Tokyo 1990: Kinetic Energy Wears My Warm Memories

I am taking a break 
from the political upheaval 
and tension in Beijing.

I tell a friend, 
chilled hot 
I was once cold, 
warmed cold 
I was once hot;

I am living 
bathed in the waters 
of simplicity 
now

and so I see 
we are all 
transparent spines 
of light.

Daily earthquakes 
shake the fragile walls.

Nightly 
we are tossed from sleep 
as we lay 
on heated floors.

One toilet 
for both 
men and women,

one washroom 
a large upstanding 
wooden sculpted tub,

always topped full 
of cedar smelling water.

I scrub 
and I rinse 
myself of the day.

I soak in the tub 
until my fingers swell, 
and my hair drips 
of forest smells.

Heaven 
visits me in this tub, 
and so 
I honour this space,

by allowing 
only thoughts,
that match 
the water’s warmth,

to accompany me 
during 
my nightly ritual 
of creating 
a clean peace 
a peace 
I can share clearly.

Bubbles 
are sung 
into cozy water,
I float my face 
on the surface, 
until I am full 
of buoyant comfort.

My limbs relax, 
my still-warm 
undigested dinner.

My pulse-stills, 
my clogged-closed 
circulation opens.

I populate, 
my hours 
between baths 
by spending alone time 
among crowds,

the kinetic energy 
wears my warm memories.

~~ Other People's Fingerprints ~~
Sometime after the year 45, 
Ban Zhao (Pan Chao, Cao Dagu) wrote;

“Throughout the journey we follow the great highway.
If we seek short cuts, whom shall we follow?
Pressing forward, we travel on and on;
In abandonment our eyes wander, and our spirits roam ...

Secretly I sigh for the Capital City I love, (but)
To cling to one’s native place characterizes a small nature,
As the histories have taught us ...

In fact genuine virtue cannot die;
Though the body decays, the name lives on ...

I know that man’s nature and destiny rests with Heaven,
But by effort we can go forward and draw near to love.
Stretched, head uplifted, we tread onward to the vision …”

"Growing Storm, Living Breathing Creating Peace" photo series

at the "Immutable Island of Melodious Sound"

by Karin Lisa Atkinson

"Growing Storm, Living Breathing Creating Peace" photo series

at the "Immutable Island of Melodious Sound"

by Karin Lisa Atkinson

"Growing Storm, Living Breathing Creating Peace" photo series

at the "Immutable Island of Melodious Sound"

by Karin Lisa Atkinson

Beijing 1989: Creating Is Eternal, Act As If It Is

We have all lost our knowing 
and the comfort of our stability.

The entire humanity of the city 
has lost so much,

changed so much, 
that we are confused 
about who we now are.

What is left of our original selves 
is only a piece of who we once were.

We are not comfortable with, 
or accustomed to, 
this newly uncovered self -

exposed when all that was familiar was shed.

The unknown part of ourselves, 
embedded in our vulnerable under belly, 
has been revealed.

We, humans, 
who pride ourselves in technological evolution,

have not experienced for some time 
an accelerated human evolution -

growth brought on by catalytic events, 
various forms of modern expansion, 
from ancient contracted states of being.

The parts of ourselves, 
that we are not yet comfortable with, 
are our new reluctant-identities,
that which has been forced out, 
drawn out -
secreted from our hidden whole.

I remind myself I have not lost a thing. 
I remind myself of what I have gained.

I have always longed to get to know 
all my shadows 
that have yet to see 
the light of day.

I assume 
a degree 
of rational consciousness 
among people,

but how can I 
when we are each in our own realities.

We all dream, 
our own separate sleeping, 
and waking dreams.

Some of us are plugged in
to group agreements, 
like a TV set into a wall socket.
Some of us are charged by 
family agreements, 
programable like a mobile phone 
nestled resting each night 
as energy is restored and batteries recharged.

Some of us are just merely plugged in
to corporate, political or military agreements. 
Belief systems are abundant -
they cover and blanket us, 
like blades of grass blanket the earth, 
and stars blanket the heavens.

I salute our dreams of daylight,
and urge people to sleep with a nightlight,

to keep from waking up not knowing 
where or who they are.

Whose head is my dream taking place in?
Have I over-invested in beliefs, 
to the point where I am over-insured -
I am so well covered, 
that I cannot even recognize my own reflection.
To live a safe life is noble, 
yet, we can lose our selves so thoroughly -
so thoroughly to the lost. 

Under the cover of darkness, 
we artists, 
societies of creators - 
the society's creators ...
from birth 
pray to ward off dying, 
and during life 
bring rebirth 
to what is dead.

We breath new life 
into the old 
through our creations.
We breath reincarnation 
and resurrection 
into our life
through our recreations. 
We revive what has expired.
Artists are the habitat for humanity.

We rehabilitate ourselves, 
self criticize, 
and rehabituate ourselves into society.
But comfort contracts, 
within confined spaces of normalcy -
so we recreate ourselves, 
by expanding through awareness. 
We deepen our insight 
of that which drives life force 
to have no boundaries -
until we now know for sure,
that beyond a doubt,
life knows no limits. 

We create our legacy, 
as if we are eternal, 
and act as if we are.
We invent our legacy, 
by believing creating is eternal, 
and act as if it is.


~~ Other People's Fingerprints ~~
The Lord Mayor of London said in 1665, the year of the plague;
 “That there be a special care to appoint women searchers in every parish,
such as are of honest reputation,
and of the best sort as can be got in this kind;
and these to be sworn to make due search
and true report to the utmost of their knowledge
whether the persons whose bodies they are appointed to search do die
of the infection, or of what other diseases, as near as they can.”

"Mindless Monk"  Beijing, China 1989  by Karin Lisa Atkinson

Beijing 1989: Enough On That Day

The lightning smelled sweet as it repeatedly struck the city too close to the ground.

This sky and anything that nature throws out of it belongs to Beijing.

Exfoliate your life, strike a match but do not smoke.

Motion makes any road seem right, described James Dean –

one of the cultural icons of Hollywood, who died young driving too fast.

He attempted to love what he might become in the future,

but despised who he was in the past and present.

Childhood regrets, youthful idealism, mid life capitalist crisis of rule –

all safety issues eventually form a block, an unsafe springboard

from which we can hurl our bodies into air –

air that changes form mid suspension,

into a cunning father holding you while you gasp for care.

The governing laws of dynamics shift

to reveal gaps in our realities of time, space and gravity –

the breach once realized then creates a disparity that moves

the ground out from under, so all beneath loses focus and alters horizons.

I am held motionless cupped in the hand of motion,

the air of my holding pattern smells foul during suspension –

as times’ embrace holds me still to ponder

the other aspects of myself I do not see when I am in motion.

The politics of navigating the arch of my back,

direction of my eye line, point of my toes,

who to reach my hand out to while I tread, the water below, or sky above.

Am I rising or because of my fear I only notice that I am falling?

What rules? Whose rules? Who rules? Who created the shell?

Who rules the egg, the external forces of the internal yolk or transparent whites –

the great swirling energetic mystery of intellect, passion, mind and heart.

The Wind’s contractions smell bad like the lioness that roared at the Beijing zoo,

stale breath of one enslaved inside a concrete jungle jail –

old and tired from chasing the rats in a race around in circles inside a walled box,

still regretting the decision made on the day she was ensnared –

trapped by the politics of her choices, results, intensions and desires –

perhaps her hungry gut was growling and the fresh meat offered was enough on that day.


~~ Other People's Fingerprints ~~
During the Warring States Period, 4th century Zhuangzi wrote;
“By the time it came to the edge of the forest
the stream has grown-up so that it was almost a river,
and being grown-up it did not run and jump and sparkle along
as it used to do when it was younger, but moved more slowly.
For it knew now where it was going and it said to itself,
“There is no hurry we shall get there some day.”

During the Zhou Dynasty, Laozi (Li Er 李耳)wrote,
Mastering others is strength.
Mastering yourself is true power."

June 5th, 2014 Karin Lisa Atkinson wrote;
"To live one must for.give to for.get, 
but always re.member memories 
and drink them in whole 
as wisdom for the soul."

"Students - The First Mountain of Chinese Humanism" 

Zijinshan Purple Mountain Temple, 

Nanjing, China 1990

by Karin Lisa Atkinson

Fiji 1989: Greet War, With An Open Attitude of Peace

Soaring over the Koro Sea.
From behind the curtain,
of the airplane's front cabin,

appears the Flight Attendant.
She is nervous, unsure, and shaken.

Her quivering voice is trying to share.
She shares with us the information
that the army has just acted out a coup.
The military has taken over the government, 
the country and the airport.

The Flight Attendant informs us 
to be prepared to be boarded,
the army is armed with will of might 
to strong arm us, scoop us up in their military net.
Cooperation is required.

We open our doors, and lock our hearts. 

The soldiers board our aircraft,
with their warcraft, they play their roles.
They act like hesitant new fathers -
all crooked grins while cradling their AK-47s ...
they look like they would be lost without them.

My reception, the unwelcoming committee 
is semi automatic, a machine gun 
pointed in my face, just under my nose, 
above my lips, so I can't speak,
yet considerately out of reach, of any vital organ.

The welcoming committee is clear. 
Their intentions are to give me no choice.
I have no choice, but to welcome their first show of trust -
a funky dance of hands moving over my body.
Frisking a person sometimes requires no permission.

It is my first time in Fiji.
I arrive during a political coup.

The politicians and their system are being disrupted.
In all honesty politics in general, 
everyday, can be disruptive.

We wait on the plane.

We wait to be turned over to our military escorts.

I imagine the airport will be quite active and chaotic.
When I finally descend, I find customs deadly quiet.
We are the only airplane in sight, to land, we are herded 
into a line up, guarded by more men, with more guns.

I think I smell fish frying.

When my turn comes, 
a military officer questions me.

He extends a gracious invitation to me 
to spend the night sleeping in the open air airport terminal.

I am to be guarded from friendly fire, and from taking flight.

It is an offer I cannot refuse.

Generosity's value is determined, in each moment.
Considering my present circumstance 
my point of view has altered to accept 
that being alive is a valuable act of generosity. 
I am happy to accept this is the safest place, for now.

My safety bubble is burst 
when Army becomes suspicious. 

I am singled out of the line-up, 
due to being a single woman traveling alone, 
except for her pen, notes, books and camera.

Army asks me, in very polite English; 
"Is it just a coincidence 
that a photojournalist showed up 
during this auspicious and historical occasion?"

"What occurrence brought you here to align with this moment?"

I also wonder what forces of nature aligned to bring me here, now.

To celebrate the occasion of their victory, 
over the previous regimes victors,
they begin an argument with me, 
but I don't want to argue.
I don't enjoy peace while engaging in 

hand fights with armed angry men.

Call me a lunatic, but I see a full moon in the daytime sky.

Army insurges their argument with me, 

“Who would fly to a country with no hotel reservations?!

Unless they intended to be met and greeted by local connections!?”

My response, made in all honesty, therefore true in this moment is; 
"My view of Fiji, from above was beautiful. You have a lovely home".

"I am hungry, tired from the flight and yes, I am traveling solo."

Army continues to speculate 
about me, with me, around me.
I make my move. 
I blow my nose with such animation, 
that everyone laughs, astonished at my action.

Like a dog leaping on a meaty bone, 
I ravish this laughter. 
I continue, I deplete, until empty, my nasal cavities.

Body function is as natural way to bring humanity down to earth,
and to restore the everyday meaning which connects the living to life.

Uplifting neutrality is needed.

Normality is needed, even when you don't know what norm means.
Normalcy for soldiers can mean naturally seeking a leader to follow. 
Orders, when taken from a leader, liberates the soldiers from 
everyday responsibility of their daily routine, and not so every day actions.

To perform their duty, the brain requires a sense of routine order.

To give orders, all that is required are provisions, meals and uniforms.

To take orders, all that is needed is transportation and money.

When the belly is full the brain takes a nap.
In service for a cause, which promises a better future,
some people hope that soldiering is simply participating in betterment,
that there is no bitterness when playing a role to form a new future -

that futurism might require reforming society's character at gun point, is moot.

There is no escaping the net I have momentarily been cast in.

The role being projected onto me is foreign spy and coup saboteur.
It is not the first time photojournalists have been incorrectly seen as saboteurs.

I am very fortunate that I am carrying my healing cure-all sattchel,
and that the officer in charge recognizes the cures because his Mother is a healer.

What else can I do. I accept and I receive their orders to be a giver.

I share free herbal advice and remedies with the soldiers.
I help sooth their nerves and calm their spirits.
Many of the soldiers thought the coup would be over by lunchtime.
By now, they expected to be home enjoying a celebratory meal,
a hero's nap in the shade, completely out of danger and out of the spotlight.

At this point it is best not to shoot my mouth off,
by offering advice on military matters - 
so I stick to healing matters of the heart.
The solders have begun to share with me their true love stories.
My role shifts to from receiving orders to giving advice to the lovelorn.

How to win the war on love, and keep the passion for life alive, requires foreplay.

The soldiers are worried that their beloveds might worry.
As the morning grows older it is obvious 
that the Military has more than just time on their hands.
These guys are knowledgable about all the latest foreign cinema.
Besides the hot topic of healing love, we have entertainment in common.

I grew up reading international poetry and watching world cinema.

I wing my part in this unfolding drama.
For instance, earlier in the morning,
after searching my belongings,
Military officials declared that 'Vacationer' 
is the hardest vocation to truly prove.

Military asks;
"Who in their right mind would bring so many books on a vacation?!
Unless you want to divert attention away from your true intention!?"
But I stick to my story, that I am a tourist -
who, instead of buying cheap souvenirs,
buys books written by local writers, artists and healers.

By this point, we were all so tired, we begin a sweaty relaxation.

The soldiers have had little news 
of what is going on in the capital city.
This morning, when they took up arms 
they were promised it would all be over quickly, 
no difficulty, no casualties, no foreign transients. 

I find it hard to believe 
that when people pick up guns 
they do not expect violence,
especially if they want to create 
a turbulence of change to social habit. 

The politics of people always turns from fantasy gains into unimagined losses.

The politics of creating chaos to control the uncontrollable.

How do people react to disruptive actions? 
If people have a hard time driving cars, 
in crowded cities without accidents,
then it is hard to expect they can drive political change 
without damaging something and bumping into everything.

Violence bankrupts, until empty, all accounts secured within the human heart.

The wealth of our planet is vaulted and locked away, sacrificed
every time a choice to solve perceived problems is violence.

After Military asks me some final wavering questions, 
sudden smiles unmask what was previously hidden.
Simple smiles brake the rhythm to their man hunt of this woman's rights.
Now hunting for our evening meal becomes the starving soldier's only objective.
Bags of potato chips become the trophy of their victory over airport security.

Tonight, together, like cats, we all sleep, stretched out,
on the ocean-side airport tarmac fishy smells surrounding us.
I count my lucky stars that I am still on this earth,
that we are all out of harms way, and that no one is hurting.
The diplomacy of love, healing and sharing humanity cures all wounds.

As we settle into the uncertainty of night's darkness,
we all share a few jokes held in our heart's lightness.
We smile to cool down after the day's heated events, 
and laugh to warm up within the cold night's dampness.
Deep in my slumber I dream of yak tea and Tibetan medical mantras.

We are cats and dogs, fish and birds, sun and moon moving within the unknown.

The unknowns of universality are not the same as the truths of our times.

My dreams are neutral, but my desires are intentional.
Mornings are best for negotiating change.
Eventually I secure my exit, from sleeping on the Army's tarmac.
For my exodus, I am given an escort by one of the soldier’s cousins -
who also happens to be a part-time airport pseudo-taxi driver.

I am held captive again, this time by the airport taxi driver.
He refused to take me anywhere except another cousin’s guest hotel.
I am encouraged to learn it has toilet facilities and clean towels.
I am in a hurry to clean up from my yesterday experiences.
Those events, which ushered in my Fiji arrival, need a nice clean start.

I simply want to move on to a new day 
featuring some more; sunshine in the spice market, 
eating a large hot meal of spicy warm samosas,
taking a bus to the other side of the island -
my plan is to stay in one of the indigenous communities.

Life is not about the inner and outer conflicts 
we meet unexpectedly when least expected -
Life is about being nourished and becoming more full
when fed from our own internal battery charged with upliftng neutrality. 
Our wealth is our command of our essential compassion and wisdom.

When we greet our world with a warlike attitude,
we create a personal battleground where we engage with rage.
Out of any unnecessary choices come the usual necessary promises,
the promise that change through rage creates grief,
not the promise that transformation from love creates compassion.

Being a keeper of the peace gives us the possibility to have understanding.

Wanting to be a peacekeeper gives and receives the gift of more to give.

Holding peace as a value means storing peace within our hearts.
When wisdom is required, reach within into the heart where peace is found.
Greet our world with compassionate wise behavior. 
Make an inner commitment to harmonize within, to become simply humble.
Greet war, with an open attitude of peace.

~~ Other People's Fingerprints ~~
Sometime after 2001 Daud Sutton wrote;

“If a polyhedron is ‘undone’
along some of its edges,
 and folded flat,
the result is known as its ‘net’.”

"Ocean's Tangle On The Beach"by Karin Lisa Atkinson