Mountain and Minds

Nature speaks all tongues,
it’s just usually spoken softly.
Like the low rumbles of rivers running in between aged rocks,
tumbling, jogging, creating paths out of obstacles.
So high, mountains reach horizons skyscrapers dream of.
Jealous of the majestic awing and oo’ing that others bestow upon it,
without effort it lasts longingly,
allowing footsteps to tread safely on its back,
humming happily at the hymns and tao readings elegantly
abiding to the power it holds.
I can feel the energy and force
half-naked,
journeying through its wet mouth just to try and connect
to what it is. It doesn’t judge, nor stare,
smiling, just to be able to witness something new,
and bound hands and drink,
Gambei,
as crisp as crystal and as free as the wind.
That’s when time really stops,
crops and stars stroke the heart,
apart from the loud inside.
Silence speaks the loudest
when our minds never get a rest.

Walkin' and Talkin' under the Red Sun, part 1

It has been three weeks since I got here, and I have experienced so much. I never left the country before this trip and I have never lived by myself completely. Two things most accomplish nowadays sooner, but I was stripped of the chance. On the plane, after I left Elite, and checked my bags in, sitting there, alone, watching the chart displaying my aircraft amongst the many states surrounding Illinois, steadily awaiting to be lifted, submerged within the clouds, it being so late. I didn't sleep before the flight since I wanted to be able to sleep on this long flight. My eye lids were heavy with exhaustion, and fright, and nervousness. I looked out onto the airplane for anything familiar, but saw nothing. I knew this was it. I gripped my seat as the plane ascended, in my mind contemplating jumping off in a last ditch effort to keep to the conformity that has defined my for all these years, begging and pleading the pilot and staff to allow me to stay just a few days more. They were conjunct with the devious plot to ship me off to the unknown. I stood my ground though, with the absent, weightless ignorance that things will go well. I knew I had nothing to solidify the fact, but blindly held on to it like a life raft off the titanic, thinking I will see those lights soon--
When I got off the plane, no one was there waiting for me. I was in a country that I didn't know the language to with all my bags and no one to help me. Lucky I didn't panic, I don't know why, thinking back, perhaps my suicidal fixation finally warped my mind into thinking the cyanide kool-aid in the form of being alone was a bitter drink that must be taken sometime. What could I possibly do? Lucky I was able to get online. Skype saved me. I talked to the program workers who scheduled everything and it was a mis-communication on their part, it will only be five hours before I get picked up, perhaps some KFC will remind me of the american processed delicacies that I so freely left behind.
On my first few walks around my mountain town I realized a very important fact. I am the only American most of these people have ever seen. That being so, most glare askance, curious, bewildered, astonished, each time I pass. My every movement is on their radar like I was some endangered animal, does it bite? Dross at every corner, the sky peppered with thick pollution that seeps into your lungs, but the mountains, they are breath taking. It's a nice change of pace from the hustle and bustle of the city I left behind. But, I do miss her...

Like an animal

They watch me with stunning gazes.
Where he from? Where he been?
Their heads swivel as I pass and sounds are mumbled,
nodding, smiling, that empty smile, and
I can feel their uneasiness, or is it mine?
They stare like I'm an animal on display,
foreign to them so don't touch,
walk with sideways glances,
and speak behind backs and walls or in front of me.
It's different, an alien landed in their town and they
need to examine him, read him, question him,
who are you?
The children flock and laugh
with me? at me?
Giggles translate well, so do gestures,
and shrugs, and waves,
our hands speak louder than our words.
Words can have a million meanings, so they don't have one.
A waste land devoid of the luxury of health,
a smog hangs like a ornament on the sky,
Always hazy like a smokers lung,
buildings are beaten and battered, a battlefield,
but it is quaint, it is real,
what is real?
Thinking about things in their way.
And remembering the notions that brought me here.
I did take advantage of those things, but now,
now I know. It is a small token of something else,
that speaks a different language, and
eats hot with hot, not asking for something more than
the little they have.
It is admiration? It is disgust?
I can only tell by the blank stares.
As though they are capturing my soul.
I see the mountains climbing high in the distance
and the hustle, true hustle,
the striving for everyday.
I had no idea.
I can see.

Virtue is the simplest empathy.