This scrapjournal contains ephemera gathered in Nepal where i received Ayurvedic medical care as well as a journey to Ghandruk and Kathmandu.
Continue reading Scrapjournal: Nepal / ephemera (2017)… in process
Buddha Annapurna
There was already a full moon
And a snowy peak behind
Then you read from Buddha
Reminding all to be kind
Respect is key to happiness
Giving away leads to wealth
Think kind thoughts about others
To enjoy your own fine health
Simple truths from Gautama
About the middle way
Passed down through sutras
Seekers chanting each new day
I often wonder how it feels
To sit under a single tree
A seed a day towards enlightenment
The mind roams peaceful and free
In the village I wander
Maybe treading in his step
Humble confident and searching
To the others, offering help
They’ve walked this path
So many times now
With others much like you
Sandals or rubber boots
Packs filled unnecessarily
Donkey trains bring water jugs
Propane to the cook fires
Gee and haw along the trail
Simply follow the one in front
Who allegedly knows the way
Indeed lead mule walks simply
By intuition and repetition
And even muscle memory
Towards the sun in the morning
Downhill in afternoon
Do they call each other cousins?
Parents, friends or kin?
Or are they a collective without ego
Ritual or sin?
A collective hauling comfort
Up to rustic places
Nodding along with the rhythm
Not even bothered to
Glances backwards at your faces
The cook pot is blackened
But you easily clean up the mess
With gritty river mud scraped
From your stream of consciousness
Wander up an invisible path
Even the elders don’t know it
Chasing a mysterious girl
Named after an ancient poet
I can’t see her footprints
But I see her shining eye
In the constellations high
Above the blue night sky
Reflection in the mountain lake
Shows me growing worn
But I blink three times quickly
And see that I’m reborn
There’s wisdom plainly hidden
On the edge of mountain cliffs
Stories shared by ancients
Around campfires, becoming myths
Books don’t capture the secrets
For truth look deep into teacups
In this forgotten village
They’re made of bone and marrow
Stubborn as a donkey
Rugged as the buffalo
Giving love like sacred Amma
Monk chants echo through valleys
Low, soft and precise
Repeated through centuries
Many times ever since
Taught by a lost wanderer
With no interest in being found
Prayer flags amplify
Take noble words higher
Attenuate on a frequency
Improbable to detect by wire
I will always return here
Flying high like a hawk or sparrow
Won’t tell you the village name
You find it when you’re able
The maps might give a clue
But not the right directions
You’ll only find the magic
By following inner vision
In the forgotten village
This village is forgotten
Deliberately mistaken
Not meant for finding
Books reveal their secrets
Obvious in endless myth
Your own forgotten village
As the cover implies, the handmade (not by me obv) was purchased in Nepal. Inside the papers are thick and tactile and hearty enough to support plenty of glued-in times. The time to fill came during a trip to Eastern Canada – life was confusing and i had no grounding whatsoever (granted i am fairly used to this sensation) so i went looking for a home. I visited Montréal, Quebec City, Halifax, St. John’s, Cape Breton and Moncton – in each city, i stayed in an shared apartment and attempted to live as though i lived there. This means, walking to grocery store and post office, finding book shops, cafe, coffee shops, looking up rental/purchase prices, exploring neighbourhoods, visiting parks and markets… in all to see if i could “fit there”. I did a slightly more touristy activity in each place – a museum (Montreal Forum, Tintin in QC, Citadel in Halifax, out Cape Spear and Signal Hill in St. John’s…). Also Canada Day in Halifax and St Jean de Baptiste day in QC. I travelled by combination of trains, ferries (including Dartmouth and overnight Nfld to NS ferry), highway busses, and occasional plane, as well as utilizing public transport in each city including from the airport.
Along the way, i documented the towns with my usual assortment of ticket stubs, news clippings, brochure scraps, scribbled notes, addresses, biz cards, stickers, coasters and even a few cloth patches.
BTW, i didn’t find an ideal town for me – each place certainly had good things but no were a perfect fit for me. Big reason is my intolerance for cold and related rugged living. Just getting out and about is difficult for me ya see. Thought if i were to choose a place, it would be Moncton, NB.
Peaks
So many came from overseas
Seeking adrenaline and light
Colored bags filled with dreams and schemes
Forgetting to slow down right
When everyone’s a guide
There’s no one left to lead
There’s power in independence
But more in empathy
Don’t underestimate compassion
Because when walls coming quaking down
If you’ve given freely
Then you always will be found
Don’t think about reaching peaks
Where others have died unfulfilled
Find your own distant summit
Gaze up from the greenest field
She’s more powerful
Than I’ll ever be
Steely-eyed, determined
Striding confidently
Land a plane in Lukla
A jeep across Mustang plain
Light a village up with sunshine
Her magic fuse remains
Morning, Pokhara
Farmer calls to the cow, gently
Corralled in a stonewalled fence
Mother calls her child from an open door
Time for a freshwater cold bath
Labourers scrape broken bricks over the edge
To collide with roof of corrugated tin
Birds call and puff splendid plumes
Demonstrating their innate biologic worth
Trekking guides ply for determined hikers
With different dreams of dizzy altitudes
Cafeman tempts the passers-by
With steamed milk tea and German pastries
Boatman sits quietly with paddle
Ticketbook ready to ply to the lake
The foreign lady talks more loudly
Convinced she’ll be more understood
Dogs yap at movements all through the night
Vigilance unnecessary in this dewy hour
Roosters ritually announce another day
Repeating proclamations well into afternoon
Trucks honk repeatedly for someone
Anyone… to open the rusty metal gate
The black-haired girl sweeps stairs routinely
Her distinct action – whisking dust before polishing
The Stupa gazes quietly from atop the hill
Tea houses lead the way to certain inner-peace
The hotel open doors pleased for patrons
But remembering the days before…
Annapurna and her cousins hide behind clouds and mist
Only revealing peaks when fully dressed
A lonely man seeks a barber to trim a shaggy face
Possibly reveal a timid smile
Annapurna Sunrise
A sunrise isn’t just a sunrise
Each a unique event
The dawning a new circumstance
Unknown since yesterday
Sun glances off the glaciers
Bells on buffaloes provide the song
Your own personal time lapse
Just remember how to breathe
Jagged peaks like ripsaws
Loom over soft curved paddies
Village with rocky pathways
Laid down in olden days
Ridgeline too high for goats
Who would rather look away
Down valleys filled with grasses
Occasionally find a berry
Unaware of their varied fates
Living only for the now, knowing
Can’t control how long you live
Only your present tense
Each day
Lived in anger and greed?
Or fill each
with vast abundance?
Today is not a photograph
Or another dress rehearsal
For a foretold mystic afterlife
In which you are an exalted master
You are given gifts each day
Of beauty, challenge and hope
Hard times bring lessons
Unrequested by conscious self
The glowing dawn brings new noises
Into your tiny universe
Children resist cold washing
While Grandmas fill steel mugs
Buffalo and yaks are elder siblings
Calm, strong and helpful
Giving milk and fuel each day
To people, without expectation
Maybe you’ll bring them fresh hay
Maybe they’ll find some alone
Unimpressed by your shiny toys and colours
Needs kept more elemental
Warmth, food and rest
Content with two as an option
Each house climbs higher
Up the mountain slope
Precarious and sturdy
On each leans a chimney
Releasing pungent smoke
The humans slip outside
Tasks to do, Gods to please
Receive blessings of beauty
Tomorrow, clouds might roll back in
Savour while you are able
Cold water bath for each tiny kid
Strengthen them for future days
Aiding dreams of others
Serve all but not servant to none
Do not mistake diligence with complacency
Lo the free-flying hawks
Wings may appear the tools
The a clean mind does the flying
Simple kindness the underrated virtue
Honesty brings clear respect
Clockwise round the massif
Chanting all the while
Prayer bells go anti-counter-clockwise
Or is it the opposite?
Spin it wrong, good still comes
When done with the right intentions
