My friends invite me to share
a traditional Tibetan meal
a traditional Tibetan meal
under the stars and moon
during autumn nighttime.
during autumn nighttime.
We share the seasonal moment
when the smell held in the earth
from summer creations,
releases into winter’s care.
when the smell held in the earth
from summer creations,
releases into winter’s care.
We celebrate the city’s communal life cycles.
We drink, eat, toast and bring cheer
to each other’s health and good character.
We sing until out of breath and songs to sing.
We sing until our health might collapse
from the fun of entertaining each other.
The men drink too much to keep up with me,
and I drink too much to keep up with the men.
No one wants to be indecorous
or culturally underperformed.
or culturally underperformed.
We can stop after the fifth drink
without any shame.
without any shame.
If we were not so pleasingly polite
and traditionally correct, the unexpected
benefit of drinking so much Tibetan moonshine
might not heal our hearts or sooth our Souls.
and traditionally correct, the unexpected
benefit of drinking so much Tibetan moonshine
might not heal our hearts or sooth our Souls.
I discovered quite by accident
that Tibetan moonshine has power.
It has sterilized the damp heat
that Tibetan moonshine has power.
It has sterilized the damp heat
and evaporated the stale water out of my body.
Tibetan wine kills more germs than any mouth wash
or medicine prescribed by doctors in Shanghai and Beijing.
or medicine prescribed by doctors in Shanghai and Beijing.
The hospital's doctors attempted to cure my spiritual pollution,
induced by our work's political phenomena turned pneumonia.
induced by our work's political phenomena turned pneumonia.
I think our group performances and singing,
especially all the high vibrational notes,
especially all the high vibrational notes,
undoubtedly contributed a harmonic exorcism -
to flux cure and route out the infection from my lungs.
My lymphatic system relaxed
as my nervous system irrigated my colon.
as my nervous system irrigated my colon.
My liver, gall bladder and kidneys
released ancient patterns of anger.
released ancient patterns of anger.
My smile widened as my friends shared their stories.
The recounting of valent tales numerous in valor,
brought us all into present time, releasing past hurts.
The recounting of valent tales numerous in valor,
brought us all into present time, releasing past hurts.
I laugh at their intentional doctoring of me
via the effect of their wide smiles, wine and song.
via the effect of their wide smiles, wine and song.
The laughter and song in the yurt
warms our circle of bodies -
warms our circle of bodies -
we rise up a few degrees in temperature
which heats our heart centers.
which heats our heart centers.
We ascend our earthly demeanor
to integrate our spiritual power.
to integrate our spiritual power.
We sing to clear the channels
that carry our spirit into our lower body.
that carry our spirit into our lower body.
My face begins to thaw, humming my ears
into an acoustic ring of surround sound.
into an acoustic ring of surround sound.
The peace of the extreme chill reverberates
my very personal experience of cold.
I sit on the ground woolen seat.
I feel every body part of me slow.
I trickle surreal in my every moment of movement.
My nose drips little warm droplets.
Fluids arrive in a rush to escape
from somewhere in my body.
from somewhere in my body.
Water effects an exit via my sinoatrial node.
My nose muscles and liquids orbit
before becoming still.
before becoming still.
My all and everything freezes
into icicles at my nose tip’s end.
into icicles at my nose tip’s end.
The penetration of far below-zero breathing
reminds me of my Canadian childhood.
reminds me of my Canadian childhood.
Cold that leisurely stops my heart,
quiets my outer distraction, soothes my inner voice,
cuts and fragments my breath,
into remarkable peaces of silence.
quiets my outer distraction, soothes my inner voice,
cuts and fragments my breath,
into remarkable peaces of silence.
~~ Other People's Fingerprints ~~
Sometime after 1953 Ma Jian wrote;
“… a road she walked,
a road which would wake her from her sleep,
was one she’d often walked halfway down before.”
