Okinawa Death Life Birth Honesty and Making a Living

The week began Sunday night with the news of a death of a child in a tragic drowning incident.  A good friend had been running a course to introduce kids to their local beaches.  What was a wonderful day properly organised with activities for kids and the participation of their parents and the local community became a nightmare

Neko

I often go for a walk when I cannot sleep, especially when the moon is full. On these nights I do not feel in the least bit tired and just start walking. On this particular night I felt quite happy to be walking along the road in the moonlight and before long I achieved the state where my body felt like it was floating along with a steady rhythm and my mind was free to wander. Sometimes when I reach this state I might make up a play and have all the various parts playing in my head. I was therefore not aware of the scooter until it was quite close to me and was startled by the sudden sound as it sped past me. It was an older model called a Honda Joker and this one was shiny black with chrome handlebars. The rider had a black helmet, dark tinted goggles, and as far as I recall was dressed entirely in black.

Starting Again

I was walking dreaming when I passed the Thai restaurant and thought I saw a slight movement or perhaps sensed the spark of life. And there, clinging to the blood red wall, was an exotic creature. I guess it must have stowed away in a crate of restaurant supplies. After making good its escape it was now resting a while and trying to get its bearings before it made its way in this strange cold place. I look at its beautiful camouflaged pattern wings dusted with gold; wings that should be warmed by the slight stirring of a sub-tropical breeze not the hot oily discharge from a dirty restaurant extractor fan. It had perhaps found a tiny oasis of warmth. Seeing this doomed being though struck a chord in my heart and I felt once again the soft touch of your finger tips sending shivers up my spine and the warmth of your body. I felt sad though too knowing that this beautiful little creature would die soon, cold and far from the warmth of its home. I had not dared to breathe and then as if knowing its fate it appeared to give a small bow. I bowed too in return then it flew off into the night leaving me alone again.

Trying to Write

I had a lot on my mind and when that happens I know that I won’t get anything written. The only cure I know is to go out and bring some paper and my trusty fountain pen and find somewhere different to write. On this occasion I took a bus into Newcastle and after walking around a bit found a cafe and purchased a BLT and a Mocha.

A Dose of Reality

It was November 1994. Sitting at the junction I listened to the gentle purr of the VW Golf’s engine and I felt a deep sense of calm. Traffic was light and the next car that passed was also a VW the same colour as mine. Something registered in another part of my brain about this car. I noticed the driver first and as I looked at him we recognised each other and then I saw you. It is an image etched in my mind as you were wearing that long black coat that your father had given you. You had complained it smelled of mothballs. Had your father bought it for your mother? You looked pale your expression fixed as if you were in pain. I could not tell if you had seen me or not.

I am looking into your eyes

I am looking into your eyes and I see the eyes I looked into so long ago

Becoming Less

 

I was met as I came in the door by a woman with a name badge who remembered my name.  She took my card and I sat down and waited for my name to be called.  I looked around there was a woman in her early twenties staring at the wall with her hand inside her shirt absent mindedly adjusting her bra strap oblivious to the hormone charged  youths oggling her casually exposed cleavage.   

The Ghost of Route 331

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was walking alone on a road called Route 331.  How I came to be walking along this road isn’t really worth relating but suffice to say I needed some time on my own to think and I have found that a long walk helps me to think.  In fact the problem I have is ending a walk because once started I will just keep on walking and thinking almost oblivious to all else.  So I started walking with the intention of walking until Route 331 intersected Route 329 and then hopefully find myself near to home.  I guess a walk like that would be 20 miles and I guessed that I would be home around 10:30 pm at the latest. 

Okinawan Starbucks Blues

 

Yesterday I spent most of the morning in Starbucks with a good friend of mine from the US.  It was one of the Starbucks in Chatan facing Route 58 and a large American military base.  Not surprisingly those from the base and linked to the US military use this particular Starbucks for meetings with friends so the atmosphere is distinctly different from every other Starbucks on the Island.  The staff in this particular branch of the multinational coffee giant are for the most part fluent in English.  The staff have also dispensed with the somewhat strange and distinctly Japanese obsession with chiming your order several times in favour of the more efficient method of quietly repeating your order back to you clearly to check they got it right.  In my case it’s ‘Personal-cafe-mocha-tall-hotto’.  I am sometimes tempted to add half a dozen special instructions such as, skinny milk, extra shot, no whipped cream and extra chocolate sauce, shaken but not stirred, but that would really be too cruel -or would it? 

Lucy the Girl in the Window Update (now available in Burmese)

I was surprised to discover the other day that my story ‘Lucy the Girl in the Window’ has now been ‘unnofficially’ translated into Burmese.  The translator includes a link to this blog for the English version (thanks).  Take a look if you have time. 

Burma gained independence from Great Britain in 1948 however it has had a troubled history.  The people there are at present far from free or independent under a military regime that is no stranger to abuses of human rights.  Lets hope that the military junta  realise that membership of and cooperation with the international community is a far better course than financing their stranglehold on their own people by selling hard drugs and squandering their natural resources (with no regard for the environment) to the highest bidder.  I have been a supporter of the release of Aung San Suu Kyi for many years.  I have a great respect for ordinary Burmese people and Burmese culture.

 Here I am an an unsigned and largely unpublished writer already available in other languages – the first somewhat ironically Burmese. 

Translated version (may not display unless you have Burmese font loaded)

http://tunwn.blogspot.com/2007/07/lucy-girl-in-window.html

Original English version

http://daraho.wordpress.com/2007/05/05/lucy-the-girl-in-the-window/

Decomposers

 

Watching mould spreading

Its cancerous threads eat my books My Cd’s are next then my DVDs Alien forms somehow taking holdResistance is futile; it’s coming to get youMy nightmare the mould enters my bodyCrawls in my ear and eats up my brain

The words I had there are all mouldy now

Reduced to odorous sludge

Exterminate, exterminate

I’m breaking down. Breaking……

Where am I what am I

is consciousness itself so many complex processes

To be broken down by mould eating up organic matter

Feeding on brain tissue in a relentless search for survival

Eats up my brain extinguishing thought

Mould the destroyer the converter the decomposer

decomposing not writing always breaking down

Breaking down my brain turning my thoughts to blackened gunge

Lost Years

I have what I call ‘lost years’ where I know that I should have been doing something else but each day merged into the next and before I knew it years had gone by and I had nearly forgotten the dreams that were once so precious. Many days go past where you say to yourself ‘I am going to do such and such’ but you never quite get around to it. It was so easy then I hardly had to think about it at all. Well now I am getting around to it at last. So many years of staying on the path of a steady job and a mortgage defering the time when life would be lived. Keeping up the payments going in everyday living to work rather than working to live -life not really my own. Accumulating remote controls, getting fat on rich food, unhealthy, sleepy, and consuming rather than creating. Comfortably numb. It wasn’t really success or complete failure just a sort of compromise with existence and that really wasn’t good enough.

So I have woken up and consciously jumped off that path, some would say recklessly, into the wild wood and now every single day is a new exciting adventure and even a struggle for survival. Sure, I worry sometimes about whether I might earn enough money to cover the rent and be able to eat good food but the excitement and the edge are back. Somehow I get through the month but I need to be fully awake because there is no safety net if I fail and not much of a Plan B to talk about. I probably work twice as hard now but it’s my choice and I have my life back and the freedom to use it. It’s great to have woken up and be back in control of my life. My life seems to have more value and purpose now than before.

No more wasted time – its too precious. It’s just me and the open road ahead and that’s a good feeling but a little bit like flying by the seat of your pants too. The cost might be high in terms of my immediate personal comfort and long term financial security but I feel as if I have escaped from something repressive that had coiled itself around me so tightly I could no longer move, see, or think clearly anymore. You don’t have to make drastic changes in your life but maybe reflect occasionally about whether or not life has to be lived the way you are living it and whether your lifestyle is actually killing you and damaging others too. Loosen the coils a bit and don’t be afraid to consider alternatives. Consider how free we really are and how much we fear what we do not know or have never experienced? You don’t need to travel very far to find your own answers.

What is important to me from now on is to care for those who depend on me until they can take care of themselves, express myself, learn, write and teach. If I can do these things then I know I will be happy wherever I am and will probably live longer and more healthily as a result. I am not glued to what I am doing now and who knows I could change again and do something else if it seems like the right thing to do. I may die with little to show for having existed, and be forgotten almost immediately, but at least I will have led my life in my own way rather than the way someone else thought I should live it.

I plan to live a simple satisfying life from now on that hopefully benefits others. I don’t need religions. politics, programmes or theories to complicate matters as all the answers are I think fairly simple on a personal level. I am trying to lead a good life and be a good person but that’s never easy and you can be inspired by many different thinkers whatever their beliefs. I like the idea of Karma so it’s not such a bad idea to be nice to to other people and treat them well and respect diversity and difference. Life is too short and there are so many important things to be doing so I intend to use what skills I’ve got in a positive way. If I am fortunate and find myself with more resources I won’t be changing much at all just doing more of what I am already doing and maybe more for those less fortunate than I am. I hope my epitaph might read ‘It wasn’t much [in the grand scheme of things] but it’ll do for now’.

There’s a Child Crying

There’s a small child crying in the apartment across the way. 

There’s a dog barking as first raindrops fall on hot concrete

A couple shout angrily more like enemies now than friends.

Looking down a pale faced man checks the trash for something to eat

Watch an old woman climb steps slowly to reach a shrine she tends

Smell incense and catch muttered words for noone left to hold them

Hear mournful wailing from an empty park as unoiled swings sway

From the ceiling above an old tune weaves a faster rythmn

And all this time the child keeps on crying just across the way

Where do you like to Write?

Walter Benjamin ,a personal hero of mine, apparently used to write in Jazz cafes enveloped in people and music.  Such was his focus and powers of concentration he could effectively insulate himself from his surroundings whilst at the same time be energised by them.

A Mountain Cucumber and Marmite Sandwiches and Escape from Royal Weddings

 

It was 29th July 1981 and whilst most of the UK and a fair number of others around the globe were being dazzled by what appeared to be a fairytale romance between a prince and his young pretty bride.  Not impressed by spending the day oohing and ahhing in front of the TV my father decided it was a good day to climb a mountain so off we went to climb Helvellyn.  Helvellyn is the third highest peak in both the Lake District and England.  At 950 metres (3,117 feet) above sea level therefore it is a proper mountain and deserving of respect.