the Six Kathmandus

The return to Kathmandu ~ one city, six dimensions of reality.

There is the Kathmandu of colors to which the saffron robes of a passing monk and the dazzling ruby saris of smiling women belong; the black coal smudge lining the corner of a child's twinkling eye; the rise of silver incense smoke against an indigo sky; the strings of marigolds that adorn the doors and passage ways of narrow alleys.

There is the Kathmandu of sound to which the squeaky horns of tuk tuks and the methodic sweep of a broom belong, accented by sounds of echoing laughter from open apartment windows and the growling hums of motorcycle engines.

Then of course, there is the Kathmandu of smells, where roasted yak meat and boiling daal, burning firewood and clouds of dust all waft together through the contours of my nostrils straight to the center of my soul.

There is the Kathmandu of touch that reaches out to the bottoms of my bare legs through the cool, marble stairs on which they rest or through the early morning zephyr that dances along my face and runs the outlines of my outstretched fingers; the sudden jolt of alertness as bodies collide down crowded, chaotic streets; the smooth countenance of a turquoise Buddha statue staring into my eyes with loving kindness.

There is naturally the Kathmandu of taste which embraces the warm, creamy sweetness of masala chai and each individual spice of which a samosa is comprised; the comforting familiarity of basmati rice melting in my mouth in a sea of daal.

Then there is the intuitive Kathmandu of prana, or life force, which glues each of the aforementioned treasures together in every ephemeral, passing moment ~ like riding a giant life wave at its crest, as far as it will go -- without asking where it goes -- and trusting that a wave of beauty, love and truth itself will only reflect the outer world as such if you surrender yourself to it fully.

These are the six dimensions of Kathmandu, woven together like petals of a lotus flower blooming in an open palm; six modes of reality in which to dissolve your thoughts and touch the face of God.

Imagine if...

...we all just let go to see what would happen,

 without fear of falling,

although it happens sometimes...

and just trusted in the catch.

In My Mind

I met a Ghanaian artist in midtown Manhattan who was selling his paintings in a local park. I was immediately drawn to this painting so I asked him to explain what had inspired him to create it.

He told me that, as a child in Ghana, there was this tree from his childhood that had always brought him an incredible amount of joy. He had spent time there playing and dreaming, so he loved it very much.

When he emigrated to the United States, he was not able to take his tree with him. That made him quite sad, not only because he missed the tree but everything that the tree represented as well -- the raw, natural environment, the sense of belonging, of community, of connection to the land, the simple joy of existence unencumbered by the complexities of 'modern life.'

So, he decided to allow the tree to grow in his mind. He tells me it's thriving in there and that brings him much comfort. It guides him through the chaos of this modern city like a compass that roots him deeply into the Earth.

Transitions

"If I don't go on that boat,  I know exactly what I'm coming home to. If I do, my future is unwritten."

Do we choose the security of x, or the unlimited potential of y?  What causes us to say enough? What motivates us to stand up for a lifestyle that we can love?

These questions arise as Wonderland's horizon bursts forth with an awesome, vibrant energy and we walk the line between what we know we want and what we think we can manage.

As we travel through dilapidated remains of what once was -- a crumbling enterprise built on extraction -- the aspen trees (nature's gold) grow through the rotting floorboards, reclaiming their right to thrive in harmony with all other life.

These human endeavors were necessarily finite because they did not contribute to the wealth and vitality of the greater environment. The changing face of nature is eternal - ineffably sublime and mysterious. 

We arrive in the beautiful Indian Peaks wilderness with the simple intention of being present, hiking to banks of a small river and hopping stones to take shelter between two large rocks at the cradle of the surrounding peaks. As light mist turns to freezing rain and snow dusts the craggy ridges, we begin to feel autumn's arrival. 

With autumn comes inevitable change. Although this change can be understood as a death of what used to be, the vibrant colors in the trees, foliage and sky assure us that this is good and necessary.

Although the future is uncertain and shaky, we continue to make steps towards the world that we want. 

We must first make a leap in order for a solution to appear.

"Don't think about the things you fear...

...just be glad to be here."

Analogue Dreams

Taken with a Holga 140N in the Hongdae district of Seoul.
This is the first, experimental set ~ a new way to see the world through the interaction of glass, plastic and light.

Modern Revolution

Secret Santa

Seeking refuge from a culture fixated on all of the trappings of material success, S-- and I attempted to restore our inner vitality by hiding indoors in a room furnished with all of the comforts necessary to completely unwind and forget about the world outside. Downtempo beats wafted through the cool air as we buried our heads under the covers and got down feathers stuck in our hair. Creamy Swiss chocolate bars were guiltily confiscated by grabby hands from the minibar fridge. We did absolutely nothing but chillax. We barely noticed how quickly the hour hand had made a complete rotation before nearing check-out time the next morning.

When S-- went downstairs to negotate an extension to our stay, he was informed that the hotel was nearly booked, save a few rooms on the bottom level of the hotel's rear and one room on the corner of the fifth floor. Intrigued by the latter option, a staff member accompanied him to see the room for himself. It seemed okay enough, almost identical to the one we were in except that the spring mattress was replaced by a traditional Korean ondol setup. There was one peculiarity: a giant red object covered by a thick tarp that blocked about a third of the view outside. We had also seen it from our first room, though it was difficult to make out exactly what it was -- it almost appeared to be a giant red buoy in a sea of glass and steel. 

We spent the entire evening contentedly in the room or out exploring Hongdae without thinking twice about the large object outside our window. However, while packing last minute the next morning, S-- gazed out the window and paused for a short moment before asking suddenly:

"Is that... a Santa outside our window?"

"A what?" 

Sure enough, the hotel had wrapped a giant, styrofoam Santa in a plastic tarp and stashed him away on the 5th floor deck. He had definitely seen better days -- the end of his faded hat was broken off and the tips his fingers were weather-worn. It seemed so grotesque and yet, so fitting at the same time that this filthy, forgotten giant should exist as such under a meager shroud. This wasn't the wizened icon that graces young children's dreams alongside gingerbread houses and oversized candy canes but the one which uses his awkward, lumbering form to distract people from their distractions and lure them into shoppes offering tantalizing solutions to their boredom. The image of Santa in a body bag seemed to serve two metaphors: one for the dying essence of the holiday spirit itself and one for the ultimate destination of the aforementioned "solutions" -- in an larger-than-life garbage bag that's becoming increasingly difficult to hide. 

How much longer will our society convert nature's gold into rubbish and sell it as modernity and progress?

The Story of Stuff

A Bug's Life

Yangdeok Middle School

Yangdeokwon, South Korea

Within/Without

The first principle of the exploitive mind is to divide and conquer. And surely there has never been a people more ominously and painfully divided than we are -- both against each other and within ourselves. Once the revolution of exploitation is under way, statesmanship and craftmanship are gradually replaced by salesmanship. Its stock in trade in politics is to sell despotism and avarice as freedom and democracy. In business it sells sham and frustration as luxury and satisfaction. The "constantly expanding market" first opened in the New World by the fur traders is still expanding -- no longer so much by expansions in territory or population, but by the calculated outdating, outmoding, and degradation of goods and by the hysterical self-dissatisfaction of consumers that is indigenous to an exploitative economy.

This gluttonous enterprise of ugliness, waste, and fraud thrives in the disastrous breach it has helped to make between our bodies and our souls. As a people, we have lost sight of the profound communion -- even the union -- of the inner with the outer life. Confucius said: "If a man have not order within him / He can not spread order about him..." Surrounded as we are by evidence of disorders of our souls and our world, we feel the strong truth in those words as well as the possibility of healing that is in them. We see the likelihood that our surroundings, from our clothes to our countryside, are the products of our inward life -- our spirit, our vision -- as much as they are products of nature and work. If this is true, then we cannot live as we do and be as we would like to be. There is nothing more absurd, to give an example that is only apparently trivial, than the millions who wish to live in luxury and idleness and yet be slender and good-looking. We have millions, too, whose livelihoods, amusements, and comforts are all destructive, who nevertheless wish to live in a healthy environment; they want to run their recreational engines in clean, fresh air. There is now, in fact, no "benefit" that is not associated with disaster. That is because power can be disposed morally or harmlessly only by thoroughly unified characters and communities.

...We can see growing out of our history a condition that is physically dangerous, morally repugnant, ugly. Contrary to the blandishments of the salesmen, it is not particularly comfortable or happy. It is not even affluent in any meaningful sense, because its abundance is dependent on sources that are being rapidly exhausted by its methods. To see these things is to come up against the question: Then what is desirable?

 

-Wendell Berry

The Unsettling of America: Culture & Agrigulture (1977)

U-Turn

As we speed along the highway, slick with freshly fallen rain,
we pass an elderly man driving a tractor on the shoulder
in the opposite direction.

Slow and steady -- yet firm and resilient. Smiling, to boot.

What a brave soul to dare counter the dizzying speed and raw force of modernity with good, old-fashioned patience, awareness and gratitude.

As I am.

Slack-a-licious

Oh, what joys a 10-22mm lens, a piece of 1 inch tubular webbing and two sturdy trees can bring...

Buddha's Birthday

Jogye Temple

Seoul, South Korea

Emerge

In the confusion of life,

the most striking and lovely patterns emerge

if we simply adjust our focus.

Life at f/2.8

my gift to myself, after months of saving and saving...
a canon EF 100mm f/2.8 USM macro lens.

from now on, i will be able to get much closer... *smiles*
these are the test shots, all taken at f/2.8 to celebrate:

~a desert memory~

...remembering the loving sacredness and connection to the elements in the deserts of utah...

what an experience,
especially when shared with wonderful company! 

songs of spring

vibrant saffron rays

pierce through in all directions

waking up my smile.

wandering branches

balance the fruits of winter

on their fingertips.

can you hear them sing?

they sway from stems -- to and fro'

wind chimes of color.

Violet Night

{click to enlarge}

A composition to honor the beauty of moonlit spring...

Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter... and Spring.