and noticed people around me. Having their own thoughts, dreams and duties I thought of these words by Emerson, and this portion of an essay called, "Self Reliance". I am glad he wrote them in a time where we were not so politically correct.

There is a time in every man's education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide;

that he must take himself

for better

for worse

as his portion, that through the wide universe is full of good

no kernal of nourishing can come to him,

but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given to him to till.

The power which resides in him is new in nature,

and none but he knows what that is which he can do,

nor does he know until he has tried.

Emerson

Simply put, YOU want what exactly you want for yourself. It takes just one to stop repeating messages of hate and revenge. To be able to see and be who you are and not be a 'joiner'. You can be a third rate copy of your idols or a first rate original...you. Imitation is not flattery. It steals from everything you could be.

This world needs you, the authentic version now more than ever. You have to accept yourself and quite trying to be what you believe others want you to be. Seek yourself and you will find where your heart is. I think if people really looked, they would find that the universe IS good, and if we realized that would we need to go to war with anyone? What do you want? Why waste the shot we have been given to be here. 300,000 Billion to One...what odds for each one of us!

Laughter of the gods

2010-10-17T12:30:00.002+02:00

I write like
Oscar Wilde

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

If you want to insult someone, tell them they remind you of someone else. Tell them they lack the originality of a spider. Compare them and destroy their original fire. Prick away their pride and make them but a mere mortal, a replicated gene series that anyone can mix up in a lab. Take away their identity and turn them back into the lump of clay that they are. Tell them that they can only repeat the ideas of others and have them hate their own creation. Breed discontent and confusion and then, finally, you will have killed all hope of any elevation out of their primordial soup. There are (long pause) no more words to be said.

And if you analyze any section of text, you will get a variety of responses. I pasted several different entries trying to get an analysis, not accepting or rejecting anything rendered. The above paragraph came back, stating I write like Dan Brown. A couple of emails I analyzed had results that ranged from Stephen King, David Foster Wallace to Kurt Vonnegut. Are we writing what we read at that moment, just repeating the styles and cherry-picking the moments that color our text?

Then again, the artists of this world study strokes of the masters, try to recreate them and spend hours upon hours trying to capture that magic that was once created to recreate it in this era....and then stop. A sigh. A palette, a medium, a knife, a chisel, a block of stone...and then....ah damn. Someone has done it before and they put down the tools and want to scream at the gods that they want to challenge the masters of all time.

But, there is only the remains to compete against. Look at the lives that created, that we admire and elevate and aspire to be like. I hear the echoes of laughter because as many of my friends would say, you should never aspire to be them. Of course not! We elevated their pain and misery. Scientists that were locked away or killed for sharing their truth. Artists who were only allowed to create images that glorified the gods of their ages. When it came down to artists, their lives of paint and disease...or writings deemed to be absolute insanity. Art consumes and dines on the drama of mankind. Does it have to be as such?

We scream to be individuals, or I should say some of us do. Some of us would scream to be a copy (aren't all of the dead celebrities living in Las Vegas?). Ah, but what is the real quest? Is it to be loved, as Henry Miller confessed upon his deathbed, "I just wanted to be loved." But by whom? I wondered as I watched the video of his final days. I thought of it as the oddest thing to say. Did he want his work to be loved or himself, the man? Even then, it seemed kind of the most selfish thing to say.

Please, don't think this post is negative...it is a statement of simply saying the machines believe it all has been said and done before. So many lives have been lived that there is no possibility for innovation. I would say that yes, we have come a very long way, just think about how many times the wheel has been reinvented. Clay will continue to be molded, paints mixed, and our mediums will evolve as we create images of all that we see and hear along the way.

The gods may laugh at the renderings of humanity, but it is of no consequence, for words always retain the power of its messenger, to create or to destroy. There is no one to blame. We have the technology to use in whatever way we see fit and we do have the power to take the human element out of the equation and that perhaps makes me rage at the machine. We want to be human and not a preconceived notion where everything is a calculated movement. That is what technology shows us. That we are studied renditions that takes away the possibility that we can choose to be something other that some form of genetic predestination.

Yes, we may be simple creatures that have similar experiences along the way, but they are unique as snowflakes. Humanity wants that. We wrestle with that. The art of simply being and not designed.

....you do have something you would like to add, even if it has been done before, so reinvent. It may be far superior to the original.

It's just a rant...but I like being ever so 'human'.

What's Your Source of Power?

2010-10-15T00:39:00.002+02:00

Upon my return to Nanjing, I had felt the pull to go back and see the Museum again, as though I may have missed something along the way. We often go to museums to learn something about the culture and past history of a culture. To see what life was like in a time called, 'before'.
As it is commonly known, China celebrates the image of the dragon. Often a dragon is closely associated with wisdom and isn't feared. However, in the west, the common approach is viewed with fearful appearances. Our mythologies abound with dragon slayers, heralded for their 'courage'. I viewed the stark differences, as almost as if the west would embrace knowledge and sacrifice wisdom. Actually, there is a lot more to that view. How many centuries did the west go through telling the people that the 'world was flat?' Flat or round, the 'discovery' was little more than a person that was celebrated for having the elite acknowledge what was already in existence. The world comedy of discovery and declaration comes down to this. It already exists, but is not universally accepted as truth.

There is a difference between application and information. We can be well-informed, but at a total loss with how to use the information we have. Having all the information in the world and not knowing how to use it, makes a person not more intelligent, but foolish.
As I looked at the ancient symbols and methods of communicating we had at the time, such as chimes for distress, we seem to be ringing a lot of bells...so much so, that no one has any senses that are not disturbed. So we try to silence them along the way. Everyone is shouting that the sky has fallen, but no one knows what to do about it. People have seem to have forgotten how to live and rely on others to tell them how to think, feel, and listen. These basic survival skills, which have fallen away for many due to relying on others instead of being able to listen to one's own voice has been costly for many who relied on systems to make their way in life.
As I looked adoringly on these pieces of art, I noticed the screens used for concealment, but walls always have ears. Thousands of years of monarchy rule over many differing cultures, telling them, they must serve their rulers. People did serve them, and often people desire to be ruled, but when will people desire to rule themselves and not entrust themselves to systems? We have societies, but flawed when it comes to the responsibilities of power.
I went back to look at a throne. The interesting thing about the throne was the seat of power. The image of a red dragon, that was normally carefully concealed with a seat cushion. Had the dragon given the monarch their power that was hidden from the people? Or had the people given the monarch their power? So often we don't see the real source of our own power, that comes to us naturally when we refuse to slay dragons of wisdom that come into our lives. If we only favor information then we remain foolish and slay the dragon that could have given us the wisdom of the world.

Then again, that is still aiming too low.

In the Garden of War and Peace

2010-10-10T10:10:00.000+02:00

Before Veteran's Day approaches, I thought I would ask instead of celebrating wars and the rumors of wars, or the stories of war heroes, what if we forgot our reasons for war for a moment? I think I found a wonderful reason to forget them all. It is through remembering them, often hatred persists. We never seem to go forward, only told that we are supposed to hate our enemies and fight everyone and soon we forget why we are all fighting to begin with. There are wars that have lasted centuries, and some, since the beginning of time. Some in the name of peace. Some in the name of revenge. Some for no apparent reason at all, except to profit from it or to secure seats of power.
I have been to many war museums that proudly displayed their conquests over other nations. To record the past battles and victories along the way. Often these museums display the conquered with war trophies and stories that go along with them. However, hidden away, in a corner garden, I found the relics of warfare here. With nature growing all around it. Letting all of it go into the past, with the stories buried in the earth.
It seems ironic find such a peaceful setting. A conflict of seeing such beauty with the cannons now silent and still after taking so many lives along the way. I saw the wisdom of the silent weapons. Neither elevated for patriotic purposes or to be used to rub salt in the wounds of those who may have been defeated. Silent cannons raised and not aimed at another, but raised in a silent disuse.
Instead, they are a dark reminder of how stones were launched against each other. This is no fear of them ever being used again against another life.
As I looked at the inscriptions and saw how other nations may have interloped with this one in the past for their own financial gains, I thought this age, where others try to gain from those who seem less fortune along the way.
Proudly silent they remain in a garden not as a symbol of war, but of what peace looks like. A nation that celebrates peace should be as such and never proudly display weapons of warfare. With silent cannons and birds making their nests in the trees above them.

Naturally Nature

2010-10-07T05:17:00.000+02:00

As I left behind the Pearl River Delta in the Guangdong province, migrating north through the beautiful city of Guangzhou, I decided that I would capture the moments I saw on my long journey. I had no idea how starved my eyes were for the scenes of nature after living in Nanjing for nearly six months. The man-made structures are indeed beautiful, but there is no comparison to what the earth provides for us all. Man can only provide for some.
The landscapes breathe out the simple beauty and harmony as I looked out at the Pearl River and all of the waters that feed her.
So as I left, I tried to keep these images in my mind. The beauty. The calm. The depth.
The humble fishing boats in the haze of a setting sun.
And the fields that shout their bounty without making a single sound. This is the real treasure, the reality of the harmony we should all see in those moments when our man-made structures seem to get in the way. This is the beauty of China that few ever get to see. My eyes did not tire looking at her.

Be My Guest

2010-10-02T05:29:00.002+02:00

Just three years ago, if you had told me that I would be in China listening to a Mayor give a celebratory speech in their former capital city, I would have laughed in your face. At that time I held the views that had still washed my brain; unable to separate politics from people, unable to separate the -isms and -ists. Yet, as I stood there, surrounded by red I took in this semi-bizarre moment as I watched 5 foreign businessmen being awarded honorary citizenship to the sound of light applause as we all held our wine glasses waiting to toast the moment. I didn't see Communism celebrated in the room. I saw money celebrated, jobs, self-interest, and commerce....dare I say the word...Capitalism.

As I watched the performers all play their roles, there was no difference. The music may have been different. The clothing of their imperial culture displayed. However, I looked carefully at the venue, held in the purple mountain area. I saw the haves and no have nots. I saw the classes of power, money and academia present. Of course jobs are always celebrated, and the flow of money, but I was struck by the odd performance. Perhaps it was that I was comparing it to the many ceremonies and speeches I had seen in the past and finding absolutely no difference.

I had felt like I was the only one who openly noticed the show and admired it instead of treating it like wallpaper.

And the original closing words of George Orwell's Animal Farm came to my mind, The original ending of the book that existed before the CIA purchased it when they remade the movie. "The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which."

Perhaps I am one of the creatures looking in just to tell you, there is no difference.

As Orwell also wrote, Some animals are more equal than others.

In the Museum of the Sun

2010-09-27T09:27:00.002+02:00

Under heaven nothing is more soft and yielding than water. Yet for attacking the solid and strong, nothing is better;
It has no equal.
The weak can overcome the strong;
The supple can overcome the stiff.
Under heaven everyone knows this,
Yet no one puts it into practice.
Therefore the sage says:
He who takes upon himself the humiliation of the people is fit to rule them.
He who takes upon himself the country's disasters deserves to be king of the universe.
The truth often sounds paradoxical.
Verse 78
Tao Te Ching
Jane English Translation

When I walked through the Museum of Sun Yet-sen, my jaw dropped open. The colours of the banners seemed to jolt me. In the west, many of us are painfully uneducated about the ending of the monarchy in China. I was trying my best to remedy the situation myself. Much has been spoken of, with regard to all of the dynasties of the various monarchies that ruled China for thousands of years. Yet, a humble young man from the Guangdong province who held the belief that equality belonged to all and not just the elite few followed a deep passion within.

This museum replicated the humble beginnings of Sun Yet-sen with painstaking detail only usually given to saints. It is rare that you see a person that loves their people more than any shred of power that could be given to them, and that was precisely how this humble man rose to led a nation to independence, a democratic republic.
As I walked through I noticed a complete reverence for the place. Books that Sun Yet-sen had studied, his student desk, portraits of the libraries he studied at abroad, his imprisonment in the United Kingdom by the Chinese Embassy...each and every detail of his life held up for the public to see.
Even village recreation to show the environment he came from. All as a beacon to shine out for the people that anyone could be an instrument of positive change.
As I walked along the these pathways and looked at this young man's life I couldn't help but admire the heroism and courage it took to create a republic. He realized nothing is too big to fail and I saw why China still embraces his memory today. The power always resides with the people, it always will.

We are Many - Only the Unloved Hate

2010-09-26T07:54:00.001+02:00

In memory of SSG Lilian Clemons. For your family, and for your son who looked me in the eyes and asked me if your death was right. For which I found no words to respond truthfully, so I went to find the truth. We can only bring about peace by being peace and not fighting for it. You didn't die in vain, you changed my life.

"And I don't want the world to see me
Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am"

-Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls

Alone, I am just one. Together, we are the voices of many. We outnumber them.

Artist Invites Artist - Global Challanges

2010-09-23T06:16:00.003+02:00

I knew there was something incredible about Alette Simmons-Jimenez when I met her over three years ago in Miami when she went for was seemed like an impossible dream called Artformz Alternative. It was only five years old and survived the horrific hurricane seasons we had gone through, at a time when many galleries had shut down, she evolved the gallery into a collaborative environment that shared the spotlight and it became more about others.

In her latest venture, Artist Invites Artist - once again, a new direction is explored. Using Kickstarter to help with projects to help anyone desiring to help artists from around the world with their projects.

If you are a giving person, and are so inclined, take a real look at how little it takes to help someone achieve their dreams. It is important to have those voices come forward to be heard, not for the sake of making money, but for the ability to have an impact on the world around us. Perhaps to have those messages inspire us, move us or simply to discover each other.

And perhaps even though I am all the way around the world...I am able to help her through this little post.

Visit Artformz Alternative in the Wynwood District in Miami, if you ever get a chance. If you do, tell Alette I said hello. There is always time to help a friend.

Being Human

2010-09-22T00:22:00.000+02:00

In the marketplace of life, who determines the value? Is it the buyer or the seller? Often we see something, ask for the price and determine then if we are willing to trade for it. I often love to go to open markets, more to watch the people than actually to acquire things. You see the wave of human drama as sellers, anxious to unload what is perishable to a public that is trying to fulfill their family's needs. Samples of produce are often cut open to display its fresh quality openly, yet when a seller doesn't have such a display, buyers often walk by the stand suspecting something may be a little off.
As I walked through an area in Zhongshan, I viewed the story board of safety tips for the community. Step by step cautions relating to a multitude of topics. The social training that all societies employ in differing venues. How often it seems we rely on others to tell us how we should behave.
Shouldn't it be as simple as this sign above?

After all, we are human and at one time or another we hang our laundry outside to dry.

The Legend of Hou Yi and Chang'e

2010-09-19T00:22:00.001+02:00

It is the time of the Harvest moon in the east. From the 14th to the 16th day of the 8th of the lunar calendar. It is a time of celebration for the living. In the east there are often holidays to commemorate their ancestors, but the Harvest Moon festivals have great significance here in Asia. This year, being in China, I thought I would share with you one of the great legends of China as it was shared with me.

"A long, long time ago, a terrible drought plagued the earth. Ten suns burned fiercely in the sky like smoldering volcanoes. The trees and grass were scorched. The land was cracked and parched, and rivers ran dry. Many people died of hunger and thirst.

The King of Heaven sent Hou Yi down to the earth to help. When Hou Yi arrived, he took out his red bow and white arrows and shot down nine suns one after another. The weather immediately turned cooler. Heavy rains filled the rivers with fresh water and the grass and trees turned green. Life had been restored and humanity was saved.

One day, a charming young woman, Chang'e makes her way home from a stream, holding a bamboo container, A young man comes forward, asking for a drink. When she sees the red bow and white arrows hanging from his belt, Chang'e realizes that he is their saviour, Hou Yi. Inviting him to drink, Chang'e plucks a beautiful flower and gives it to him as a token of respect. Hou Yi, in turn, selects a beautiful silver fox fur as his gift for her. This meeting kindles the spark of their love. And soon after that, they get married.

A mortal's life is limited, of course. So in order to enjoy his happy life with Chang'e forever, Hou Yi decides to look for an elixir of life. He goes to the Kunlun Mountains where the Western Queen Mother lives.

Out of respect for the good deeds the has done, the Western Queen Mother rewards Hou Yi with elixir, a fine powder made from kernels of fruit which grows on the tree of eternity. At the same time, she tells him, "If you and your wife share the elixir, you will both enjoy eternal life. But if only one of you takes it, that one will ascend to Heaven and become immortal."

Hou Yi returned home and tells his wife all that has happened and they decide to drink the elixir together on the 15th day of the eighth lunar month when the moon is full and bright.

A wicked and merciless man named Feng Meng secretly overhears about their plan. He wishes Hou Yi an early death so that he can drink the elixir himself and become immortal. His opportunity finally arrives. One day,when the full moon is rising, Hou Yi is on his way home from hunting. Feng Meng ambushes and kills him. Feng Meng then runs to Hou Yi's home and tries to force Chang'e to give him the elixir, however, without hesitating, Chang'e picks up the elixir and drinks it all.

Overcome with grief, Chang'e rushes to her dead husband's side, weeping bitterly. While she is by his side, the elixir begins to take effect and Chang'e feels herself being lifted towards Heaven.

Chang'e decides to live on the moon because it is nearest to the earth. There she lives a simple and contented life. Even though she is in Heaven, her heart remains in the world of mortals. Never does she forget the deep love she has for Hou Yi and the love she feels for the people who have shared their sadness and happiness."

Now make a wish, for this is the time of harvest celebration, which is both a celebration of life and of love eternal.

Overcoming the Hardness of Life

2010-09-15T00:00:00.002+02:00

The softest thing in the universe

Overcomes the hardest thing in the universe.
That without substance can enter where there is no room.
Hence I know the value of non-action.

Teaching without words
and work without doing
Are understood by very few.
The Tao Te Ching - 43rd Verse
Jane English Translation

I had written in an earlier entry of a find of a tree growing through a boulder, located at a museum in Nanjing. While on my sojourn in Zhongshan we came to a little oasis in a park. It isn't often I get drawn to do strange things, but I felt compelled to climb in to and area where I just felt like I would find something similar. There it was, the seemingly impossible, another tree that come up through a boulder. The one above in Zhongshan, the one below in Nanjing.
I reflected on my journey, how the softness in my own life seemed to open more doors than with a hard stance. Often with the hardness, it went against my nature, making the pressures of life seem unbearable at times. When I looked at these trees I thought about the journey from a small seed to go through where no light existed, by a force of faith, that some amount of space came and it reached up towards the light and water. As its roots expanded, the softness made way up and out of the rock.
Should it be an impossible journey? Should it be so hard? Often I wondered about the times I needed to have just a little more patience, just a little more strength to push through. At the same time I looked and actually could observe the action and nonaction at the same time. They may not be perfect trees out there on their own, growing without opposition.
But in this oasis of calm, I saw the harmony of how life can actually be soft even when it appears to be hard.

Burning Incense without Prayers

2010-09-11T00:00:00.005+02:00

This is the only Buddhist Temple I have been to in China. Not that I frequent Buddhist temples for religious reasons, but I tend to visit temples because they are the symbols of believing in something bigger than yourself. For that feeling, I love to look at the expanse of the sky to realize how small I am, but in the neon haze, it often can be difficult to feel that sense of smallness we often need.
In this temple, the monks are completely vacant. There were no nuns, just the statues remained with a few people keeping up the temples, selling incense and prayer papers. I watched a woman carefully go through the practiced ritual with almost a moment of hesitation as she shoved her prayer bucket into the flames.
I looked at the flames and wondered for a moment if the ashes would speak for her. Half of the time I stared at the flames and wondered how often we do little things like this in times of trouble to make ourselves feel a sense of peace about the circumstances that pass through our lives like seasons. When we think of past wounds, are they still there or have we covered them up with rotting bandages?
It was my turn and I was kind of wrestling with the plastic covering the incense. A flame tender assisted me as I decided to burn them; not for myself, but for all of the people that seemed to lack hope. With all that my eyes had seen in China, I felt I had much to be thankful for, so without prayers I took the incense and placed the sticks in various places, spreading them out so the scent could waft through the temple. There were no names, just silence. There were no bows, just my paces.
I followed the young woman who modeled the way for me. All along the way, I thought of the people without names who I had only seen. Without belief in anything but the stars I could see that spiral out into galaxies, I felt small, and smaller still did my life seem to appear. I could not feign any sort of reverence, but I did pay respect to the purpose of the place. I had no complaints in the heat of the day. But, for a moment I understood why people pray. Life can be hard. The task is living, not dying. There is pain in life. You can do everything possible in the world to avoid it. You can protect yourself from others.

However, in doing so, a person then gives up on living by being too afraid to live and only thinking of all of what 'might' happen to them. In focusing on what 'might' happen, you might might miss all of the good along the way.

Here is to walls coming down in order to be free...wherever you are.

Art...Real or Fake

2010-09-09T09:09:00.000+02:00

I saw a post from one young blogger, a great young woman who is studying literature in the United States. She did a film review, an ironic choice of "F is for Fake", the very last film that Orson Welles released in his lifetime in 1973. I have always been attracted to people who seem to be rebels, but who they really are is always up for interpretation. The premise of the film goes into the question, What is art? In Orson's view, art is all fake.

But what about those who just are driven to create? It made me look at my own journey. I am drawn to people, and often they are drawn to me and tell me their stories. Often, they are filled with pain, the pain associated with life. I remember when I was in Paris, and a strange man saw me the Buttes Chaumont, which is in the XVIII district of Paris. He saw me photographing all sorts of things in the park, and followed me, just watching me. Finally, he came up to me and asked if I would join him for coffee.

"My English is not that good, so it would be nice if I could talk to you." He began. There was something about his approach. Something so honest about it, that I couldn't decline. So I agreed and left with him to a nearby cafe. He was holding a satchel, not really much of one. He was asking about my French, and began to tell his story.

"I have lived a horrible life." He started slowly and then opened up his bag. He reached inside to pull out a large envelope and laid it on the table in between our cups of coffee. "I have asked many strangers, to write about me, and I think you are a writer." As he poured out his life before me, I listened to detail after detail. A life, that at many times, went through many valleys that were dark and horrible. The agony of his life was centered around one event. One event he kept reliving over and over again. It was over a lost love. There was a Romeo and Juliet quality to the story, but I wasn't falling for it.

There was a woman he loved very much, when he was very young. He had asked her to marry him and she agreed, but her father opposed the marriage. He still pressed her for her hand in marriage, but at the time, she was not in the position to go against her father nor go against the love of her life. So she made a different choice, and threw herself to her death in front of a train...dying instantly.

He never let go and kept living in a beautiful, dark hell of his own making. He didn't give himself permission to have a life he could live. When he finished his story, I asked him one question.

"Why haven't you let yourself live? You died that day...and every day for over 20 years, you have kept throwing yourself in front the train with her. She chose to die. You need to choose to live." His eyes welled with tears. I don't know why no one had told him that before. I don't know why he came up to me that day. I looked over the envelope's contents...and the words, in so many different languages...in chaotic writing was full of drama and pain.

Pain is very easy to hold on to and becomes the identity of a person. Sad and dark lives that should have been or could have been something else. I have seen people defend their pain. Justify it. Violently protect it. But a wound that continues to be ripped open again and again...never heals.

You don't stay in these valleys of pain...you keep walking through it.

So, I view art differently. Art doesn't have to be fake. Perhaps that is why I am drawn to create, to be flawed, and not care about comparisons along the way. Because I am not trying to be anyone else but me.

Leave the fake images and plastic in Hollywood. So, as I grow, evolve and learn differing crafts and developing talents...I share this virgin effort with you, called...simply "What If..."

Eat or Be Eaten?

2010-09-05T00:00:00.002+02:00

I often view the markets with a mixture of pleasure and disgust. I can't help that side of me, as I gradually became a vegetarian bit by bit. It started off as I started growing physically intolerant of meat. Now, as I have become more sensitive, the smell of the flesh of dead animals bothers me. It was a strange evolution for me, but I have managed to stay away from red meat completely.
I walked through the market, and felt the heat of the day as we were all walking through Zhong Shan, and saw people who just needed to sleep. It's like that with the body, if you fail to listen to its needs it just kind of gives out on you.
As I wandered by, a friend and I noticed these two fish who had been cut wide open to display their freshness. I was totally horrified because their hearts were still beating. Half of their bodies were gone, and there were the hearts, still pumping blood. I felt done. The last bit of meat I had left on my menu was gone.
They were still struggling to live and somehow I became completely sympathetic to their pain. No, I don't get after people who need meat to live. However, in a very strange way I wondered about my growing intolerance within myself.
I looked at the fish heads, with mouths wide open and then saw the fish in the pond outside, fat and swarming to be fed, ever so trusting, poking their heads out of the water.
What a different view life has in this pond for them. Maybe in a few months I can eat salmon steaks again...maybe, but only if they are killed swiftly with a bit of mercy. Or I could just stay as I am...not missing the taste of their flesh, and choosing to go a different way. We often forget about the lives that feed into ours. How little would it take for someone to view us as little more than fattened cattle if intelligence was used as a food guide?

Miami is Calling You...

2010-09-01T06:00:00.006+02:00

For me, this was a welcome invitation to receive. I looked at the suitcase and thought of how wonderful it would be to see this master artist again. What most of you probably haven't realized is that you have seen his work throughout the world, but haven't been aware of the creator. At times, this giving soul has lent his incredible talent to many non-profit events, such as Haiti and others along the way.

However, he is, an artist, a film maker, a silent humanitarian, a life with misspelled words, and above all a friend. In a world that tries to make everything into a competition and about comparing, we often fail to look and observe. Very often, I have found that we all need to dial ourselves down and remember what life was like before all of the business of busy-ness came into our lives.

Slow down and look.

Plan to go to Miami, and while you are there, go to Lincoln Avenue. Let this poster collection be an invitation to discover the works of Philip Brooker.

Go ahead...you have time.

I have always believed that art should tell a story, even tell us parts we may at times not want to hear, without words.

So turn the page...

No Words

2010-08-29T15:42:00.000+02:00

Journey to Zhong Shan to Find My Way

2010-08-25T13:08:00.006+02:00

"Don't look at the finger pointing to the moon. It's just a finger. The moon is the moon, not the finger." I don't know how many times Dr. Luke Chan said that to me and the small group that met with him to study Chi Lel Qigong for the past three weeks. However, I needed this oasis more than anyone knew, even myself.Before I had departed, I had looked at what my blog had become. It was a huge departure from the direction I wanted. So, I had 'deleted' my blog, and when I made the journey back, I resolved to revive my blog along with my revived perspective on life. I honestly don't know how it happened. It seemed like I was noticing more and more negative aspects in life than the positive ones I had been used to seeing. It got to such a point that it was effecting everything in my life, to include my health. So I did what I needed to do, and found something that worked for me while here in China. Though the practice is Chi-Lel is largely based on the principles on the Tao te Ching or Dao de Jing (whichever preference you have). I found it to have many positive aspects that went beyond the physical, to effect a positive mind and body connection that was noticed almost immediately.
Also during my stay, we saw the incredible history of this city, which was the birthplace of the most revered person in modern China's history, Sun Yet-sen, who was instrumental in the overthrow of the monarchy that ruled China for over 2,000 years. The statue above is also the only statue of an American, who was a great supporter of Sun Yet-sen, Ruan Yan. The story is one of the most amazing ones, showing what one person can do to change a nation. The Republic of China was formed on 1 January 1912, and Sun Yet-sen simply pledged to support the people, and had fought many battles along the way, trying to keep the republic going until his untimely death in 1925 of Liver Cancer.
In this quite place, with a slower pace of life, I was able to retreat under the blue skies and palm trees, an oasis of time that I used to regain my spirit, find my inner muse and realize that the world will always be full of more than enough drama. It is very true that things happen and often in chaos and discord we seem to want to find a reason for things. We want them to remain the same, but they are always constants.
However, sometimes we need to ask ourselves how true the reflections are. Are you really seeing what you see, seeing what others want you to see, or seeing only what you want to see...or primarily just looking for the worst possible result...

With that thought held deeply in my mind...I thought again and began to see a different image in the reflection.

Bezpečné jízdy na vás ... nashledanou Praha

2010-02-05T14:38:00.004+01:00

This was a bittersweet moment for all of us this week. 25 came and many terrific friendships were formed. As I am packing up and preparing for my next journey, as others are as well, I have to say this was the best part of Prague...right here in this classroom. I thought about how we all are going to have such incredible adventures all over the world.
We toasted our to our futures in teaching around the world. What started over a year ago, with my first tentative steps in South Korea, to bring me here to Prague...made me realize there is a lot to going with the flow and not fighting the currents. You tend to struggle more by swimming against the tide and fighting your nature. There is a reason why I am drawn to teaching. For all the lessons I have learned, I learned the most from these bright and talented people...so full of life and adventure.

To dance...and just say YES...instead of no to your dreams. DREAM BIGGER and go in the direction of your dreams. You are the only one who holds yourself back.

Good bye Prague...and stay in touch.

the sun finally does rise in Prague

2010-01-31T19:20:00.003+01:00

Have you ever been so thirsty to see a sunrise that you wake up your flatmate just to see it? I had been here for three weeks and the only sign was the brightening the clouds and that was how I knew the day had begun. Winter skies are often dark with pregnant clouds yielding their fat snow flakes. During the winter months, you have to have just a bit of faith that the sun still exists.

The sun was a shade of red I forgot existed. I was able to gaze with wonder at this red ball of light and reflect on the many sun rises I observed in South Korea. What I marvelled at was how the sun just appeared to always be white, a different position on our globe, a different season and I felt like I discovered a new view.

How each new day appears as something new and even though I appreciate winters far more now than I had in my youth, I always get up to see a sunrise. Perhaps it is in the promise of a new day, the power it represents. While we live we still have the power to make anything possible.

Sounds of The Prague Royal Orchestra

2010-01-18T20:02:00.009+01:00

The old Bethlehem church had their outdoor statues adorned with flowers and gifts with the burning candles and homeless praying to statues. I was reminded of the classic line from Beowolf, "No god will help us when we can help ourselves." Often the stench of strong drink clouds a sober mind, and I wonder how many paths and directions we all go in at times, but no commentary on the lives of the street. No judgment about their lives. The streets are perfumed by the hot wine stands, the cheese rounds on display as the snow comes down and meat is roasted over open wood pits. I look and see etched faces in the marble and marvel at the gifts we all have. Down the road, I found a gift, in the Municipal House of Prague.
A brief description of the House which houses several restaurants and concert halls which I found while I was on a different quest and I opened the door and found heaven on earth. "The concert halls of the Municipal House is one of Prague´s most impressive and significant concert halls, primarly due to superior acoustic and its magnificient Art Nouveau interior. The building is crowned by the outstanding decor created by most of the prominent Czech artists of the day, namely the painters and the sculptors: Alfons Mucha, Max Svabinsky, Frantisek Zenisek, Bohumil Kafka, Josef Vaclav Myslbek."

In this place, I found all of my loves, art, jazz, Mozart and Vivaldi. I also was able to realize one of my dreams today, to sit in the front row and listen to heaven. I went in alone, but I am never lonely. My eyes filled with pink marble, the carvings, the paintings, the statues, and the feel of so much of the history of what it must have been like in the past and the flourishing of the future. I wanted to weep with the pleasure I was simply feeling just walking in the corridors or sitting in a booth while drinking a glass of wine. I wanted to multiple the time, the moments, and stretch it out and savour it.

My eyes were opened wide. How often to you go into a place and just feel the experience as if it was a holy moment? How often do you go to a place and realize where you are? The person that gave me my ticket at the booth saw in my eyes the deep love I had, and discounted my ticket. When I asked for a front row seat, she said to me, "I love to sit in the front row too. There is no other seat like it."

I saw them play, without anyone obscuring my view. I was incredibly happy to learn that as much as I wanted to photograph I could...and I hope they always allow their visitors to be able to have this opportunity. I don't know if I will ever be able to come back to Prague, but for now I am here.

I am amazed that people believe classical music will die. This violinist is a rock star. From the front row in Prague, in the Municipal House. With my little camera, I captured this moment. I am no expert film maker (ha ha ha), but what good is an experience if you can't share it.
That is why I am sharing it with you.

To...enjoy.

Religious Relic of St Vitus Cathedral

2010-01-14T20:49:00.003+01:00

I like to be more timely in my posts, however, getting adjusted and settling into Prague, in combination with the obligations I have signed on for here have been challenging at times. Like trying to understand how and why things are done the way they are done has been at times somewhat amusing. The real world events of the Haitian earthquake has also dampened my enthusiasm for sharing my side ventures...which seem pathetic at this time. Human suffering never seems to stop for a moment. So many tell us to pray, but to what? So it kind of seemed appropriate that I happened to see St Vitus Cathedral in Prague. It seems like an artifact of the darkness I now associate with religion. Religion likes to blame things on perceived sins. Was it sin that causes children to die from the mounds of earth that shifted in an area that had not known an earthquake in over 200 years??? Do we need to blame something or someone for tragedy? So as I looked as this rendition of the ark of the covenant, I realized the full symbology of how this symbol was to protect and strengthen all of those who would battle in the name of a god, as long as this ark was before the warring army, giving false courage to those who would raise their weapons against others. Well, my thoughts on war have been long abandoned, but I still ponder how people are manipulated through many means. It usually is in the most malicious ways, using those things we love and cherish to serve their ambitions. It is at those points, we are so much like sheep.

Still, I found signs of Paris in Prague. In a cafe, the Eiffel looked at me. Through the snow excreting skies, I saw the tip of the replica calling me.
I still am beginning my journey to discover this city, this jewel that has just started to taste freedom again. Just a beautiful journey. I realize that more and more each day.

Dobry Den from Prague

2010-01-11T19:45:00.003+01:00

If you want to feel like going back in time, there is nothing like taking a train during winter from Paris to Prague. The snows were coming down blanketing Europe delays and cancelations of all forms of travel, except for my charmed trains. I watched the ticker of the schedule canceling all Eurostar trains bound for the UK, and the other lines were on the brink of the same fate at Gare du Nord. I was one number off, and mine was still a go despite a 20 minute delay. Incredibly, I was booked to share a car with other femmes...but as fate would have it...I got a car all to myself. Getting the perk without having to pay for it when I boarded the change of trains in Köln Germany was like getting an unexpected gift. I however learned quickly why I was given two bottles of water...no running water on the train...so the irony of seeing a shower and the towels and soap reminded me of (ahem) a more horrific time in history.

I realized these routes had more horrific destinations, and I am sorry, but being on a train, where the end point was Moscow, really made me feel the full weight of history. Yes, I was (am) obsessed with the history of the second world war as we went along and through the dark snowy night...I crawled into the bed...really more of a litter and looked out the window, pulling the curtain down just enough to feel the rocking of the rails.
I arrived in Prague, met by a wonderful girl, named Helena. Helena's English had the most wonderful accent, perfectly imperfect English, that seemed to be the right dramatic effect to go along with the surrounding area. Helena later took the bulk of our motley crew on an adventurous tour, snow and all through the center of Prague. I feel like I have this growing love affair with the city, the cold, the snow, and of course the depth of the history that lies within their bones. Just over 11 million people live in the Czech Republic. Though they are apart of the EU, they resisted the Euro, which the people are very proud of that fact. As one local told me, 'it protected us from what the rest of Europe is going through.'
While we toasted our journey, our beginnings, we are this group of teachers who all breathed in for a moment what being here really means to each and every one of us. There is such a positive energy in this group that is unmistakable.
The beginnings of a journey that has a smile and a huge sense of humor, even if it means falling down a time or two in the snow...sliding down a hill and screaming at the top of my lungs as if I was 10 years old again...while I still can do it.
As this graph clearly illustrated for me...yes, 'I'm stronger...' but even more so...I am stronger than I even thought I was. Let's make most of this time...this adventure continues on.

Père Lachaise - Regret a Horrible Word

2010-01-07T16:51:00.004+01:00

Today is my last full day in Paris, and of course I had to say goodbye in Père Lachaise, it just seemed appropriate. While I was looking in the columbarium, one word that I kept seeing over and over again jumped out.

Placard upon placard...the word 'regrets' was plastered on the wall. I know the intention was to express sorrow over the passing, but how often to we set ourselves up for those needling results that prick you like a damn cactus on steroids. Having regret, most often implies hurting someone, which usually is your own self. However, I am glad for my imperfections, I have learned a hell of a lot from them. Before you start thinking I am this type-A perfectionist (well, wait, yes, that IS me), I really do try to find the rainbows after the storms come through. Except there are no rainbows during the winter months in Paris, just a dusting of snow.

So I tried to find a few scenes of beauty along the way. Paris has a way about making death into art. The grave above amused me. It was a young man who died...in the prime of his life. I looked at every angle of this gent to note the top hat, the waist coat of the era, his boots, and something else. The gent's image, well, whoever was commissioned to make this likeness, took extra care to ensure the man's pants were unbuttoned. I immediately fell in love.
The beauty with the dead flowers..sitting on a bench to one of my personal favorites; Marcel Proust...a red rose and the thoughts of me reading, "The Prisoner" on the way to Paris.
It isn't a bad thing to walk through and visit...not at all. It puts it all into perspective. No regrets darling...not ever. We just do our best to not injure those along the way...our bodies do have an expiration date. I believe it is a good thing to remember to make the most of whatever time we DO have. We forget at times how temporary everything is, so don't make it more difficult than it needs to be.

Good journeys to all of you. Next stop...well...stay tuned.

Place de la Concorde

2010-01-06T12:43:00.004+01:00

Place de la Concorde is not the center of Paris, but it should be. From here you are able to view and access the Louvre, Avenue des Champs-Élysées, see the Eiffel Tower, the obelisk of Luxor, and have a stroll through the history of Triumphs and Tragedies. Here, it seems, history, literature, art, and life pulses through these streets.

Paris is simple and complex. The people have endured revolution, been conquered and have conquered others. Often Americans forget, without France there would be no America. Without America, there would be swastikas flying still in the streets of Paris. This blood line between the two nations is deep and strong. In every sense of the words of Liberty and Freedom, these two nations are tied together under the constant tides and changes in the air that seem to project the challenge of the pursuit of life. Freedom is an intangible notion that people innately chase externally, through a person's own definitions of what that truly means is often in question. To be what you want. To do what you want. To experience the full nature of what it means to live for those brief moments of time we are given.

The appearances of grandeur, royalty...all remain. The people did not destroy these images when they changed their government by force. It is a testament that all governments should heed. The government should fear the people because it is for the people that governments exist. Yet, we also need to realize that governments are designed to serve.
The great wheel is up, and it spun around, displays for the tourists to see. However, it amazes me how the sounds of Paris are the sounds of many languages, cultures and creeds. I looked at the wheel in sheer appreciation. Just a wheel, perhaps, but the people still come just for the moment of seeing this grand dame of a city. The wheel evolved to provide comfort, instead of feeling the cold air sting the cheeks of those who used to ride the open chairs.
A wonderful footbridge is not far away that crosses the Seine. The steps going up and over the murky waters that churn with tourist boats...but there are no cars on this bridge. Just us.
And the locks that are placed along the bridge...the locks of love...of pledges two people who try to give love a go...for whatever time that may be...a moment or a lifetime.

The Cross Roads of Pigalle

2010-01-04T18:59:00.003+01:00

Pigalle is the guilt ridden playground of Paris. Along Boulevard de Clichy, it seems that it is all about sex and exhibitions or to put it simply, sensual pleasure without the real sensuality. The candy carnal knowledge seems to grow in economic downtimes. It just goes in cycles of seeing the same things over and over again...except there is even less mystery, less mystique, and it becomes more about the money.
Pigalle is the cross road of excess and falls under the shadow of the Catholic church. This strange guilt factor that casts this huge shadow over Clichy. Basilique du Sacré-Cœur de Montmartre attracts a daily pilgrimage of tourists and merchants alike. People don't come for a religious experience, but for the mere sake of seeing the complete landscape of the city (perhaps that is a religious experience).
When you think about the emotions people tie to a flag, a picture of a loved one, or the symbols of what people associate with love and passion...is it really necessary to beat our beings about with all of the nonsense of guilt and control? Just a few random questions along the journey...but I believe those are questions we all should ask ourselves.
Can liberty exist if you deny yourself the ability to feel free? From the cross-roads of Pigalle in the 18 eme...with love.

Happy 2010

2010-01-01T11:09:00.005+01:00

It was with complete amazement that I heard the sound of beauty in the Metro Tunnels of Paris on New Year's Eve. I guess I am a huge softy as I wanted to cry hearing this beautiful music in the most austere conditions that the Paris Metros can be. There was no second guessing myself as I pulled out my camera in wonder to capture the magic of this moment. The mood was high, as if the whole of the city could not wait for 2009 to be over and done with. In the transit of the day, as people were rushing off to celebrate, there were no fireworks at the Eiffel this year.
Here this group came together with open instrument cases and the passion of their gifted hands. It was with wonder I listened in the crossroads on Metro lines 1 and 4...too brilliant for this scene, like displaced art that made me want to move it to a different venue. The venue didn't seem to bother them, because the joy of just being able to play poured out of these young talents.
As I continued on in the night as the revelry continued with life pouring in and out of the metros I made it over to Jim Hayne's flat once again, and brought in the New Year with new friends from across the world...a cross road, a way point for the curious people of life.
Happy New Year from Paris...Life is beautiful at times...and this is one of those times.

Bonjour Ladies and Gentlemen! Comment allez vous??

2009-12-29T15:15:00.005+01:00

This was my view for many hours. I am guessing that what you are looking at is Russia. As a former cold war era vet, I appreciate this picture more than you will ever know. Maybe, I hope we really can stop all of our global domination nonsense and actually live in peace. From Seoul to Munich Germany and then it was onwards to CDG. Travelers always have stories, because honestly, when you are traveling by yourself, you find a strange dependency on others that can make people feel uncomfortable, even fearful. It was a journey that began in a taxi, to a high speed train, to a couple of airplane rides, a bus ride, a metro ride or two...to staying with a Lt Col from Sri Lanka, to finally get to my flat. Oh there were numerous nameless, faceless people I never met before...who just didn't their jobs to get me where I am. However, there is one thing I am, and that is happy. Two days into my Paris journey...and I have slept little, my stomach is having a hell of a time adjusting to the French cuisine. However, it took me a microsecond to realize why I love Paris. It is a city that is alive.
I was able to make my appointment with Mr. Jim Haynes. Sunday dinners at his flat, which was a former sculpture studio, is always a must for me. I heard that Jim was featured on NPR, and smiled as one of his guests kept talking about how she just heard about it and decided to hop a plane to meet Jim, who has the world come to dinner. I adore Jim because he genuinely loves people, is a wonderful writer and author and one of the funniest libertines I have ever met in my life.
The Holiday lights are on display along the Champs Elysées. Here are a few of the scenes that people normally ask to look at while in Paris. Outside of these scenes...I hope to share with you some things that are more substantial. The world is hurting, and though I am in Paris, I came because I have missed being here and life is too short to say 'no'. I said 'yes' and figured out how to make it all come together one piece at a time.
The Eiffel tower still stands, and I gladly walked kilometers to get here at the end of a decade of excess, changing dreams, of endings and beginnings...to embrace life fully. I don't know how my journey will continue. I don't have all of the answers. No one does. However, you get up, breathe and choose to keep on going.
Hang in there. Believe in what you are doing...and try like hell to live your dreams. No one else can live them for you.

Seeing the Wonder of a Fairytale

2009-12-19T14:33:00.010+01:00

There is the famous story of Anne Sullivan, who was the storied teacher for Helen Keller. During my year in Korea, I have often referred back to Anne Sullivan's struggle to get through the mind of a blind and deaf child, to communicate with her. Keller was violent, striking out at the world and at her teacher because she couldn't understand a thing. Helen Keller is a student that would have challenged the heart and soul of many teachers. As a matter of record, her parents were desperate to find a single teacher that could work with Helen. I have often felt like Anne Sullivan during this year, and yes, it has been a year of miracles.

This is my final week in Korea, and it has caused this liquid salty substance, known as tears, to come to my eyes.

I watched the children perform, sing, tell stories, and participate in an open class that I taught for the parents to observe (ah, no time for stage fright) how I worked with their children on a daily basis. This was an audience you don't want to disappoint. I decided to tell the story of "The Little Fir Tree", which I had vaguely remembered as a child. I had the children come up, one by one to select an ornament and decorate the small artificial tree to transform it for the use of a story that on the surface seems so benign. These little beings would tell their parents what they had selected and would place the ornaments on the tree. I saw nods of approval, pride in their smiling eyes, and most of all the morale of the story is not to say, "I am too little", but to be perfectly content with who you are. The tree wanted to see life, to possibly be a part of a ship or a timber in a house. Instead, the tree was beautified for sick children in a hospital ward, and touched and loved by the children. Smiles began to mask the threatening tears, because it hit me in that moment what these children had meant to me.

I didn't have one Helen Keller, I had two of them. They did not want to be at school. They didn't want to learn English. They were violent, stubborn and fought with everyone. I thought of Anne Sullivan and thought to myself, 'at least they can hear and see'. It took a lot of work to reach them both. They both happened to be incredibly talented, and on this day, I was presented with this bouquet from the most violent student I have ever had. He achieved the most of all of the students, winning a city-wide art contest, a speech contest in Seoul, and he became one of the best students. The other 'Helen' also transformed during the year, she began to achieve her own greatness by being herself.

I have to apologize for the sound quality, it is horrible...but here is the first verse of "I Have a Dream" by Abba...sound totally out of tune...but with the bravado that only children have.
As we joined the students in the third verse, on that little stage, I saw the whole audience join us as we sang. This is going to sound totally like I am a wet blanket...I cried.

I saw the wonder of a fairy tale.

Seven Seconds...The Art of Memory

2009-12-16T17:05:00.010+01:00

Jorge Lizalde and Mathilde Lopez Gomez are the brilliant minds behind a unique project I ran across this year, called Mnemonic . I was drawn to it immediately, inspired by their process of taken images and tying them to memories of complete strangers. I queried Jorge and I submitted one of my turning point memories as a child.

This memory is now called, Memory Number 009.

Here is the script I provided and the work they produced.

One of my earliest memories is of my mother awakening us in the middle of the night, with her finger pressed to her lips in a shushing motion. “Let’s play a game of hide and seek.” , she began. Her hair was long and dark, her blue eyes penetrating mine. “But we must not make a sound.” I saw suitcases in the corner, and our clothes were put on in a hurry. Silent dressing of three children, as I was the oldest…I looked at my younger sister and put my finger to my lips as my mother had done to me. My baby brother with his sparse blonde hair peeking through the the crib rails.

“Shhhhhh…we are going to hide, and now don’t make a sound.” The quiet whispers as we went down the stairs…with my little sister in tow. A low rumbling sound of an awaiting cab as we made it out the door, In the dead of night, with amber street lights…swishing by. Feeling the rocking motion of wanting to sleep, during this game of hide and seek, leading us to a bus terminal the crowds not so thick, and tired blinking eyes of flourescent blindness. Climbing the steps with toddler legs to feel the stiffness of false comfort of a seat…as I looked out the window to see the flashing of the streetlights as we drove out of Chicago that hyponitized me into a deep sleep.

That was the night my mother left my father when I was barely four years old.

7 seconds with Jorge and Mathilde
Mnemonic - The Art of Memories

Why have you focused on the early memories?

Both our work focuses on images and memory, Jorge as a principle of work as his pieces are always based on an inward investigation about memory, family and loss.

Whereas my work is often orientated towards our memory’s selection and deformation, and therefore its great potential of mythology.

As an image-maker, Jorge wanted to recreate his own first image-memory and became quickly conscious of the difficulty, confusion and eagerness it triggered and the impossibility of doing it on his own. Memories are not stored with more or less precision but recreated each time we remember. Early memories are even more so the results of multiple layers of invention, sometimes ours but also others, therefore any attempt to define them becomes an archeology-project of oneself. And as early memories are often remembered with and through disparate data, ours and other’s, they also should be recreated with others.

While working on The Motherland Project, a performance research with actors and dancers about images, origins and memory, we have experienced their re-creation with others but also discovered their common ground. Through out the rehearsals, however false, embellished or extremes, these deformed memories were highly personal and truthful while remaining very generic too, like tapping into some common fond.

In parallel to these projects we were both interested- and scared- by the enormous flow of images and videos living on the web. Scared as it does challenge your legitimacy as an artist, a photographer or theatre maker but also fascinated as the juxtaposition of this infinite amount of individuality/knowledge/beauty is incredibly exciting and hold huge potential.
We felt that something as intimate, sacred and defining as early memories could be created and live in that web format: A common memory database, very personal and generic at the same time, the compilation of all of us in its essence.

We looked for a format to open the process to people creativity and channel the multiple images and video available on flickr, you tube and other common database.

By extracting, re-cutting, re-shuffling online data we attempt to be as close as we can to the early memory written and offered by the authors.
There are many subjective people involved:
-Authors’, who recreate at the moment they remember, organise and shape their text.
-Ours, while we read the script, imagine it then find and choose online data-themselves infused with everyone’s particular image, look, grain, genre- then cut and shape the memory.

And this very fragile, secret, unformulated souvenirs, somehow come to light helped by everyone to stand on its feet.

Mathilde and Jorge provided brief biographies about their past work and present vision for themselves.

Jorge is a photographer and video maker. He is currently completing an MFA in Fine arts at UWIC, Cardiff, UK.

He previously trained at Universidad of Salamanca in Spain, where he obtained a Ba in Fine Arts and at EFTI in Madrid where he completed a professional course and master in photography.

Since 2005, he has been living in London and most recently Cardiff where he has been working as a freelance photographer for different companies (theatre, dance and marketing) and published on varied newspapers and website notably the BBC, the Guardian, the Independent and varied e-magazines.

His artistic practice is rooted in memory and stillness.
He has taken part in different group exhibitions in Spain (Alumni Master Exhibition at Photoespaña) Argentina (Festival de la Luz) and the Uk (Relics at Art Salons and Make it a good experience at Eight Club and Millar Rosenfalk) and also worked along actors and dancers creating stills, videos and searching live image system for The Motherland Project.

Mathilde is a theatre director and scenographer, currently Creative Associate at National Theatre Wales.

She trained at Central Saint Martins in Performance Design, worked as a designer for ITV, BBC, Channel 4, The Knitting Company, and Ex-Machina, assisting Carl Fillion on La Celestina and 1984, both show directed by Robert Lepage.

She founded The Knitting Company with actors from Jacques Lecoq and Philippe Gaulier Schools and directed Yvonne, Princess of Burgundy by Witold Gombrovitzc, Hotel Europa (La Suspension du Plongeur) by Lionel Spycher and Prometheus (extracts of Aeschylus Prometheus Bound) at the Cochrane Theatre and Hoxton Hall; Cien años (series of devised episodes based on One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez) for theatre and non-theatre spaces in London and Prague.

From 2006-8 she completed Birkbeck’s MFA in theatre directing and assisted several productions at Royal Academy of Dramatic Art and Theatre Royal Stratford East in London.

She also worked as literary manager for Theatre Royal Stratford East, then devised Crosswired, a dance piece developed and presented by East London Dance and the Barbican Centre and started The Motherland Project, a performance project on image and memory.

Where do you hope you can garner an exposition?

We would definitely need more time, resources or/and recruit artists to work with us to generate enough material (maybe 100 memories) for the work to have the impact we want for an exhibition.

Also, we feel that the strength of this project is in the process and the making, therefore can only conceive it in the real world as an exhibition/performance, a working Mnemonic factory with script writing tables, data selection bureaus and montage ones.

More over, to legitimise its place in the real world and respond to the actual ground where it stands, the real exposition of this originally web project will need to create the memories of the actual people coming to the event or living in the area.

The Mnemonic Factory could take place in commercial, private galleries or arts fair where the project will approach visitors and invite them to participate. We are also approaching an Alzheimer foundation in Cardiff as we thought of co-organizing workshops with Alzheimer patients to recreate their first memories and then create a projection/performance with and by them.

Another option is to keep it on the web where it originated and recruit more artists, memory makers and programmers to create a software that does what we do, encompassing its complexities, but quicker.

If anyone out there is open to the challenge, we are open to proposals.

How long is this project going to be in development?

Our first aim is to find the time and resources to cope with the demand as we are only 2 and the whole memory-making process takes 2 weeks which is much too long for the web pace and the patience of many subjects.

Jorge during his year at University of Wales (Institute Cardiff) will explore the possibilities of rooting the project in the real world and making it accessible to those who don’t have access nor inclination to the web. He is particularly thinking of direct mailings.

If you would like to participate in this project, I encourage you to be a part of this journey. I believe it is going to be something incredible and you can be a part of it too. Contact Jorge and Mathilde at memory landscape with a short script of one of your earliest memories. I will tell you, based on my own experience, they are an absolute pleasure to work with.

Making Wine out of Sour Grapes of Wrath

2009-12-10T11:40:00.004+01:00

To start out this entry, I thought about today. It's December and we are experiencing a bit of rain today after no snow, and uncertainty about the seasons here in Daegu, South Korea. Technically, winter doesn't start until December 21st and I think Korea is one of the first places I have ever lived that sticks by that calendar, not a snow flake to be seen. I have always been amused (sometimes to the point of laughing) when I watch the fear of fear when a person is caught outside without an umbrella. The local populace here seems to believe that the rain will melt them. I have seen people go through great lengths to avoid getting wet, the shimmy walk, the courageous dash into a convenience store or coffee shop, or standing under an awning to avoid the water at all costs. Water is kryptonite.

Today, I forgot my umbrella. Today, I just walked with my hat and coat and smiled and the rain proceeded to fall in its steady stream. Everytime I spied a look of horror, my smile grew bigger. I just kept thinking about all of the things that could be worse and my damn smile was pasted on my face, maybe the rain affected my sensibilities and made me a bit snarky. It is OK and sometimes OK is a wonderful feeling. I people are going through a lot of things right now and I know it's not my job to fix others and try to tell them it will all go away. I have this problem, where I just want people to be happy. I really do. Sometimes get annoyed with my positive nature. Sometimes people get annoyed with my big picture focus. I can't help that about myself. Just as much as I can't control the reaction to rain that I see in South Korea.

Life is messy. You get wet sometimes, and if you appear like a drowned rat, it isn't the end of the world. I guess it doesn't bother me if my mascara runs down my face and I laugh a little too loud and I am soaked to the bone. What I have thought about were all of those little lists I would make.
This is not important to anyone, but it was for me. I was told about the scarcity factors in Korea and I was provided a list of what I would not find in South Korea. My goal was to find everything on the list, like a hunt to debunk the list. At the top of my list was French Wine....yes I adore it, in moderation of course. However, I rekindled this passion with a distinct snobbish attitude that I am almost not too proud of. Actually more in fun. I wanted to find as many French Wines as possible...and if I had a bathtub...I would have bathed in it, just to say I did it.
However, I did the intelligent thing, I drank Merlot, Cabernet, Bordeaux, and in a pinch just table red wine that was bottled in France. My chief complaint was about trying to have a campaign in Korea about red wine. I foot stomped my point in as many restaurants and bars as possible, even having to uncork some bottles myself for the wine stewards (yes, they asked for my help)...to please serve the wine at room temperature. I can get zealous about things...forgive me.

I did have the pleasure of going to a strange vineyard, in a tunnel...however, persimmons are not grapes...so does this count?

I have enjoyed the sounds and sights of music, the culture, and it reinforced for me...never, ever, let anyone tell you what is impossible. Impossible is a word for quitters...and maybe that is why I love to do things the hard way, the impossible way, because it never is impossible. I never said it had to be easy, just sweeter.

Reflections along the way

2009-12-06T10:19:00.009+01:00

I discovered during this journey how much I grew to love teaching. You hope to learn a lot about yourself through the eyes of your students. You see how fearful they can be when you first walk into that classroom, especially when you are not at all like them. It has been an amazing experience integrating with a culture that has just as many complexities as anywhere else.

The curtain is getting ready to close and I know I have less than three weeks in Daegu. There has been so much that I have seen and experienced here, much more than had I visited as a tourist. I have seen the beautiful heart that is present here. I have also seen closed minds with an air of superiority, just as you would see in any other part of the world. Sometimes a foreign view threatens the status quo. The stereotypes that hinge on cultural behavior can only be changed by individuals. I have learned to see through the appearances that are so carefully protected.

I have learned to be humoured by comparing the differences, like going to a movie theater and wanting to ask why all ticket holders receive assigned seats instead of being able to sit where you want. Then again, why ask why? Sometimes you just go with the flow and look at the seating chart to find your seat.

I have also been inspired by the creativity I have seen blossom. The creation of a space station out pieces of vegetation and apples from a six-year-old girl, named Kelly, made me realize I taught them more than English. I was also pleased to hear of one my students winning an art competition in the city. It is with these little touches on their lives, seeing their achievements, how much they have learned and have grown; I realized my own growth through them as well.

So as I watched kindergarten graduation pictures taken this week, for a graduation I won't be present for, I smiled for the camera as well. I was one of their first teachers. They were my first students. You really never forget your first teachers and I won't forget mine. It has been an honor to have been part of their lives.

Time to Take Five - Egypt, Art, Wine, Vines, and Jazz and other observations

2009-12-01T12:36:00.019+01:00

It's time for a trip around the world, and time to talk about time. It will be time for me to leave South Korea soon. Everything seemed to call attention to time for me. This time, I walked by one of my favorite stops, and a new collage made by young hands caught my eye. It has been an incredible year here in Korea. I have had an experience that has enriched me in so many ways. Though this blog, I have also had a voice to share my observations, my encounters with local populace, my explorations in the culture, and having the experience of being an outsider looking in. I have grown in my appreciation of what it means to be different. The superficial differences gave way to looking at what unifies us all. The ways we communicate, dress, our physical features do not make us who we are. I do hope I return one day, perhaps it may be sooner than we think. I have been enriched by the blogs I tend to read on days when I seem to want more of the world.

Ramona dropped by, author of Alone in Holy Land to let me know about this gift of appreciation for me. I really appreciate it when someone likes my work, so here, in this forum I say thank you Ramona. In turn, there are five blogs I am passing this award on to. Of the many blogs that I have read and looked at, these are just a sample of the ones I really enjoy. In no particular order I invite you to take a look at the following blogs.

1. Bernadette Simpson's Escapade through Egypt is a wonderful photoblog that goes from A-Z. I sometimes feel dusty when I look at her blog...the images are incredible and captures a complete range of life through her lens.
2. I was drawn to this blog because of my love for literature, the name caught my eye. The writing style is magic, and I see the genius in his words. Gertrude's Flat with Derek Osborne is a worthy blog to sit down and explore.

3. One of my passions in life is Jazz. I found someone who is absolutely more obsessed by this passion. The education, the stories, the factoids...not to mention the sounds this blog brings to me...a pleasure that makes me appreciate the art even more. On This Day in JAZZ! is a must for those who think they know everything to know about Jazz. Confetta you are brilliant!

4. Canadian Artist, Earthula Black, AKA Elaine Bergland, has a wonderful show room of art that is a reflection of all she desires in life. I just love her style and she will work at her craft as long as she breathes. The Glamorous Life is a must view for your own private showing.

5. This next blog is really a labor of love. There is a bed and breakfast in the South of France that I have been following. I have read their stories of struggles their vines, their animals, and the life that is just so wonderful, simple, rich, and full of well...love. The love of their life...all of it. Le Couvent, Roujon in Languedoc, France is captured by the wonderful and charming Lizzie Betts-Gosling. If anything I want to do in this life...I want to go their vineyards, put on some work gloves and get to work. Maybe I will some day soon. It would be worth it to delay some plans for this adventure, not to mention the wine.

The other place I would like to refer all lovers of art and established and emerging artists is a wonderful venture called discovered artists. An enterprising web site and blog for established and emerging artists to come together with lovers of art in a global venture; which everything is. I discovered this wonderful haven, a vehicle for artists, Discovered Artists.com which enables artists to sell their work directly to the public, and opportunities to share more about your projects.

This picture is proof that Koreans do have bathtubs. I laughed thinking about my shower sink, and thought for a moment if I should ask for one of these 'planters' to take home.

Another sign it is almost time to go is the tree that just went up near where I teach. Yes, it's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas and almost time for tea.

A Verse from the Book of Lena

2009-11-28T16:00:00.001+01:00

In the name of the Mother, the Daughter and the Spirit that combines us all …

I’m not religious, but I will direct to you a prayer of thanks … I don’t usually pray but as days go by you will understand this also means how important the Mother has really been for me, my life, my existence, my solitude and my independence … she gave me freedom and a goodbye to all that was old. Some change doesn’t harm I think, as long as it is for the better.

For a person to whom I have all to thank for, who gave me life by giving hers, metaphorically. The Mother for the Daughter who stood up and fought, already tired after all of those years of combat, you still have to hand it to her. A prayer of gratitude for her kindness and sense of justice, for her battle as a proud woman protecting one of her children, doing everything she can … to be able to give me a life, worth being lived, a life of change, constant movement, true, but what was the alternative? Nothing worth to be called a life. And after all the spirit, that gave us synchronicity: the right events, the right time, the right place, … A necessity for my own development.

As such a woman gave birth to me, Lena, twice, short for Magdalena, and she would do it trice too. Magdalena, lover of the Son, fulfilling her role for a complete Holy Threesome. The Mother, The Father, The Daughter, The Son, the Holy Spirit and The One that combines us all … heretic but in this case for once to the point.

Image and verse by Lena Vanelslander. Editor in Chief of Gloom Cupboard,

This month was a pleasure, a time of gratitude; reminding me to be thankful for all of those who come into my life. I am thankful to have had my friends share with you their stories, their work, and their experiences so that you didn't just have the tunnel of my vision while I was in Korea. I have had this month to capture my moments, and while I was here, I had the pleasure of working with Lena Vanelslander on a work of our versions of poetic license. We achieved much more than an anthology of words, captured with our quills of fire (which is also the title of our anthology). Our collaboration spun a tapestry of a beautiful friendship, where we able to bear our souls to each other. She is an incredible young talent from Ghent, Belgium who will soar high with the eagles, and I can say I had the pleasure of writing with her. As I prepare to leave Korea next month, I wanted to remember in this travel log, the little things, the details, the pleasures, and the wonder of what is to be apart from a society that is really not so different. Thank you Korea for this experience. Life is always worth turning the page.

The Half Finished Confessions of Craig Mason

2009-11-25T15:29:00.008+01:00

I met Craig Mason, a young artist, and expatriate teacher in Daegu, at the launch party of Daegu Pockets, and of course I ran into him again at an International Art Show, at the Daegu EXCO, and later on when he was slaving away during Crap Art at Club That. When I asked Craig to contribute my blog, he quickly volunteered, and I was actually inspired his reply. I myself, was stuck in some sort of writer's stalemate, over thinking the direction where I was going. His email and contribution woke me up. Other friends of mine had given up, life events overtook their art, and for others, a simple, "ahhhhhhhhhhh, about that project" gave way. I know what I committed to, and this year, I have not had the luxury to agonize non-stop at my keyboard. So, with my notebooks strewn across the floor I went back to work and I will finish, because there is something good about keeping your commitments. THANK YOU CRAIG, your email came at the right time.

WARM-BLOODED ANIMAL

It's what we are in this place, or used to be,
Where we've been, where we come from, how we got here,
Who we know, what we have before us, how
The world on its own is here without us, how

Life is a mysterious fog we live in, how
Dreams go backwards, fix themselves in the form of
Beliefs grown over us here, us saying
We could have been struggling here, strangled even,

Said of we believe in ourselves at last,
Brought into focus by it being said we did
Cruise over the world here, in the air verily,
Believed in as this wide world we know, and shouting all the while.

Verse and Images by Craig Mason

Hey Marilyn,
I've been in a similar situation as Amber in trying to represent gratitude for Korea.
It reminds me of when I had to write a short paper about The Feminine Mystique for an American Studies class---eventually, after a year, I finally turned in a poem about a mother resting her eyes as dinner baked in the oven, a cat quizzically eying the cupboards every time his owner opened them, and a student eating peanut butter out of a jar in procrastination.
The professor admitted he didn't understand the poem, but granted me poetic license, and gave me a C for the course.

Maybe if I were to send you a segment of a poem, a picture of the girl I like, and a painting I've been working on, you would give me less than a C!---but it's better than nothing, right?!:
Yes Craig, It's alright. It's as real as life gets. Thank you.

Thankful Impact; the Personal Growth of Guest Blogger Justin Pierce Baldwin Gerald

2009-11-18T16:00:00.009+01:00

What can I say about my four-named friend, Justin Pierce Baldwin Gerald? Justin is a dynamo, my favorite feminist, and he loves to stir the pot...but he doesn't run from the thoughts he stirs up in others. This brilliant young man has been a pleasure to get to know. From gatherings of trivia challenges to see how much our expatriate community knows while under the influence to crossing cultural boundaries of our in-the-box thinking...here is Justin Pierce Baldwin Gerald, a man of many talents.
What I am Grateful for
By: Justin Pierce Baldwin Gerald

What am I grateful for in Korea? Education.
I’m grateful for the chance to try and be a great educator for me 800 students, who still see me as something of an ambassador, a role I’ve done my best to fulfill adequately.

I’m grateful to see them grow and change, not only as students of English, but young adults of the world.

I’m grateful for the chance to educate myself. My job allows me a lot of free time, and while I certainly have my fun, I spend a lot of it reading and writing, and, as some know, trying to stir up discussion among interested parties. During my vacations, I’ve tried to stay away from purely party locales – which isn’t to say I was completely sober in, say, Saigon – and done my best to come away from my trips with a greater understand of the world I am a part of.

I’m grateful to be living in a country that, for all its flaws (and every country has them), tends to treat me with the respect I feel I deserve. I’m grateful to have had the chance to educate myself through the extremely varied people I’ve met over the last 21 months, people who speak every language and live in every corner of the globe. New York is diverse, but the grab bag of foreigners here is something I’ve been glad to dive into.

I’m grateful to have learned a sliver of a new language, even though I could have studied harder. And I’m glad I’ve used my time here productively, so I can return home truly saying I grew up just a little bit.

Before I left New York, I told myself that, no matter what happened, my time in Korea was going to be used to kickstart adulthood. The half-year or so before I came here I was a bum. I was broke, living on my dad’s couch, buying DVDs and watching them alone, eating and drinking and gaining weight, and being rightfully scolded for doing so. As I prepare to return home in February – after a few short trips abroad – I am grateful that I’ve done all the wallowing I’ll ever do, and from this day forward, it’s merely onward and upward.

And I’m grateful that I can say that at the age of 23, because most people aren’t lucky enough to have that chance at any age.

The Helping Hand of a Stranger in a Strange Land - Guest Blogger Stephen Cornman

2009-11-15T16:00:00.016+01:00

It is my pleasure to introduce Stephen Cornman. Stephen Cornman is an American expatriate teacher and writer in Daegu, South Korea. Atypical of the normal demographic of what we would find, Stephen has also served as a mentor, sage advisor, and friend to our wonderful fresh faced collegues; who realized there was life outside of the bottom of a soju bottle...Stephen Cornman, but you can call him Steve.

The Helping Hand of a Stranger in a Strange Land
By: Stephen Cornman

Six weeks after I arrived in Korea, in the fall of 2008, I hiked up and down Palgongsan, the mountain just north of Daegu, without incident. It was after that, in the always dangerous boarding-the-bus process, that I broke my face.

Upon demountaining, I walked a quarter-mile to the first pick-up point for the bus. I stopped at the men's room, then resumed walking to the bus stop. I hadn’t gone far, hadn’t even put my daypack on my back, when I saw the bus pulling out of the parking lot and up to the bus stop.
I have a tip you won’t see in Lonely Planet Korea: don’t sprint for the bus in clunky hiking boots, on a broken sidewalk (which is the default for sidewalks in Daegu), carrying your pack in front of you. You will break your face.
Running as fast as I could, I caught my toe on a loose brick (which you can see in the photo) and pitched forward at an impressive velocity. I remember a split-second thought: this is going to be embarrassing, almost falling in front of the people waiting for the bus. My next thought was: look at all the blood.

I fell on the left side of my face, broke my glasses, cut my lip a little, scraped my hands, ripped and bled all over my t-shirt, broke my watch strap, and laid open my face next to my left eye. It was the second time in my life that I had driven my glasses into the left side of my face; the first time was 35 years before, in my first, and last, attempt to play ice hockey. If you have to fall on your head, I recommend doing it on ice; it’s cleaner.

I sat there, not in pain, but utterly stunned, feeling humiliated, disoriented (if in fact it’s proper to use that word in East Asia), helpless, and very far from home indeed.

Thankfully, I had an angel. A Korean man in full hiking regalia came over to see if I was okay, wiped off as much blood as possible, using paper towels and his drinking water, stayed with me, tried to tell me where I was bleeding from (though as he had no English...), let me call my boss on his cell phone, and called an ambulance. I got frustrated that I couldn't tell him how wonderful he was being to me. I just kept saying "kamsahamnida" a lot, and shook his hand and bowed from the waist when the ambulance came. He must have taken 45 minutes out of his day to help me.

At the hospital, the doctor determined I had only contused my shoulder (yeah, that's a word. It is now, anyway.) He sent me for x-rays in case I had broken my crown.

As Yogi Berra said, they x-rayed my head and found nothing.

Eventually, I healed, with no permanent scar and no drain bramage.
My point here, though, is my gratitude to the anonymous Korean angel who took a large chunk out of his day, after a hard hike on the mountain, to care for a total stranger, a foreigner with whom he couldn’t even talk. I was simply someone who desperately needed help, and he helped me, beyond what I had any right to expect. Sometimes the Korean people en masse seem unwelcoming to a waegook, but on a one-to-one basis I’ve usually found them to be warm and welcoming. I will always be thankful to the anonymous man who threw me a lifeline when I needed it most.

What's that banging sound outside my window?

2009-11-14T08:43:00.005+01:00

A writer's worst enemy, besides procrastination, are distractions. Constantly throughout the day, I heard the hoots and hollering of the neighborhood. Try as I might, I tried to muffle the sound. That is until it seemed they demanded my attention. However, my neighborhood just seems to want me to participate, and as my friend Barbara wrote to me, you live in a bizarre neighborhood. I am thankful for this section of Daegu, that keeps me on my toes because the drummers were getting louder and decided to canvas the neighborhood today.

I grabbed my camera and sprinted to capture the moments only finding to my shock that I failed to load my memory card back in my camera. Sprinting back to my room, slamming the card into the camera, and dashing back down. I felt like a track star with hair flying about half in and out of clothes. I didn't care what I looked like as I watched the finale of the drummers in the middle of a parking lot less than a block from where I lived.

As they wrapped up and I was prepared to turn back towards home a kind familiar sound, crawled all over me and I spun around. Sweet as sugar the liquid notes of a saxophone pacified my disappointment. And I saw this old soul, who I had seen going through the refuse of our lives gathering the cardboard of our waste as she listened while she worked. Her aged frame bent and she continued on. With silent years, a stone face, and eyes that bore the hardness of her years.The sharp contrast to my experience last night in I'll Exhibition Hall, where I thought I heard the Jazz of life, only to realize it is all around us all of the time. What's banging outside your window, your door, your life...just trying to catch your attention?

A Thankful Journey - Guest Blogger Shanavia Rivers

2009-11-11T16:00:00.003+01:00

In the continuing spirit of gratitude, I have the pleasure of introducing a friend of mine, Shanavia Rivers from the United States. Shanavia Rivers is an expatriate teacher presently residing in Daegu, South Korea and graciously agreed to share a glimpse of what her time in Korea has meant to her.

A Thankful Journey
By: Shanavia Rivers

“Feeling grateful or appreciative of someone or something in your life actually attracts more of the things that you appreciate and value into your life”

I couldn’t, shouldn’t, and or wouldn’t forget Korea. There is so much I’m thankful for and I have experienced so much here. Stuff I wouldn’t have dreamt of doing. Years prior to venturing here I worked as a nursing assistant, customer service representative, and a bar tender. Once I graduated from college with my BS in Criminal Justice and Forensic Science, I was at an emotional standstill in my life. Not to mention the recession had taken a toll on recent grads. Of course, I was devastated, having spent a lot of money on books, and tuition over the past 5 ½ years. I sure wasn’t content with flipping vodka bottles and helping people into a state of inebriation. I HAD TO DO SOMETHING ELSE! So, I phoned a long time friend whom I deemed “insane “and out of her mind for teaching in Korea for two consecutive years. At the time I was just “inquiring” about what Korea had to offer but I will say by the end of the 23 minute conversation I was convinced that I was going. With the help of a recruiting agency, passport, and a clean criminal record I was on my way in a couple of weeks. On January 1, 2009 I said my “see you laters” to my friends and family (who didn’t take me serious) as I boarded my flight to South Korea. I was nervous as heck. However, once I landed in Seoul I was fortunate to meet Marilyn Campiz, seeing her was major relief. That moment assured me that I wasn’t the only person who thought outside of the box. To add, she was really nice and genuine. We talked for hours on the bus taxi. Only after being shushed by a Korean girl (hilarious). I really didn’t care, I was just thankful to have someone to talk to. Thankful for Marilyn.

“Gratitude is the fairest blossom which springs from the soul.”

A few months had past, and I felt like me and my four walls in my apartment were getting a little tired of talking to each other. So I jumped in taxi and said” Apsan Mountain Bali” I never intended on climbing it, I just wanted to takes pictures of it. After a few snaps, I was approached by a Korean couple, probably around 60 or 70 years old. I didn’t speak any Korean and they didn’t speak English but I knew they were insinuating that I climb the mountain. The old lady even grabbed my arm and proceeded to walk me toward the entrance of the climb. I knew that they meant business. I quickly phoned one of my friends that lived close by and told him to come join me. Of course they waited on him to arrive. So up Apsan Mountain I went. I have to admit, I wanted to quit after the first 10 steps. But the Korean couple made sure that I didn’t give up. It seemed like every 2 minutes they were patting me on my back and motioning for me to keep going. Wow, 4 miles of elevation.
The views of the city at different heights were breathtaking. They made my pictures that I took at the bottom of the mountain look like chop suey. I was in complete awe. Even though the couple made look like a piece of cake, I was determined to make to make it to the top. They were determined to get me to the top.. Once I made it to the highest peak (the top), I quickly phoned my mother (yeah, I couldn’t believe my phone actually worked way up there). She was ecstatic, almost in tears, and she was proud. The view was unexplainable, amazing, and most of all emotional. It gives me chills just thinking and typing about it. At that moment I was so grateful and thankful to have met that couple. I would have never climbed that mountain if it weren’t for them. After that, I started shark diving, paragliding, canoeing, rafting, and doing everything I could. Even though I didn’t understand what they were saying. I bet they were saying “you only live once so do as much as you can”. My stay here has been more than an experience. It has been a journey, a journey that I will never forget. I have met so many people from different countries, ethnicity, political backgrounds, and cultures. From the Korean cashier that helps me every time I come into their store to shop to my GRE math tutor, who tutors me for free; Korea has been more than good to me. I will be leaving soon, Feb 13th 2010 to be exact. Even though my body will be in America, a piece of my heart will remain in SOKO. Who knows I may even come back. We will see won't we!

As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them.

Gratitude - Guest Blogger Amber Newton

2009-11-10T13:00:00.005+01:00

It is my pleasure to introduce you to Amber Newton, an artist and expatriate teacher in South Korea. I can tell you that this woman has a heart of gold. As much as she can possibly do, she does. You can view more of her work here on her blog, Amber Coloured.
Gratitude
By Amber Newton

My friend, Marilyn sends me a facebook message inviting me to guest blog during November, writing about an experience in South Korea with the theme of ‘gratitude’. I agree, because I can’t say no. It’s that people-pleaser, sometimes asset, sometimes weakness part of my personality. Soon it got registered in the “things to do” segment of my consciousness. But what to write about? Over the past three years here I’ve become a different person three times over, and so I know I should have at least been grateful three times. But to narrow down an experience that I’ve had here. A moment? A day? A month? As I scanned my memory of students, friends, coworker, strange sightings on the subway, encounters on the streets and in night clubs, I drew a blank. So I stopped thinking about it, more because my days are busy and I usually need a list to remind me what I need to think about. Yesterday though, it all became obvious. What I already knew came to me in an email when I needed to be reminded of it the most.

I had just got home from Shinsegae department store, the one which is allegedly now the largest department store in the world. As I was leaving it looked as though they were about to do the lighting of the enormous Christmas tree they have set up out front. Carols were blasting, and a crowd was forming. I was hopping into a taxi trying to look the other way. It wasn’t always like this. As I child I loved Christmas more than anything, like most children around the world who reap the benefits of that holiday. As I grew older things became less merry, as Christmas with my family became as much about wondering if my schizophrenic uncle would be on or off his meds that day, or if my other uncle would bring over his girlfriend that no one liked. My family gradually grew apart, the party guest list smaller, and as I started working more retail jobs it was enough to make any teenager critical of consumerism in capitalistic societies.

After the age of eighteen I moved across the country, and there were no more Christmas’ at home. I either spent them alone, with friend’s families, or working as a servant in some rich family’s home for just enough money to spend on a night out as soon as I got back to my neighborhood. Then there was last Christmas, my first one home in 8 years, sitting only with my grandma in front of the TV, after having just spent weeks by my grandpa/dad’s side in hospitals as he died. He was who made Christmas when I was a kid, he loved it more than anyone I ever knew, and now I get tears streaming down my face at the sight of a department store Christmas tree?

I was thinking about the irony of this when I got home and as I robotically turned on my computer to check my e-mails. In my mailbox was an e-mail from my friend’s mom in the Philippines, who I had just sent 5 huge boxes of relief clothing to, in assistance of her amazing efforts to support victims of the recent typhoons. The boxes had arrived, and her words were overflowing with love. She commended the fundraising I did from the bottom of her heart. This gratitude was rooted in her desire to help those in need, and likewise it spread to me because of my desire to help her do so.

Now, even though the religious undertones and commercial mania are lost on me, when I see a Christmas tree I can look through it rather than away, and remember to be grateful for those things I can still do.

Thank You Korea - Guest Blogger Kathy Jenkins

2009-11-02T01:38:00.007+01:00

This is a very special month dedicated to my friends that I have made during my time in Korea. Some have met me in person, others through common interests. I have sent personal invitations and asked my friends to write about gratitude. It is with profound gratitude I begin with a wonderful woman, Katherine Jenkins, who now is an ESL teacher in the United States as she is penning her story.Thank You Korea

I can’t forget Korea….I am reminded of Korea every time I look at my husband’s smiling face. Korea is a part of me. I never expected that. I never planned to go to Korea. I graduated from college with a degree in Professional Writing and a minor in Spanish. I lived and spent time in Spain, Mexico, and South America, but didn’t have much of an interest in Korea.

I remember when I was working in a health club in Seattle, Washington after college. I was desperately seeking some kind of peace and silence. I spent all my free time at the club reading books on Buddhism and meditation. I have no idea why. I would go to the break room and turn out all the lights and just sit in there in silence. One evening, right before closing, I was sitting alone in the towel area reading the last couple pages of Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind by the Japanese monk, Shunryu Suzuki. It was late and there weren’t any people left on my floor of the club. Suddenly, a woman came up to my floor from the pool area (The club is actually a multi-story building in Seattle). It felt like we were the last two people left on earth. She said, “Bye Kathy, today is my last day, I’m going to Korea with my boyfriend.” I said, “Korea?” and she explained that she wanted to travel and her husband is an English teacher in America and got offered a job in a university in Korea, so they planned to leave soon. We chatted a bit and then she left. There was a silent eeriness when she left. I was the only one in the club. I just kept repeating “Korea.” There was something familiar about that.

It was summer 1994 when I first heard the woman from the pool talk about going to Korea. A year later, I was there. A couple friends from college were teaching English in Kyoungju, a historical city located in southeastern Korea, an hour from Pusan. One of them called me and told me about a teaching opportunity there. I knew I had to go. Kyoungju is located close to a large Buddhist University called Dongguk University. It wasn’t unusual for me to have Buddhist monks and nuns in my classes. At the time, I was fascinated by monks because I had been reading so many books about Buddhism and had such a strong interest in meditation. Shortly after my arrival in Korea, I traveled alone for hours by bus to a remote temple called Songkwangsa. It sounded very interesting and is one of three famous temples in Korea that represent the Triple Gem in Buddhism. The Triple Gem includes: Buddha (Enlightened One), Dhamma (Enlightened One’s Teaching) and Sangha (The Community of Monks or Lay People who practice this Teaching). Songkwangsa is the temple that represents the Sangha. There is an international training center there and you can see Korean monks as well as monks from other countries. I went because I believed I would meet an important monk there. I never did…at least not at that time. I did take a picture of a procession of monks coming out of a large temple door. After, I took the picture…I got on the bus for the long journey back to Kyoungju.

Months later, a monk showed up at my English school where I was teaching. He was unusual. He wore his hat, but not on his head. He had it lying across the top of his head. I knew right then that this monk was different. He ended up signing up for my friend’s English class. He could tell she was interested in learning about monk life, so he invited her out for noodle soup. Knowing my interest in Buddhism and meditation, my friend also invited me to come along. We went to a noodle shop on the edge of town near a slow, meandering river. We sat there slurping our noodles while the monk recounted his adventures in India during a pilgrimage to the sacred places of the Buddha. He smiled and laughed and sometimes he was silent for long periods. We all became friends rather quickly. My friend and I would wake up at the wee hours of the morning and ride our bicycles through the city to a meditation room above a little teashop where we joined other Koreans for meditation led by this monk.

Later, after we became good friends, I discovered that I had known this monk all along. He was in the picture I took of the procession of monks coming out of the temple door at Songkwangsa temple. He was the only monk facing me directly. Here we were, miles from that temple, meeting again. We had no previous connection, other than this photograph.
Seven years after I met this monk, we got married. The journey between then and now is one I am retelling in a book entitled, Lessons from the Monk I Married. There was a reason I went to Korea….these days I feel there is a reason for everything I do. I am thankful to have gone to Korea to meet my husband and I am thankful for finding a wonderful blogger who lives in Korea and has asked me to blog here. Sometimes the road we didn’t plan to take, takes us exactly where we need to be. Korea, I thank you for that!

Images and story Katherine Jenkins
Lessons from the Monk I Married

One Long Last Look - Bizet's Carmen at the Daegu Opera House

2009-10-31T17:42:00.004+01:00

It's Halloween, a nearly full moon...a night with such warmth it could be mistaken for a different season. The perfect night to end Daegu's International Opera Festival with the very last performance of Carmen. The city of Daegu rolled out the red carpet as visitors came from all over Korea. I met quite a few expats that came in from Seoul just to come to this event. The grand piano building aglow with the promise of an incredible show.

The beauty of the area, nestled away in Daegu, now calling themselves a green city had flags of the city incorporated in the Opera's town scene. The audience laughed at the self promotion. A touch of local input on a classic to make it their own. Though there is the lingering concern over the SI virus (not called the H1N1 here), we were greeted with hand sanitizing at the door. A sign of the times with some patrons wearing face masks during the performance. Despite the concerns, it was a very well attended event.

It was also wonderful to see some of the cast members meet with the public.

Though cameras are not allowed...as the curtain call came...so did a multitude of cameras. A mass revolt of flashes that kind of shocked me...and made me smile. A Korean rebellion was happening right before my eyes and I joined in. "For love can never be held, it is as free as the wayward breeze"...Bizet.

The Doggy Stroller Story

2009-10-30T13:33:00.010+01:00

Often when you go for a walk, sounds are quickly identified. The clicking of heels, the ringing of a bell on a bicycle so that you wisely give way, or the steady sound of stroller wheels rubbing against the bricks. I am one of those people who just can get lost in my own mind, so I don't need to be plugged into anything. This week had left me with plenty to sort through, a list that seems to grow, and as it grows, the walks grow longer. The world at times seems to be a huge fear factory, largely because our own minds are trying to figure out how all of it comes down to our own private little existence.

To be honest, I was trying to think of something to put me in a positive mood. My little cheerleader wasn't at her mother's shop. So I left the little gift for her with her mother, who smiled broadly, but it wasn't the same. I continued to stroll, and suddenly behind me, I heard footfalls that echoed my own. The same pace, with the stray thought of how amazing it is when two strange lives intersect. An appreciation of a moment when you consider the odds of any two people meeting when you consider the population of the world. A monk once told me, that each encounter with another is often undervalued. It is often with presumption that people think they will see each other again. I walked around with the reminder of a friend today and the crushing thoughts that finally were allowed to flow.

The footfalls continued the same pace, and I finally decided to look at my unknown companion. The slight irritation sometimes can fall over people that feel they have been intruded upon, even though you are in a public space. A protective bubble, called personal space is quite small in Korea, I usually try to smile when I feel my western brain start to babble. A smile neutralizes my selfishness. However, this smile was a real gem of one. This was a first for me. I saw a woman pushing her two pampered pooches in a stroller. Walking the dogs, apparently is for the dogs. Even a baby who was strapped on her grandmother's back pointed at the sight. The grandmother stopped and stared. The pooches have trained their owner very well. They have evolved into clothing, ribbons, pedicures, and all of the adornments that these dog lovers will bestow upon their babies.

I kept pace, she went ahead of me, until she saw a little boutique and paused. I paused and produced my camera. A crippled woman walked by as the dogs refused to pose properly, and the owner came out and nodded with approval over the moment.The crippled woman asked the other woman for the dogs names...she hobbled over and called them...and finally this shot came.

A lot of people won't approve of working with dogs or children. They steal the show. Maybe they can steal a bad moment or two. Along the street...a woman pushing a stroller with her posh pups made a neighborhood forget any talk of what may be going on...had a crippled woman get out of her shell to help a foreign woman snap a shot. Not a single one of us knew each other, except in that moment. Just the exchange of real smiles.

Pumpkin Guts...and other pleasant thoughts...

2009-10-28T12:05:00.002+01:00

When I first arrived in Daegu, I spent a lot of time immersed in learning about the culture of South Korea. From food, to fashion, religion and to holidays...I was the student. Now as the teacher, I find that as I am preparing to leave the season has changed and I get to share some of my culture with my students. In teaching about Halloween, I was amazed how the children responded. Specifically to the telling of how children get to go from door to door to beg for candy, using the magical phrase, "Trick or Treat". Of course, some omissions about the pranking...which I am sure a lot of you may or may not admit to doing something to a house or two if said candy was sub par or even worse...the total absence of candy or occupants who had left their porch light on.

The ever popular jack-o-lanterns were carved, with pumpkin guts scooped by children that fought over whose turn it was. Sometimes this holiday just brings out the best in children...like greed and rotting teeth. However, what I loved about today, was watching the pure reaction as they oohed over the faces as they emerged. And then it hit me. This is the first time they have had anything to do with Halloween...and it may be the only time they celebrate it. I recalled the same reaction for me, as I have learned and experienced so many things here...like a child holding on to a new experience or discovery and being able to give that experience to someone else...is priceless.

Oh warm hues and caffeinated dreams

2009-10-26T11:36:00.005+01:00

Sundays have to be the best day of the week. There is just something about Sunday, that has a carefree feel to it. There is no sense of hurry or pressure...it just flows like a quiet stream. Partitioned time just given to do as you will with it. Sundays are the fresh breath of air. That is how I feel about Sundays, however as I got into a taxi, I met the most anxious driver ever. I showed him my destination and a put out feeling absorbed the atmosphere. I saw him gesture to his red analogue clock and suddenly he let out a huge sigh and we set off on a series of long and winding backstreets. I distracted myself by retrieving my camera. I might as well take some shots like a tourist if I found something interesting in the background. It was his job, but he hated driving with a passion at that moment as we narrowly avoided two accidents (and me, not wearing that blessed seat belt) to arrive at literary mecca, Kyobo Bookstore in downtown Daegu.

There is more than the English language section that I come for. It is here that I feel at one with the espresso, the universal language of cafe, and their amazing wine selection. Yes, wine and espresso and literature. The perfect Sunday. Today, just the works of a few missed writers and the detoxification of the taxi ride as I swam in the layers of my coffee.
It felt wonderful to be a literate person again just molded to a chair and wondering if I should have picked up a few more books.
You would not have known this was late October. The leaves are finally turning, with no hint of a chill in the air. The kind of day that begged to be in a convertible with the top down and the wind blowing in your hair...carefree. Those moments that hug you when you replay them in your mind.
As I look up I smile...and remember why I love Sundays so damn much.