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Elegant Pine

We all know much, yet we also know so little. It is wonderfully empowering to be in the presence of infinite potential, infinite direction. Conveying information, it such a diverse yet fragile area. The shares I write here, whether it be a story, poem or other – it comes down to method of approach. In ways I rewrite my own ‘subjective’ experience into the ‘objective’. The subjective bases itself in things we gain in from our experiences here. Much can be drawn from the subjective, bringing it into the objective. One experience may yield so much of information at one cognitive point, but more at another at another time. Subjective can be conveyed on its own, same for the objective, but one can also mix-and-match and by doing do convey varying percentages of subjective as well as objective.

Fabrics within fabrics. Sounds behind the sounds.

Today I am at a traditionally decorated countryside inn. The rural, it is where energies and ways feel more expansive and accommodating. It was snowing yesterday night. When that storm descended, the environment turned to a white haze and the wind howled fiercely. Howling is far from subtle, but it is not something to fear. The subtle can enter anywhere and achieve anything, never coming to any harm. During the experience of the storm I relaxed in my room, with the light off and a candle lit. Sat silently with quiet of mind I zoned out. My awareness wandering, roaming as potentials presented their selves. The warm of the cozy room giving me a physical sense of pleasure while I listened to the intensity of the storm outside and the occasional rattling of the window. That was a choice. A choice to create what I wanted in that moment. When you choose, you’re taking control of your very reality. One can be a master, an author of their own reality – by choice. I could have easily gone with the flow other people in the inn had chosen which was one of sorrow and annoyance, that of feeling bound. Though we all exist here physically, where we each roam cognitively, it is wildly different.

That was yesterday, now it is today. I am outside with a warm red jacket on. My very breath is visible. The vapors of it, they appear then dissipate off to somewhere unknown. Drudging through the snow, it makes a sort of crunchy sound. In my wake are my footsteps, physical echoes of the immediate past. Rubbing my hands to keep them warm, I wake my way to the nearby stream. The trees around me are still, not even the soft wind stirs them for they are burdened by snow. Now and then some of that snow collapses down with a rush then pattering sound on ground contact. I find my way to the stream. The sound of the stream, it is both calming and pervasive somehow. The small and prominent rocks in that stream, they are all snow capped like the eminent snow capped mountains on the morning horizon. Little chunks of ice flow down along with the water. They sparkle most mesmerizingly in the sunlight. Their beauty beyond what even the most skilled jewel crafter could force into creation.

Water, it is such a great ‘teacher’. Its direction or intent as I prefer to call it, knows no bounds. Its intent flows freely and in any direction it can. The human body, the air and a great many other things, they comprise of water. I used to wonder why water is so ever present. But the universe itself says as to why, look at energy, look at movement. The very base functions of water are what happens in the universe as a whole. From the micro to the macro. So it is like when one comes to know water, they come to know how the universe more. Dipping my hand into that flowing stream water, I feel the coldness of it. Like ice-cubes from a fridge-freezer. Harshness, it can ‘teach’, so can the subtle and myriads of other methods. What is the most effective method will speak so at the time.

I have digressed a little too much though? There is no rationalized reason why I write. There is a knowing of reason why I write here. This does not translate into words.

In my current way, I Be and Do. Acting and thinking, they are recursive ways. Why act, as in impersonate? Be genuine. Be you, in the now. And why think when you can be in the now doing. The experiences will present in the now too. Trying to put them to words, it is like trying to put a cruise liner into a two-inch-by two-inch box.

Be well.


Contact Phrase

The sky, it is a deep midnight blue and not a cloud is in sight. The stars they plentiful and glimmering randomly as a quarter moon rises on the horizon. Reflecting on the sun’s potential in a different flavor. The cityscape around me is radiant with countless variations of lights. Signs of distant lives playing out soundlessly. The path I am cutting through the park to the club, it is serene. A chill plays upon my skin as the wind caresses my skin and stirs my hair. Its whispers, telling me much and what is the best direction ahead. For where the wind is coming from, I am going. We are travelers passing each other by on our own ways. The sound of water from nearby can be head along with the call of ducks as they splash and interact with each other freely. The light cast from the lamps adorning the pack path cast the walkway in a stark contrast that carries off the feel of wanting no one to linger.

Cutting through the park, it saves me some time and avoidance of traffic jams. My cell-phone, it begins ringing. The display reads Chyou’s name I see briefly as I bring it to my ear.

“Ming where are you? What’s taking you soooo long?”

“I’m almost there, just a minute or so more.”

We share a few more lines and then call ends as I snap the cell-phone closed. Surfing my way through the throngs of people, my movements graceful and instant as I adjust to the flow and rate of their moments. The club La Rota comes into sight, loud rave music can be heard emanating from there. Meeting up with Chyou we head on inside, the bouncers giving us no issue. The sound of rave music becomes almost over-powering. Just speaking to her requires me to lean in and talk into her ear. We order two martinis and learn against the bar, chatting and sipping on our drinks. Chyou really has gone all out, wearing quite a revealing black dress. It makes my outfit seem plain. Chyou suddenly draws me close to her as I feel an intent gaze of someone upon me. From the corner of my vision I see a guy giving the two of us some intensely lustful looks. My mind, it begins to wander. Why did I agree to come here with her? Yes I am single and yes I get lost in my thought often. Chyou speaks into my ear, “That guy looks like a total creep. I wanted to give him the wrong idea,” I make out, barely. Leaning in close to her I reply, “OK.”

The sound of the rave music pounds through the space, radiating through our bodies. People dance and congregate in random areas. The floor is nowhere in sight, as the club is packed full. Finishing our drinks she leads me away from the bar to find s space to dance together, weaving our way through between people single file. She draws close to me as we dance, mimicking the movements of those around us. The more this night is going on, it is like a mask slipping off and the inner world of myself bearing itself.

“What do you think of it?” I hear, hear voice sounds more clearly if I don’t try to focus on it.
“It feels good,” I admit, feeling a pang of doubt.
“Relax and let go,” she says warmly and guides me to dance more in sync with her.

The world around feels like a blur as my normally busy mind quiets down to a hum. A feeling of just being a random person here to have fun sweeps through me, it washes out lingering reservations. As I break away from her to go get another drink she finds a guy to dance and flirt with. Even though she has a boyfriend, Chyou likes to tease guys when giving the opportunity.

An average height white guy dressed in slightly Gothic looking clothes draws up beside me while I am drinking through my third martini. He holds out his hand as if it was some sort of business meeting. But is is not and he comes off as desperate. I understand that I am single, but there is an ocean of difference between single versus single and desperate.

“Adam” he says, pointing at himself, I do similar but tell him my name. His voice, it sounds a little gruff with a lilt to it.

“Are you here alone?” he asks, what a lame line that is, “No I reply and look in my friends direction.

Awkwardly I chat with him, carefully keeping my gaze on him closing the distance between us. He seems nice enough, but I feel no interest towards him. My clarity, it is still there despite the drinks. Drinks, they can only take away your clarity if you let him willingly.

Chyou comes back over and draws me very close to her, then she grabs my butt as she does so, kissing me. Her lips, they feel soft and radiate a pleasant heat.

“That’s how you pick up a girl, but this one is mine,” she says confidently in an almost daunting way.

The guy I did not wanting to be talking with anymore bottles it, “Sorry, I didn’t know that you were–”

“Well you do now, cya,” Chyou shoots him the look that tells him to move on. As I recover from what just happened, having drawn back from her, she turns to look at me.

“Are you OK? You looked really uncomfortable there.”

“I was,” I admit, feeling embarrassed whilst appearing flustered on the surface.

“Don’t worry, there’s lots of interesting looking guys here. I’ll help you find one to hookup with tonight that you like.”

Once again she takes my by the hand and we get lost in the crowd. A lot of drinking and dancing goes by in a stream I lose track off. My sense of time and everything usual out of the window.


Of Junctions

Rivers, the flow of them is relentless. Intent and action, expanding outward in all directions infinitely. Row this boat I may, but the currents are always there. Silently trying to direct the flow. Ebbs and eddies, they lurk ever present like shadows in the horizon.

From the shores I hear echoes of mechanical waves increasing to a crescendo. The way of iron and force working its way to irrelevancy. People there, they enslave their selves to visible and invisible machines. A failed way, but the alternatives are present for those who are ready and willing to seek them out.

Free will is mighty. But hidden intent can carry it away.

Which direction am I going? I do not know. There is a idea, a feel of a place I can reach, a way I can become. It is not to an end, but a moment leading to the greater. Wind, it blows by continuously chilling my skin, but this I do not mind. Carried by the flow, my boat travels and caught in the experience my awareness is. I am not alone and never have been.

Calling to the wind, its whispers guide me on my way. Where it has been I am going, the ways it knows and is there to guide.

There can always be space, even in the most confined of places. Infinity has no limitations. Creators create and embrace that unlimited potential. Even things which are already defined, they can be re-purposed and used in different ways, enumerable.

A pebble we were each then, but mountain ranges we are now. No matter what fall takes us, mountains we will be and grow out from.



Forest in the heart

Resting on my sofa, the lighting in my front room is set to dim. The warmth of the room though, it matches the sense of certainty I feel inside. There is a association in culture of fire reflecting will power, to some extent there is truth to it. My gaze, it is cast upon the ceiling. The sound of vehicles approaching and passing by outside, it happens randomly and continuously. Like the movements in each person’s life, it all in turns builds towards larger collective movements. There on that ceiling, light glides across it with each passing vehicle. Light which is cast through blinds covering the large living room window. Picking up the half-filled glass of white wine from the coffee table, I softly sway it watching the liquid stir. Liquid it has a mesmerizing quality to it sometimes. No matter whatever container liquid finds itself in, it always find its own balance, its own middle ground. If only I could be as fluid as it, but that is something I have yet to achieve.


it is my cell phone sounding, shattering the subtle silence I sit in. There is a text message present, it is from my friend Mo. We were work colleagues until very recently, but now we are not. The message, it reads:

“Do you want visit a bar tonight?”

Work, I have none to go to tomorrow and for the rest of night, I have nothing planned. The response I send is:

“OK. Send me the address please.”

After changing outfit, I find myself in the bathroom under its stark light. My reflection it stares back at me as I apply the makeup. There is a need to look good and show a level of presentability. However, the balance between presentability and going over-board is one I sometimes miss. At times it feels so alien to look at myself in the mirror, it is like looking at something external rather than looking at myself. Softly I touch my shoulder length black hair, the feel had, it is real and soft. This is me. This moment, it is genuine. Once ready, I head out. The sounds, sights and sensations, they all rush in like a tide. The air holds a chill and the clouds overhead, they look dark. This going out and reconnecting with the environment, it is comforting. Like the comfort found when resting in a warm blanket.

Making my way to the train station, people bustle about as usual. Female monotone sounding announcements, they play repeatedly via the speaker systems at the train station. Trains going to here, to there. Everyone with their own destinations and purposes. After a short wait, a three-carriage train coasts quietly into platform eleven where I wait. This carriage I enter, it is mostly empty. Like a space with open potential. I remember wanting to do little childish things when I was younger, like wanting to sit in every seat of a carriage in one ride. Little things, to say that they had been done. The train leaves the station, taking its winding path through the sprawling cityscape. From neon bill boards, to brightly lit buildings of many various sizes, they all extend across the distance off into the vast horizon. There is a soft hum of the train as it moves, it is having an almost lulling affect on me. Stops, they come and go as if they never occurred.

Eventually I reach the stop to get off at and head to the bar. Text messaging Mo, she says she is inside and I go to where she is. The interior, it is almost clinical like with its heavy uses of whites and grays. Bright ceiling lights, they flood the space with a harsh ambiance. The only contrast is the furniture and some of the framing which is a more traditional wood color.
“It is good to see you, thank you for coming,” she says warmly and hugs me.
“Thank you for inviting me.”
We sit and I order a glass of white wine. Chatting about random things to begin with, but then she pauses and gives me a very concerned look. Around us, people are talking and generally being noisy but I keep my audible focus on Mo.
“I do not mean to intrude, but a colleague told me what happened to your department today.”
It is true, something did happen. The department I worked for, it was closed today without any advanced warning. “Mm-Hm. It was suddenly closed. They do not want us to come into work tomorrow. We’re on notice period.”
Mo takes another sip of her drink before replying cautiously, “I want to help you. I can put in a good word for you with my manager.” Her kindness, I feel a little taken aback by it. Even without a job right now, my money situation is not an immediate one. But she and I, we’re friends so I understand why she wants to help.
“Sorry, I got lost in thought. I would appreciate your help.”
Mo reaches out with her right hand, bringing it to rest upon my left hand, “Then it is set, on Monday I will put in a good word for you.” Genuine friendship, it is valuable thing. Mo and I, we chat a while longer about other things then I let her know I am tired and have to head home. Mo flags a staff member over and we pay for our drinks. As I step out the door into the shelter of the entrance it is immediately clear that the weather has taken a turn for the worse. Rain, it streams down heavily, pitter-pattering non-stop. In this situation, it is a matter of waiting for the front to pass as I did not bring an umbrella.
“Ahhhh, what happened to the weather? This is not good,” Mo says as she joins me at the shelter of the entrance.
“It could be better,” I reply, glancing between her and the busy rain soaked street in front of me. Cars, they drive by fast. Their tires creating large splashes from the abundant amount of puddles they disturb. Whilst people hurry by, sporting umbrellas of many shapes and patterns.
“I can give you a lift home Ming,” she says, realizing I have no umbrella of my own.
“It is OK, I’ll wait until it passes. But thank you.”
“I won’t allow for you to be put out when I can help, let me help you get home please.”
The situation, I chose to come out here and it was my mistake to not carry an umbrella. There is no need for her to be inconvenienced, but already, I can see in her eyes that she will not take a no as answer. Walking to her car under the umbrella she has, I join her in the car. It is a three year old black BMW. Despite its age, its interior and exterior has been shown great care for by Mo. As she starts the engine, the radio comes to life, playing some catchy pop tune and the heating, it switches on. The Mist on the windows dissipating rapidly, like water vanishing down a drain. We talk some, but not so much as to cause distraction. Briefly I close my eyes as my thoughts wander. This is my life and being the driver of it is something to not let go off, but there will be times in which flows merge and help is rendered. In those cases, it is welcome.



Eb. Flow

Fleeting is the wind which sings across the valleys and hills

Forgiving is the snow which never asks anything of you

Roaming like a child, no direction in mind but always home

Playful is the soul which knows no boundaries


Flow Over none



I hear the softness of my own slow footsteps as each settles into the dirt countryside path. A firm chill, it is very much present. I feel it through my denim jacket, its coldness descending upon my skin, it is pronounced as if it wants attention. The old trees along the embankment, they stir gently at the passing winds behest and cicada chirp continuously in their night chorus. The sky above, it is a dark opal blue with many stars shining and blinking. I chose to be out this night. The chills and near complete darkness that I walk in, that I am responsible for. For every action taken, we have our own responsibility, knowingly or unknowingly. Up ahead is the familiar nail house, I see its shadowy broken form cast against the sky. It is a house I know well. I played in it as a child on many occasions, even when my did not want me to. He held concern for my well being, that I understand in hindsight. But as a child I wanted to explore.

Its walls, of what was left of them anyway, even more is gone now since I was last here. Slowly I run my hands along its course wall exterior. The contours, the bumps, some of them being sharp and some dull. The texture, it varies greatly. There are many who seek a smooth course through life, but like this old broken wall, my life has not and will be so. My life, I need it to have texture. Going up the staircase, I find myself upon the second floor or first floor as some places call it. There at the edge is where I sat with Chyou a couple of years ago during a fateful night. The memories of that night, they are as vivid to me now as they were then.

Breathing in deeply, then exhaling slowly, I watch as my breath drifts off into the darkness of the night. The wind, it picks up a little again, it stirs my long hair restlessly and caresses my skin. My eyes, I close them as I feel out what it is trying to say to me. The wind, the elements, they can teach. I know that when people think of nature, it is often done as ‘mother nature’. But there is no invisible mother in nature, nature has many systems and many beings involved in it. Looking in the other direction, I see my Uncle’s farm lit up in the near distance. Or should it say, my cousin Gen’s farm. Because my uncle, he is retired now and his only son Gen now runs the farm.

Briefly I then look up at the night sky and recall how I used to hope to see a ‘shooting star’ so that I could wish for some good fortune to befall me. Befall me? I can’t help but laugh at my choice of thought words, as I wouldn’t want anything knocking me over. But I know now, I am my own shooting star. I am my own fortune, my own creative potential and opportunity.


Flower under the path

Living in a city, it not only physically different to rural life, but also energetically. Being here, it required much adaption. Even with having adapted, it does not help me forget the painful memories. When I was two, my father left me with my Uncle Bojing and my Aunt to go off to work in the city. Finance, it was very unfavorable back and most of his wages he sent back to my Uncle Bojing in the country side. I am no parent, but I feel that must be hard to leave your child behind and only be able to see them twice a year. The loss I have not been able to let go of, it is that my father died in a riot in that city when I was four. That was then and this is now, I know, but some things are harder to deal with than others.

Today I am back in the countryside. It is for time off. That time I choose to spend to see my family and friends I haven’t seen in about a year since leaving school to work full time. The long train ride to there, it was both pleasant and isolating. Sat in a carriage, with most seats unoccupied. My mind wandering as the cityscape slow blended into the rural outside. The transition, it was consistent in flow. But cognitive growth transitions, those are rarely consistent in flow. My best friend Chyou, she was waiting for me at the train station. Before we left school, our time spent together, it was a lot. She had grown her hair out since and looked more feminine now, the tomboy look forgotten.  I am with her now in the only cafe shop for a great distance. The atmosphere, it is pleasant. The store owners know me and I am them. There is this connectivity which is absent in city living. Connectivity like this is not to be taken for granted, it is something to cultivate.

“How is the job Ming?” she asks me happily. The job I have, it is call-center work to provide support to people on various topics. It was one I took, because I wanted to help people and earn my way as a individual. The discomfort I found in the job, it helped me expand as a individual. I see now though, I am not really helping people. I am only helping them keep their current ways. My mind, it is wandering though and I already have the answer for her, “I do not like it anymore. I am applying for new jobs.”

She is surprised and consoles me.  Our chat, it varies from subject to subject, like season to season.

“I created my own legend a week ago,” Chyou says, smiling.

Legend, in this place people can create legends with such simple acts. From those legends, sometimes nothing expands of it, sometimes something does expand of it. Like the legend of two lovers who had carved their name into a boulder across from the cafe long before the cafe had been built. The boulder, it is still there, but if there had ever been such names carved on it. The elements had worn them away over time.

“What did you do?”

Her response was quick, “I buried my old jewelry box under the canopy of that tree.” She points to a old tree on a hill in the not so far distance.

“The jewelry box buried by a tree.”

“Mm-Hm,” she replies warmly, “And someday it be expanded upon, but the legend of it now has presence already.”