Silicon Valley, Sri Lanka, China 1997: Be Wrong Then Anything Is Possible

I am having dinner with my friends 
from all over the world.

I am introducing them 
to each other 
and to my favorite 
Chinese restaurant 
in Silicon Valley.

We all arrived here 
in this valley of silicon, 
from oceans, mountains, 
desert and city cultures.
We were starved for connection.
We are hungry for more interrelatedness.

We have in common 
many things,
including an appetite 
for conversation.
We share one planet,
our world of eco-systems 
and eco-logical events.

Our attention turns 
to talking 
about last year's bombing, 
of the Asian Central Bank of Ceylon, 

and the twin tower World Trade Center
in the Sri Lankan city of Colombo.

Colombo's twin towers 
have been hit twice by terror.
The latest bombing physically hurt 
one thousand, four hundred and ninety-one people.

The invisible seismic waves
struck grief into hearts,
with deep shocks 
that unearthed common ground.

On the mental plane of existence, 
this rage outwardly expressed
was logically planned.
The view was to cripple the old current 
the Asian and world economy currency.

Strategic financial districts were attacked -
in the last couple of years 
bombings have awakened hearts,
and skyrocketed minds,
into grasping sudden unexpected hurt 
mass projected into people's busy lives.

We all slowed down.
We all speed up.
We all ride the same roller coaster of emotions.
We all hang tightly onto the person in front of us.
We all quicken our pace and slow our collective breathing.

We fall 
deep into the silence of meaning.
Unmaking the old meaning,
making new values,
and transforming inherited ethics,
from those who created the world before us.

We are born into what is already in existence.
We focus on the menus in front of us.

Here is the Silicon Valley restaurant,
We collectively decide 
to order the hottest, spiciest meal.

We know from prior experiences 
that hot foods expel toxins
and increase the flow of Chi, 
which boosts health within 
the human immune system.

There is an ancient Chinese saying;
The lungs are the masters of life's vital forces 

and strongly benefit from eating spices.

Certain blockages of the head 
will pass more quickly,

if you eat onion, 
pepper, ginger and garlic.

Given the planetary diet 
of increased confusion, 
of people hurting people, 
of feeling pulled into a pre-flowing flow -
We, at least, should do the right thing.
We decide, collectively at this table,
that the least we can do 
is act responsibly and eat healthy.

Eating healthy clears our own 
mental and emotional blockages.

Above the lungs is the throat, 
and below the lungs 
are the heart and liver.

Lungs are in charge 
of inhalation and exhalation -
the eon flux 
of the immortal and mortal 
coming ins and going outs 
of our existence.

When proper in working condition, 
the body's heavenly forces 
descend waste downward,

so we do not wallow 
within our own self-created toxins.

Spirit descends, 
from our upper body, 
into our lower body 
creating movement 
so the human spirit is freed,
and does not become 
encased in it's own waste.

Who wants to be trapped?
Who wants to trap their self,
in a body of self made excesses?
Who wants to be encased
in the built up, pent up, 
historical mental 
and hysterical emotional hells?

All history is recorded somewhere -
on some wall, 
be it bathroom, elevator, 
street or prison.
The blank wall waits for no one.
The canvas is always there ready to paint.

Movements are captured 
on video surveillance cameras, 

then perceived by some voyager’s eyes 
and interpreted with some imagination.
What we don't imagine ourselves capable of,
then someone else imagines for us,
and often imagines the worse.

We are living the manifestation
of other people's nightmares,
without the benefit
of our conscious dreams.

Whether on computers, paper or stone,
the history of life is captured, 
within sound, without notice.
The writing and reading 
of the written word, 
is silently drowned out 
by the noise of distraction.

The heart of our mind,
knows the all from the everything,
that no time is all time,
and all time has no time
for anything other than loving kindness.

Voices record musical histories 
singing out, chanting instrumental stories.
Told as human passages, 
storytelling is meant to be passed on, 
from generation to generation,
from heart to heart,
from mind to mind.
No exceptions.

Human hands have forever,
painted, carved, sculpted 

and shaped stories alive.
The eternal is alive, inside.
Inside our body of caves, 
churches, teepees, 

temples, huts, 
cafes, phone booths, 
museums and mosques.

We all collectively experience 
the provisions of prosperous times, 
and the privations of poverty stricken eras.

All is recorded and archived.
All is remembered and memorized.
We are instant recording devices
existing in a body made 
of this Earth on this Earth from this Earth.

We can't take our bodies 
made on the Earth,
needed to live on this Earth,
with us when we leave the Earth.
What is made on the Earth,
stays on the Earth.

So how is it then that humanity 
sometimes forgets their past?
How do we constantly manage 
to repeat the cycles of sorrow,
re-plan the pain of our past history 
in the present, over and over - we go.

In the Silicon Valley restaurant,
from the menu we order 
noodles in a sauce so fiery,
it rivals the heat of our conversation.

I suggest bitter foods, 
to clear any stagnation in our hearts - 
activated by the hot topics under discussion.

Eating bitter fruits and bitter vegetables 
will calm and restore peace 
to the heart, mind and body.

Restless dream filled sleep, 
feelings that are psycho logically emotional 
are symptoms of a overheated heart.

Every part of the human body is interrelated.

Our five senses monitor imbalances, 
and evidently predict our future dis-ease.

Our senses communicate to us 
when recurrence 
of a specific discomfort occurs -

pointing out the obvious distortion,
so we can act by being aware, enough,
to first locate the root of the disease, 
and then from there, treat it.

In Silicon Valley 
technology is reinvented
on a global level.
Here, the workers reflect,
the inter nation intertribal
international flow of minds.
Hearts imagine, more.

We are constantly 
considering how to 
define the effects 
of globalization.

We choose to channel 
our energies 
into simultaneous 
evolutionary development.
The advancement, evolution, 
peaceful coexistence

of the all to the many,
to the all of ... all people -
in all places,
all growing together.

The all, 
committed to all, 
Increased health 
of all in well being.

In everyone, everywhere 
there is the heart of what matters.
After all, the root meaning 
of the word "globalization" 
is "freedom.

Freedom is the evolutionary right 
of individuals to heal their own wounds -
heal our bodies in stillness and peace, 
motion and business.

Heal the governing forces 
within our systems
emotional, mental, physical.

Heal the politics 
of material and spiritual 
planetary existence.

Prehistorically, 
the business of Labyrinthula meiosis 
and precognitively mitotic 
astral rays in genesis.

My friend's eyes are watering,
and his mouth is burning, 

but he exclaims 
that there is nothing wrong, 
he is feeling comfortable.

Between tears he says;

"We all may not hold, 
in the same way,
our chopsticks, spoons, knives and forks.

And we all may not embrace,
in the same way
identical beliefs.

Or make the same sounds 
come out of our mouths, 
with the same meanings 
at the same time.
But we all grasp 
the same challenges

to create peace within ourself, 
wage the war within 
with our own internal fire."

As a computer programmer 
and computer language code writer,

my friend fights 
with defining and demarcating 
our delimitative human boundaries.

Daily he searches 
our planetary and other worldly sense.
He searches our galactic extent, 
and life's definitions.
He seeks understanding,
he wants to be intimate with our eternity.

Through enlightening himself,
by learning,
and attempting to illuminate 
our sensual based 
codes, symbols, images, 
words, text and languages.

He lives in a world 
constructed from 
his mental points of view.
His heart has not been given 
enough energy 
over the years 
to fully flourish.

Recovered now, 
cooled down 
from his temporary 
over heated state of passion,
He continues;

"We all have vocabulary 
in our own languages 
that express unity,

delineate cooperation, 
understanding 
and speak support 
in mass and numbers."

I pass my friend a napkin,
so he can wipe his tear full eyes.
I pour him some more tea 
to soothe his burning soul.

He continues expressing himself,
after the fire in his belly is satiated.
He asks;
"Is it wrong to be committed 
to being right?"

We are silent, 
stilled within 
each of our own 
internal intensity.

The Elder waiter brings us 
some fresh hot tea,
and with all politeness 
continues his serving ritual.

My friend breaks our silence 
by asking us,
"Do we believe, opinions are provable?

If opinions are based on knowledge 
and experience that is provable,
then can opinions or beliefs 
actually be proved right, or wrong?

Can life experience 
be proved to be right, or wrong?
Can one life experience, over another 
be proved to be better, 
to be right, or to be wrong?

Before any of us 
have wrapped our minds 
around the duality of this question,
our waiter begins to answer 
these questions with utmost certainty.

The waiter is an Elder, 
a peasant from China's countryside.
He is from a valley,
whose geology most certainly
is be composed of silicon.

This Elder has worked 
his whole life, to be able 
to immigrate to California.
Here, now, today,
He stands proudly before us,
on his own two feet,
a man of his own unmaking
a man of his own remaking.
A life fully storied from the making.

As his own man, independent, 
pouring out, to us, the benefit of his life experience.
Encased within the dignity 
of his self assurance, 
patient and steady 
at the side of our table,
he answers our friend's eternal questions ...

"It is better to be wrong than right,
because if you are wrong 
then you rightly learn something."

The Elder waiting on us,
refills our teacups,
then kindly and patiently 
guides us through his suggestion ...

"By practicing consideration,
the consideration of the probability 
of being wrong,
your world is opened up 
to any and all kind of potential.
Practice the art of consideration.
Consider being wrong, 
then any possibility can be considered.
Consider being wrong, 
then consider anything is possible."

~~ Other People's Fingerprints ~~
Sometime after 1485 Veronica Gambara wrote;
“War is waged so fiercely that reason swiftly takes her leave.”

Los Angeles 2001: Who I Was, Who I Am, Whom I Am Yet To Be

The rooms in some people’s houses
contain cocoons.

The custom of some Mesoamerican people 
is to raise silkworms at home.

The worms take almost one year to raise.

In the month of March the butterflies lay their eggs on mats.

At five months the little worms come out of their eggs,

and are fed Mora leaves by their family of humans.

The smaller worms 
are sorted from the larger ones,

so the big do not eat the little, 
so no harm is preyed on the weak.

Maybe we are as unique as we think.

Maybe we are part of a picture larger than ourselves.

We are coming out of the dark, 
ages it seems, that we have been 
passing through the evolutions of our souls -

swimming seasons surrounding the soul's life cycles.

Humanity naturally mirrors 
our painful glories and joyful triumphs.
We all created the stage 
that we perform our parts on.

I wonder if anything 
I have said or done, 
during my life 
has contributed to hatred.

It is not easy to raise silkworms in your home; 
they must be well cared for.

Three months after the worms open their eggs 
they begin to drool,

and secrete silk deposits 
that require immediate cleaning.

Silkworms must be well nourished.
Or they do not give enough.

Or what they give is lacking quality -
not functional for viable social use.

We are buds cast out of branches; 

grow to be leaves cast off the trees 
to fly scattered on the wind.
We land in time for rebirth.

Buried alive with the next cycle of life 
within each one of us, 
during the harshness of Winter,
we steady and ready our self for the emergence.

We ready and steady our self to grow,
into more space, we grow, into more space we grow.
Ready to emerge in the Spring 
we climb the tree of life to become life, again.

We are Spring, springing new blooms.
We are blossoms, ready to weather the seasons.

Sometimes I feel 
planted to the same spot, looking at the same view-

no matter how much I have traveled 
I am in front of my mirror, me.

I see only what appears to me, 
appears to be me,

my restructured harmony,

past-societies of aging former-selves.

I see images, all that is re-membered.

My all remembered within my bodied-structure.

All my internal-civilization 
constantly updating to reflect my potential, 

consistently blending my harmonious whole.

My past no longer exists, 

My present is now, 

My future is not yet created.

More and more, time as I have known it

has ceased to exist -

and my experience of my self 
has become simple pure existence.

The world clock echoes backward.
The world mirror reflects me forward. 

My own self-image, this world, that which I have 
asked to be revealed, I ask to see, I ask to make peace with.

My mirror image is part illusion, wholly peace.

My right side is reflected as my left.
What is left is reflected as my right.
When I view my self, core centered, I am symmetry.

Balanced, I command my house to shatter,
and by my command I manifest my implosion. 

All of me, my ceiling, my floor, my walls,

all doors open, none to close, my view is clear.

My mirror shapes peacefully shifting my illumination clear.

All thresholds are shown to me,
and I cross all the thresholds open to me.
All images of my self, now dispersed have disappeared.

All images of my self, now transformed are translucent.
My lucidity flows sustainably like peace silk.
Who I was, am now, yet to be, whom I am destined to be - all the same. 
All is the same. All that is, is always one and the same.

Who I was, was always, who I am.
Who I am, was always, who I am.
Who I was, Who I am, 
Whom I am yet to be.

~~ Other People's Fingerprints ~~
Sometime after 1207 Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi wrote;
“One went to the door of the beloved and knocked.
A voice asked, “Who is there?”
He answered, “It is I.”
The voice said, “There is no room for Me and Thee.”
The door was shut.
After a year of solitude and deprivation he returned and knocked.
A voice from within asked, “Who is there?”
The man said, “It is Thee.”
The door was opened for him.”

Sometime after 1875, Rainer Maria Rilke wrote;

"Have patience with everything
that remains unsolved in your heart.
Try to love the questions themselves,
like locked rooms
and like books written in a foreign language.
Do not now look for the answers.
They cannot now be given to you
because you could not live them.
It is a question of experiencing everything.
At present you need to live the question.
Perhaps you will gradually,
without even noticing it,
find yourself experiencing the answer,
some distant day.

Loneliness is just space expanding around you.
Trust uncertainty.
Sadness is life holding you in its hands and changing you."

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'Diverse Bunch of Life' by Karin Lisa Atkinson

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 by Karin Lisa Atkinson

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