Volcanic

 VOLCANIC

   Kyoto than, for the track of the trail.
I found somewhat different from what I had Imagined. The old capital of this nation, appeared to me a modern city nonetheless. Perhaps, it was the rain that came down steadily throughout that grey day, as I wandered the many streets under the shelter of a small transparent umbrella.
Umbrellas which seem to be disposable items here in Japan piling up here and there, left by their owners, forgotten.
   I walked to the golden palace of the Shoguns of yore.
Great the gardens, though now wet and drooping. Great also the palace was, and it's gates. Yet no furniture there wherein, not even a single item, only large empty halls, with golden sliding doors. Painted with stunning images of pine trees and birds, mountains so intricate and beautiful. So simple, yet so perfect. So completely different from what the European royalty were into, with their pompous, self inflating, pretentious Baroque style of architecture. No, I did not go into all the small bars and boutique little restaurants that one may find in the back alleys of Kyoto, that might have added to my experience.
   I did stray into the long market of food and spices and various crafts that stretched for maybe a kilometer through the heart of the old city. That was certainly a highlight. How many different kinds of ware were displayed there I cannot tell. So many things unknown or even imagined by me or any western person for that matter I fathom. So many condiments and fermented foods and goods. So many a rare dish prepared in many an odd way. The variety of the food of these people is so great. What a treasure!
   I feel so impoverished by our hotchpotch of the European amalgamate of pasta and potatoes.
People ask me, 'what do you eat?' Potatoes? Cheese? Hmmm....

The new Woodshed

   Than again the hitchhiking road I took and rode west. Oh good old West. I crossed the Honchu Island to Tottori Prefecture, where another great volcano awaited me. This one named Diasen, or great mountain. At the foot of which I stayed, for a fortnight with the beautiful family of people though not by birth. They live in a wonderful house. Fashioned of large ceder beams only varnished. A huge cavernous space within this wooden frame. Some three stories high within the ceiling. We sat by the fire at night, our legs warmly tucked under the kotetsu, a low and blanketed heated table so common around here and cooked together. Or went out to the Thambo, or rice paddies to work the deep black volcanic soil. Moving the little rice seedling out into the open air,csowing veggies of various kinds. I constructed a woodshed there, with great joy. How much pleasure that gave me to have a project, to design and execute, with success. Creation can give such joy.



   One day, I went out to that big mountain. Well, to one of it's minor peaks really. A mere hill actually. And how strange, on the way there, in the shade of a large house I passed, snow still lingered.
   Snow?... Really?!!... It's May!
I guess this is a ski resort in the winter. But snow? What a wonderful material!
Scooping up a handful of it, it's icy sensation trickling down my hand in the sunshine. Walking through the thousand colored forest, so vibrant.
When I came to the summit, I could not behold the view. It was just too incredible.
So far as one could see, there was myriad mountains in all directions, stretching through the haze.
I do not recall ever seeing such a sight!
It was......spectacular, and incomprehensible. Unless it was perhaps the state of my mind, elated as it was, in that moment.
What a beautiful place. Sitting in the shade of a crooked tree to gather my spirit, gather my thoughts, give direction.

Mount Daisen

   Than I descended and I kept finding there rocks which weren't rocks, of many colors and structures, so intriguing. This was limestone I figured out but not of the regular kind. This was a form of compacted volcanic ash. Light, but strong at the same time. With such cool shapes! It boggled my mind. I had to pick them up, all the time, and feel them, and look a them and draw with them as one could, on the road.
Mandalas formed, through my hands in flames of passion.
Creation, doing itself.

   Oh life! You are so intricate.

What a wonderful world we do live in.

   From Tottori, than, I left those good friends. They were coming and going. Such is the place. Wwoofers, volunteers, a crowd of Israeli girls, strangely. They had become fast friends really quickly. But it was time to go, and so ever west I continued to Kyushu, the next island. Rapidly hitchhiking into the rain. How lucky that my last ride of the day was a very hospitable woman and her two children, who took me in for the night, into their large house, and fed me sushi from one of those sushi conveyor belt restaurant, where you just pick up plates of sushi and sashimi to your liking, and stack the plates and you pay according to the plates that are on your table. So kind, she payed everything, even though she wasn't rich.
And it was delicious of course.
And she gave me breakfast, and it rained all night, but I was safe,
I was safe inside a very homely home, what a gift....
What a Gift....

She even gave me a lunchbox! Such care. 
   On than, to Beppu, in one ride, through the rain, through the beautiful island with it's many green mountains.
It is hard sometimes because I do not speak Japanese, and I feel ashamed of it many a time.
I feel like I'm not doing justice to these people who are showing me such kindness. I would like to share more of my life with them, because it is something that is rewarding to them. As an island people, they are exceptionally curios about the outside world, our customs, our lives.

   So I came to Beppu. Beppu, next to a large shield volcano, is perhaps one of the most Geo-active areas in the world. There are literately thousands of mineral springs, hotsprings and places where steam emerges from the ground. It's a very crazy place! And this being Japan, the Japanese have built a city right over that place. Imagine building a city like right in the middle of Yellowstone park? That's basically what this is. There are so many Onsen, of which to one I went, enjoying the opalesque blue waters, in the rain.



   Is this rain thing getting boring yet? Well, it wasn't over. In any case, that night I stayed in a Ryokan, or Japanese traditional inn. And what a beautiful structure. So homely!
Many Rooms along different corridors. I got lost in that place several times.
Stairs up, down, left, make a turn, another room there, Oh there's a door, take off your shoes, put your shoes on. Sliding doors, double sliding doors, hinging sliding doors, and steam rises up from in between all the houses in that town.
 In the middle of this Ryokan there was a HUGE kettle, all moss and sediment covered in many colors of red and green and yellow and gray, caked in thick layers of minerals, alive,...alive....
A steam kitchen, a row of wooden boxes there were, through which steam from the deep earth flowed. And you could cook there, whatever you wished by placing your food in the lidded box.
The whole kitchen was filled with vapor. Drip, dropping droplets of water everywhere.

The steam Kitchen

I remember, as a child, I used to read this book, about a city that harnessed the power of a dragon.
They made an agreement with the dragon to feed it's fire into a large funnel, to power the lighting of the town.
This is exactly what that place felt like. Harnessing the might of the earth to heat your food, your house, your life.

 Next day, the clouds ever assembled in the sky, I hopped on a train and made it to the town of Aso. Aso in one of the greatest calderas on this globe. A collapsed volcano of great magnitude. A high rim all around us, an impressive cliff of perhaps several hundred meters high. Fertile lands all around, that were at some time a lakes bottom before it was drained. Kind of like the valley of Katmandu. But in this one, in the center of it all, still smoulders mount Aso. A complex massive of various cones, craters, and erupted debris, of hundreds of thousands of years of geological hyperactivity.
So once the rain had stopped, I made an ascent, through the bright green pastures, where cows and large strong horses now graze. That resembles Mongolia so much already. Reflections of the future?
Perhaps....
Lets hope so...

   Coming to the pass, a flat space between various peaks of various ages. This place is clearly a process, still happening. One crater nearby still excreted a thick white plume of sulfuric white smoke, that the wind blew our way, all the lands around it were desolate and gray by it's toxic exhume. Crossroads of travelers it was up there. And one could see far and wide, around the crater, to all sides. I met a man up there who had been walking the world for at least ten years. Walking his way all the way from Libia to right here, Japan. What a hero, to me, as a vagabond.
But is that what I want? I'm telling myself it is not. But what do I know, of fate, of faith?
He says, "I just have walk and see more things, of the world".
Yeah, I feel that too, yet I also feel this great urge in me to manifest, to invest myself in a place, in something. How do I combine those two? That is what I am searching.

Okay.
   So down, down from that mountain winding, winding, in the sunshine, now. Winding down through open roads, and forests, birdsong embalming me. Water everywhere, warm and fresh. As the sun approached the horizon, to an abandoned village I came. I did not plan to stop, for actually my aim was to get to a nearby Onsen or hot spring. Yet when I entered one of the houses that stood there now bereft of it's inhabitants, so much comfort I found. In this small, two room, two story building, With it's slightly mushy tatami mats, I put down my bag and swept the floor. I took out clean and cosy blankets from the wardrobes built into the walls. I made myself a feast on a actual table, with dishes of real china, and even a real Japanese teapot.
What a luxury.
To sleep softly and not have to fear the cold. To be dry and protected by walls. That abandoned house was a special place. And it's Kami, or it's spirit, felt like a good one.
   I guess it had been abandoned because of the earthquake that shook this place some two years back. Destroyed many roads and buildings alike, collapsed bridges, and vast swaths of the mountain side came tumbling down leaving large red scars that can be seen to this day, clearly, everywhere. That mountain is obviously still in motion. It's shape or form not fixed, but evolving, eroding, becoming, feeding the world.

   Now, I am in Fukuoka. Last of my destinations on the Japanese Dragon isles. Camped once again, in a bamboo grove, right on the edge of the city. Sun is shining on my tent, and this afternoon, I am to take a ferry boat across the narrow sea to Busan, in south Korea.
With the grace of the universe, from the Aso caldera. the hitchhiking road sped me here so smoothly.
And every time, you get in a car. The Japanese people have to give you something to eat or drink. And perhaps the most random but delicious item I ever got on a ride yesterday
was a great, juicey tomato. 

   Thank you Japan. You are so different,
you have amazed me so many times with your peculiarity,
your sincerity, your beauty.
Thank you for all your experiences. Arigato

You know that 
Any time that 
you are not bubbling over 
with ecstatic joy, 
you are holding yourself back.

ETUDE

   As our very ferry boat left the cay side, the entire land based crew, of our ferry company that stayed behind, neatly clad in white and black suits, some ten or fifteen people perhaps, waived us an official goodbye. Not that they knew any of us, but that was what was custom, so that's what was done, in Japan.
   Our vessel, a hydrofoil aptly named Beetle, that for the next three hours crept across the narrow Bussan Chanel on it's high legs, to that city of the same name. City and splendid harbor, of steep hillsides, and a million light spread all around the bay. Arched by a magnificent suspension bridge that lit up in different colors as the night advanced. I was taken by surprise by this incredible great difference between the cultures of Japan and this South Korea. A land never visited by me before, and number 70 on the list in this life.

   The sentiment was completely different. Streets and buildings were not buy far as well maintained, and there was a much more casual, loose feeling in the air.
As I strolled into the first streets. Many Russians were there, I had no Idea. Do they come down from Vladivostok? To party here? Maybe...
I could buy real brown bread, and read things in Cyrillic if I felt myself so inclined.
Koreans seem to be much more expressive that their Nihony neighbors. Open, wide faces and large round spectacles I remember, and suddenly all kinds of large European and American cars the likes one only sparsely encounters on the other side. What a difference! Amazing.
I crawled up one of the steep hillsides until I found a quite spot in the long grass in a park, with a view over the bay, and the waters there beyond.
   A peaceful night followed, and likewise the morning issued a beautiful day. I made breakfast on a park bench, as I observed a group of perhaps thirty woman, energetically exercising on a square under some trees to stompy Korean pop music. And every single one of them had a 'Permanentje' in their hair. This was definitely not Japan.
I than returned to the busy town, and made a faint attempt at hitchhiking in a few different places, but quickly found that things were much different here, and hitchhiking is not a part of this culture. It reminded me of hitchhiking in the Iberian peninsula. Where many give you looks of great surprise. Where you can read off their faces that they are wondering what the heck you are doing there.
   'Why don't you take the bus, or train, or drive?'
They do not understand.
   And as they did not understand, they also did not give me a ride. So I ended up taking the train, all the way straight to the capital of Seoul. Soul city, how beautiful is that?
And that was a wise choice, as it did not take long before the rain thickened, and lashed against the darkening windows. And it was a long way, through this beautiful country, of green hills and wide valleys, where agriculture bloomed. It is really beautiful there.
And Seoul, was a different thing.

Seoul, rolling into this city on the train. 
I feel like entering a pinball machine, from the balls perspective. 
It's so complex. So many lights, so many lines. 
So many structures towering up above us. 
Columns of concrete, shrouded in mists, 
their crests, now hidden from sight.


  I found a home in a locals apartment through the internet, and felt myself safe from exterior wetness.
I tasted some of their food. It's spicy, like chilly spicy! And very diverse. It certainly does not feel as healthy as Japanese food, but is is definitely delicious aswell. There are slightly more chubby people in Korea, and also slightly more slightly unhealthy looking people, correlating perhaps to the food. But the food, is really good! Yet of a much rawer kind.
They will serve a soup with large chunks of bone an unmanageble pieces of carnage floating in it. Something unimaginable in civilized Japan,
where everything must be able to be air lifted by some deftly maneuvered chopsticks

   So for the next two days I explored that wondrous city, that I came to like very rapidly. The Koreans so much more open, they cheer and talk in the streets, and they know how to express their emotions, and it can be felt. They love to party. Perhaps it was the area I was staying in but to me the joy of life could be clearly felt in that city.
I was lucky enough run into the magnificent Lotus Lantern festival, that was being held in a central street of the city, near one of the ancient palaces of yore.
   It celebrated the birthday of the Buddha.

Pungmul Dance performance

And all days thousands op people crowded into this wide avenue where lots of stalls were put up of many Buddhist or cultural organizations, and there was music. and displays of dancing, and martial arts. Stuff I had never even knew existed, unlike anything I had ever seen before.
   There was band of drummers, with large hourglass shaped drums that made a magnificent folkloric displays. They had a kind of whips attached to little hats strapped around their heads and below their chins, and they swirled these whips around rhythmically, while drumming and dancing in circular paterns, in the most spectacular oriental, I would say Asian like costumes, of bright colors and ribbons and middle eastern style pants. It was so beautiful! And had so much joy in it.
   I had no idea about this country.
They play their drums from two sides at the same time. Quickly moving their sticks from one side to the other. Everything was so colorful. And than in the night, countless lanterns, were paraded around the city center. Large ones in the shape of elephants, tigers and dragons. Heart shapes, cute blue owl lanterns, large groups of men and women, children parading, everybody so ecstatic, so gorgeously dressed. and these bands, that remind me of samba bands by rhythm, but with a totally different feeling to them, so exotic. Wow!

You can vieuw this link for an example of this Pungmul Dancing
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EIo67z1tE5M

   All this revolved around the great Jogyesha Temple. A place that moved me very, very deeply.
As I advance on it for the first time, not knowing. The perfect circle within which three more circles caught my eye. On that building that has been there since the dawn of the last millennia.
these three balls doubtlessly representing the triple gems of the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha.



   The spirit of Enlightenment, the teaching of how to attain Enlightenment, and those united in the quest for that Enlightenment.
I took off my shoes, and advanced. Looked in though one of the great windows, where the shutters were folded back, and nothing now separated me from those three enormous Buddhas, golden Buddhas, serenely looking down upon those gathered there in front of them. A sacred crowd, some studying scripture, some prostrating, yet others sitting in silence, eyes closed or beholding these three magnificent ones with revered eyes.
The floor so old and fashioned of large blocks of curved wood. There one could take a pillow, and so did I, and placed myself along the wall, and sat, in pure bliss.
In the presence of these statues of great inspiration. They were absolutely perfect.
I do not recall ever being so impressed, so taken, by reverence. There was nothing else I needed to do, nowhere else I needed to go.
This was it. This was the place. This is where I had been going. This was where I had always been going, and this is all that I need. I dissolved, in the moment, in presence.

Jogyesha

In my own presence, in their presence. In the presence of this place, this timeless place, where everything is good.

   Three Great golden Buddha statues. One accepting, it's mudra or hand gesture suggesting that all that comes in is good and has come from the earth, and is one with that.
 One holding up it's right palm, and in the left, carrying a golden apple, the fruit of effort.
 The third statue, just holding up it's right palm again, and its left hand in it's lap. Everything is perfect, everything is as it has to be, everything is good and it may rest.
And thank you.

   Thus I interpreted their postures. That is how they spoke to me, and it was so beautiful.
I did not want to leave that place. I made a promise to return.
Once, after an endless moment, I got up to go to the bathroom. I am happy that I went outside.
As, for the next hour or so, I was startled  by all these people.
I just wandered up some street, and many princesses, damsels, lords and princes I passed by.

   Large hooped dresses stitched with pearls and fashioned from satin and silk, all be it fake.
Men wearing long overcoats, also richly decorated, high hats.
This is a kind of medieval, dress up, cosplay fashion thing going on here that I had no idea about, and it hit me by complete surprise. And I had to smile.
This whole area of the city is geared to that kind of lifestyle, which I'm guessing might be called Etude, or....I don't know.

   So many cool little vintage shops, the milk bar, that 50ties dig with a sky-blue caravan on it's rooftop, in one place people were eating right off the main street in what looked much like a garage, on tacky camping furniture, while next door there was like a shop that was completely pink on the inside, and they're selling pearl necklaces and silver shoes and brooches. So much fun.
A book cafe, that was kind of half garden, half library, half squat, half vintage shop and half lunch place. That place is Rad! We don't have anything like that in Holland that I know of, as boutique as that, I was really pleasantly surprised to find that here in the middle of Asia.
And all this right near the old palace, with it's many tiered pagodas, and it's grand avenues, and the fastest internet in the world.
And the Buddha....

Kami Kodo

For more pics...

https://photos.app.goo.gl/qso2If38RXnFE3Qk1

Kumano Kodo

And, when I got to Ise, that Sacred city where Ise Jingu is, the most sacred of Shinto shrines in Japan, I was recieved by a lovely couple, friends of friends, who took me into their cosy Kawaii (cute) little home

and fed me amazing food. One night we made 'Poffertjes' in their jappanese style poffertjes pan, which they actually use to make octopus balls or something like that, but looks close enough. They took me around, and we practiced Tai Chi together and than, after two days in their home, she Drove me, more that two hours away, so kind!

Like it was nothing. But that it's also part of this country. Which I feel, in a way has taken on some parts of American culture, in being pretty car based, and that sometimes makes me a littlebit sad.

What they also are is extremely generous. In almost all rides I hitch, I will be given snacks and tea, even to the point where they stopped, bought me a drink at a vendomat, and continued, when they weren't even buying anything themselves. And after leaving a car and heading to a bathroom, the man finding me in there minutes later to hand me some heartshaped rice cookies. It's so amazing!

So yes, she dropped me two hours away, in the city of Owase, next to that enormous camphor tree, maybe a thousand years old, maybe 800. So these shrines of Shintoism, especially that one in Ise, Genku. It reminded me so much of some wild Scandinavian architecture. With massive crossbeams all dark wood carved in delicious forms. Big logs of poles protruding over the roofs, that were meticulisly thatched in curves by some true artist. wow! And than later I discovered that it's not even thatch but little strips of bark, like millions of them, packed together! These jappanese people are so crazy! So much effort! And you know? These shrines, they move them. If they have a chance, every twenty years! They move them like fifty meters away because they feel that new things are better or something like that, to renew the energy. And this religion is really interesting. It's very closely connected to nature, And I like that. There are a lot of things in it that I can agree with, like the belief that spirit is anywhere in Nature. And the fact that Buddhism and Shintoism didn't fight eachother. They just Merged, neiter of them condemned the other. They just accepted eachother as traditions and co-exicted and blended in many cases.

So yeah. Massive roof beams with golden emblems of the tri-form yin yang at it's tips. And, there is no depiction of a deity neither. Either there is a white curtain behind which there is emptyness, or there is a miror, reflecting one back onto oneself.

I mean, how genius is that?!

It's about you, it's about your life, it's about what you do. You are God, and yet you are but a reflexion. It's about How you live that makes life Devine. It's great, I think.

Than from that impressive tree being at the shrine in Owase, I than started walking, through the many small villages and hamlets often surounded by a girdle of abandoned rice paddies now overgrown by forests tall and vital, covering all in a deep emerald light and muffleling most outside intrusions of sound. Orange tree richly laden with treir colourful fuits now, but no one left around able bodied enough to reap their fruits. These japanese oranges are actually quite like our grapefruits, and their grapefruits are kind of orange like. I would say they have exchanged about 25% of their qualities, to blend into a delicious new expirience, to me.

These fisherman's towns, where the silt is on the shore and the unused nets lay piled up high now, being overgrown by flowering vines, Old crones and bent backed men scuttle around in the remains of this once prospering country side.

There used to be whale hunting here, and some crumbling lookouts still exist that give a wide vieuw of the rocky coast and is's diverse beaches. The trail would keep winding along hilltops and than again duck down to a secluded cove, the silent gray stones of the path ever faithfully leading the way. So magical at times, I would come upon another small mossy shrine or holy image, and no matter how old, money or flowers would be left there, the signs of some fellow pelgrim passing here before me.

And in the weirdest places, one encounters drink vending mashines. Often more than one huddled together. Selling a variety of cold coffee and bottled teas in village where there isn't even a shop, but there's a vending machine. Thank God for the civilization.

As Gandi apearently put it; 'Western civilization, it would be a good idea!'

Another really interesting phenomenon which I've been observing in Japan is the plastified meal displays. In the windows of many restaurants you will see examples of all the plates they serve, real life size, but completely made is some kind of edible looking plastic, it's actually quite nice.

And so now I'm almost packed again. ready to set forth once more, on this path, and explore this facinating country of Nihon. Nihon, not Japan. Nihon is what they call it.

And than there were the rocks. The wolf rocks that I passed one day on a small peninsula jutting out into the wild blue. The most epic sadstone formations I have ever seen! Carved at continuously by the ocean from below, rising up from it's dephts this stone monolith mountain giant. With so many jagged edges, water filled caverns and places where the foaming waves are heaving, smashing together, furiously throwing themselves in a white liquid frenzy onto the smalls of the land, where it gatheres in panic seeking a desperate way up, towards the gray blue ruptured heavens, from where I beheld it all, oh sheer aw! Every wave more water than my back could move in maybe two whole days, so mighty! And they had carved many flights of narrow stairs and water canals all along the cliff so that one may circumvent it, chased ever by the nearby daughters of Poseidon.

What a powerfull place that was, what a natural spectacle!

The weirdest shapes that old stone has taken on. The likes of I have never seen and do not dare attempt describe before you. But it's a miracle, that much I will release.

Sooo. Im sitting on a mountain top, in Japan.

And it's sunrise. It's Sunrise here in Japan, and maybe somwhere else the sun is about to set.

Here, in Japan, on the edge of the world, I can hear the river rushing down in the valley below.

In my country, in Holland, that might be a highway. But here, It's just the river.

There is very little up here to hear. I can hear a few birds, some insects zooming, but otherwise it's quite. Actually, down in the valley I could just hear a far off motercycle, maybe, a thousand meters below.

That's actually not true. Let us be impeccable with our word. Let us speak truth. I always want to speak truth, not exaggerate anything. So, I'm sitting on a moutain top. There's very little up here to hear, a few birds, insects zooming, and a motorcycle far off, maybe...700 meters below.

Ahh yes, This Ise-Ji, Kumano Kodo pilgramage trail that i'm Hiking is becoming more magical every day.

Not necessarily that the trail becomes more epic, but it gains gravity or weight the further and the longer I walk.

And of course, there is extacy and joy. And there are moments of frustration. But it's important to keep realizing that it's all part of the path.

And when I do, Remember, there is deep peace.

I've been walking for a week now. I remember when I started, on the ise-Ji trail, along the coast of the Kii peninsula. Starting in Owase, ascending and descending, ancient looking paths of mossy stone boulders. Coming through quite bays and wide inlets of clear rivers. Everything covered in the forest. Sometimes walking through deserted graveyards tucked away on abandoned terraces once build to grow a hard begotten rice crop. Shards of ceramics everywhere. Hinting to a past of lots of tea drinking, and Sake drinking for that matter. Any time one passes an abandoned tea house, of which there are many, most what one sees are lots of large empty Sake bottles laying around, of old faint blue glass now getting lost in the leaves between the trees. All these trees, of Japanese ceder, that have been planted after the second world war to provide wood for houses that were meant to be built, for those left without. So steep these mountains, So steep! More often than not, it seems that the slopes are at more than a 45 degree angle.

Yet the trail is relatively gentle. It's pretty relentless in parts, especially now that I've started penetrating into the peninsula, leaving the coast behind.

Long acsents of 800, a thousand meters and than decending again. But it feels like this trail wants to respect your body. This is after all and ancient route. Having been used for at least a thousand years, possibly longer, by traders, merchants, pilgrims and country folk alike I suppose. I've been camping, here an there.

I remember one night, it rained. And I camped under the shelter, sharing the space with two funny jappanese guys from Kyoto. One on a flashy dirt bike, the other on a sweet sixties style Piaggio scooter, making a motorbiking trip across the peninsula. Not across actually, just for two days. And a Dutch woman, going the other way, than I was. We were sharing food, sharing stories, being safe from the rain was a Godsent.

Than next day, after crossing another mountain or two, I came to a hotspring. And I mean HOT Spring. Really Hot! So hot that, with a provided pump one could pump some of the cold river water into the basin. A simple place, but adequate. Large river boulders cemented into a squerish pool. Next to that deliciously cold river, and so clear. That is all that I need of a hotspring. That and just to be left to my own devices.

So I soaked and soaked until I could say that I'd really had enough of hotsprings for a little bit, which is rare for me. And than I slept right there, just next to the steeming water, in the open.Than, next day, passing through the town of Kumano Hongu, where a huge Shinto gate, but I mean HUGE! Watched over the site of where the temples used to stand. Now moved to a nearby hill, as the original had been swept away by a flood some hundred years ago. But that gate was just HUGE! And black, with a golden emblem, of a three legged crow upon its summit. Three legged crow. Hummm, So funny....

Than again walking all day, coming to yet another hotspring. This one, more developed so to say, for human comforts. It did not attract me that much. So I just slept nearby, under another shelter, with a pitviper possibly lurking somwhere in the bushes. I did not see the pitviper than, but I did the next day, right along to the trail.

It was green, mottled green and long and shy looking. It did not in any way look evil, like it had been depicted in the picture on that shelter last night, or even angry. Just afraid. And so docile, yet, very poisones, and very beautiful. What a magical creature. What a magical Creature, with no legs, so agile, so perfect at what it does, yet no legs. Just a mouth and a body, and a tail to be fair.

Sighhh.....

What a beautiful trail. The night before last I camped by a river. A big river. but not finding the best of spots I camped literately on the edge of some eroding cliff-like thing, with one corner of my tent literately sticking over the edge of the cliff. Like actually! That was pretty crazy, and it was sloped, but it was fine. And it was dark at night. And I washed. I like to camp where there is water so that I can have a bath after a days walk.

And they build these amazing suspention bridges here that are like a spiders creation, hardly visible. Made of myriad cables, but so whimsical. And when your are walking across them, it's almost like your walking on water. They're all wavey. I'm not sure that they feel very safe. But they're definitely very special. Spawned I would say. Spawned.

So now, I'm on a mountain top. It's called Obako Dake. I Think Dake means summit. The mountain around me are mostly brown. But some evergreen green, some patches of dark green, where ceders where planted. It's nice to be in this open forest  for a bit. I think it's a lot of Oak on this mountain than I'm on. Oak and some other trees that I don't know, but than have not yet thrown out their leaves. I think their about to.

But, the other day, when I came across a pass. the most beautiful sight I saw.

As the mountain in front of me where clad in this stunning Jappanese artwork. In this  display of light amber yellow gray, and silverish green so frail, so fluffy and so articulate. Like a Jappaese Kymono. There were whites and pink and reddish shades. There are these trees here that are kind of like Mango trees that have green leaves that shade to this really rich peachy pink when they just emerge. And all this together gives this forest such an amazing hue. So stunning! Bob Ross would have loved it!

And even though this winter seems to be the drier part of the year for Japan, or for this region, there is water in so many places. Such good water. And so this last night i've been sharing a mountain hut here on the pass at 1240 odd meters with four jappanese folks, and it wasn't cold. It was warm actually. Especially outside. And the vieuws were stunning. Ha! Ofourse.....

And so now, I'm sitting on a mountain top, in Japan.

On the edge of the world.

And I feel that, it is time for me,

to go Home.

But whatever place this self proclaimed nomad might call such a place is still halfway across the planet.

A nomad only keeps those possessions that are of the greatest value, and does away with the rest. To a Taker, gathering more and often larger possessions becomes a aim of it's own and may lead to greater status. A nomad takes what he needs from nature, and leaves all else.

So now this vagabond decended from that high, quite place and was guided by the steps of god to the lower valley. All day She held him by his hand like the open child he was, of her, of his own expirience.

Along a crescent of this miraculous universe than he walked, the war of the stars filling him with inspiration to live a life of God (I just meant to write 'good', but that 3 lettered word apeared and yes, that is how it is)

In the late afternoon than that boy of so many lives, decended on foot for a last time into that hill encircled temple city of Khoyasan.

Pelgrims town of a hundred temples. Many seekers of all walks mingle here to expirience the serenity that continues to dwell here after a thousand years sacred lives, devoted to the uncovering of the inner truth, the purity, the real.

Putting up my little spacious red and white tent named Rosalie between a congregation of old grave markers and a few buddhas, the darkness soon enveloped me, and left me with only my innocent fears, and the night sounds.

Next morning I broke camp early, and hid my feeble belongings in the bracken, than headed over to the graveyard valley of Kobo Dashi's entry into perpetual meditation.

A monk in the 8th century. His life inspired thousands to take up the robes and start this remote settlement in this mountainous region.

Over 200.000 graves of all sizes stand there under the enormous ceder trees, so high and protective. For 2 kilometers the paths stretch into the woods along a stream, and no feeling of sadness is there. Just peace to be felt, between all those ancient mossy stones, stacked 5 leveled memories of bodies long merged back into the soil they always were. Breathing walking soil, a thinking microcosm of bodies and entities.

Forces promote movement, whereas objects prefer stability.

What a beautiful place that is. So much forgetfulness, together with an attempt at rememberance, and deep respect. Only time lives on while man and woman's names fade like shadows in the morning light of the world. This place, feels like a monument, to time itself.

At the end of the path, the clear voices of a woman's coir were to be heard, praying while rhythmically sounding a collection of silver bells, it was bestilling.

Than there whas the hall of a 1000 lanterns, many more than a 1000 in fact covered the entire ceiling, and a deep smell of sacredness and incence penetraded deep within my being.

Here, between the tall green woods and the fleet feet of the running fresh river water under the bridge I leave you. While a service is being given for the unnameble. With the sound of falling money in my ears.

And a Heart, full of life.

Jumping Hoops

Buy good luck and faith in the universe,  this Drifter manage to escape the vortex at the lake once more, surfing on feeble destinies, transports, road ships, motor rafts, Spirit canoes and herds of iron steeds I soon again entered that City of Oaxaca, on the south mexican, parched high plains.

This time as a Victor however, feeling myself on the battlefield of Troy, riding a golden wain, albeit that wain might be merely of mental gold plate. Oh yes I do like this city, and now I had friends.  Friends from back in the US, two lovely people with their equally charming daughter invited me into their temporary  home away from California, on the outskirts of town in the nearby hills, their reconnaissance was a Joy indeed. For one night only, I stretched me legs and made ma bed on their floor, before a plane would carry me back to Mexico's turmoil rich north, from where I would make another attempt at admittance to that Fortress that is America. It all went smooth however, surprisingly smooth in fact, with all that hard talk about strong borders going around?
Learning Japanese at Breakneck speed,  spending days on the bus rushing through California's Green Miracle of a Central Valley, discovering Los Angeles Skid Row by night, the thousands of homeless that build shanties right in the downtown of one of the most prosperous cities in the world.
Crossing the Goldengate the rich lands of Mill Valley Beyond, where are the Redwoods grow, gray fog of the bay.  Finding such nice homes away from home, the cozy little apartment of my aunt Sophia tucked away in the damp green hillside, with all the techies all around, and the enormous highways, but in a country that is falling apart. The amazing feeling of my auntie Teak's home in that crazy desert, javelina infested, radrunner populated, coyote  futuring, cactus bonanza. Where the open land is so fascinating, so wild. So insane.
How much more bearable the winter is. So cool.
I was even able to wear several layers in the daytime, something absolutely unimaginable in summer or even fall,  where venturing out in the afternoon means getting baked and feels like a form of pure vanitial suicide.
One day I cut across the open land of the..... desert, to the nearest mountains,  at least the ones that most attracted me.  Sometimes wading through carpets of fine yellow spikes that generations up on generations of cacti had left behind.  Crossing dry river beds and forests of Saguaro until I came to the foot of the mountain. Granite peaks and boulders we're before me. Up-and-up I climbed steeper and steeper ever going.
Honestly, it eventually turned into sheer folley. But this was one of Gabriel's wild walks, and so I did not give in. Having to climb over and under enormous boulders, sliding on granite gravity defying slopes of gravel, finding the clear signs that mountain lions and coyote frequented these remote places. It finally became obvious that what I seem to find were paths only to the wild and not to the feet of humans. But at last the summit was reached, the whole wide wide world lay beneath me, in all its brown desert ness,  parched and diverse, flat and undulated.
Corrugated seafloor of the ancient world. And it was silent....

I've been in Japan for 3 days now and  have seen only one homeless person,
one obese person,
and one Japanese flag.
It's amazing, the contrast with America could not be greater!.
Everything is small. Their houses, their metros, their dogs, yes even most cars look like they've been trimmed down like some kind of boxer dog to fit the tiny garages of tokyo's extremely limited parking space.
It was quite overwhelming, as you might imagine. The largest metropole in the planet, 3 of them in fact, in only 2 weeks. Mexico, LA, and now Tokyo. But here, everything highly organized, clean, and efficient. After 2 days of city hiking i found some place in a reclused forest Shinto temple shrine, quite by surprise. Surprise for me maybe, but not for the thousands of others. It mattered not. Shinto does not judge, and I feel very in line with it's idiologies. It feels peaceful.
Than i took the train, from massive bubbling tokyo station, traveled about 2 hours west, to the town if Fujunomiya.
And Rushing Water is everywhere,  delicious fresh crystal clear gushing streams from who knows blessed mountain spring. The mountain being volcano Fuji, white headed and often whimsically hiding in shrouds of Grey mist, always seems to be there keeping a watch over you whenever you turn around, looming from the dark but now greening lower hills.

Now, having traveled a fair bunch throughout the world, steering these feet through nearly 70 countries, I had never yet gone 'around' the world, that is to say, from Europe, to the American continent, to Asia, and onward, to Europe again, circling the pole so to speak. Not that it really matters, but what I had never really grasped were the implications of the date line. The line across the pacific ocean where, well, what exactly does happen there, that's the thing!
Going from California, where I was 8 hours behind on my European relatives, now, getting in this alloy yet, and flying for 12 hours across the great waves far below, now I suddenly preceded them by 7 hours. But in that journey, the sun had never gone down! We were still in the same day so to speak, only, one day further on the calendar. Had I jumped time? What happened exactly? Suddenly Peace in California, is ahead of me in light so to speak, it being 10 in the morning here in Japan, and 5 in the afternoon in the US, but I am one day ahead of her! Is she living in the past? Or am I cheating her out of the future? This is Bizarre! It cracks my head! Anyway....

We went to see the Sakura, the cherry blossoms today, with the whole Konohana family. And the mountain in the distance, it was posh! And than in the evening they made a cherry blossomed kind of egg wrapped Sakura mega sushi for me and the other guests, with pink foliage from some red juice on white rice and a trunk of seaweed, it was so cute, and than they all sang a Sakura song!
Yes, it's a self heating, Panasonic toilet seat, including bunghole sprayer and maybe even light I'm not sure. It seems like most people in this country are pretty wacky and I'm not sure if it's just because of where I'm working or maybe if that's just that it's Japan, I actually think it might be the last. Seriously, how many normal Japanese people do you know that are not in some pretty eccentric?
This Japan, land of the light blue toilet slippers, of the Sakura miracle, where while valleys turn pink, and hundreds come and picknick under the trees, in the largest city in the world, at night. This land where social cohesion seems paramount to personal suprimacy.
People are not trying to stand out but fit in. Look at the cars for example, most of them, across brands look almost identical. They do not pretend to be sports like, but instead look very comfortable, modest and civilized, and squere as a shoebox. Some are low driving candies, others like model cars, abd nearly of equal size. You notice, as a hitchhiker, I spend more time looking at cars than I would like. There not trying to out compete eachother, the're trying to live together in peace, what a relief.
I guess it's one of the island qualities, that you have to work it out together, because there's nowhere else to run. Gosh they are so polite!
Remember that this dragon island is much further removed from the main land than England, and was completely closed for 2 centuries in top of that. Everyone is really genuinely interested in where I'm from and what it's like there, what language we use and if I like Japan. Many, even the youngsters, have never left the archipelago.

I ended up at the Konohana family for a while. Having contacted them over the internet, they received me so warmly, and gave me a big room al to myself! It did take me a few days of adjusting, to the social lifestyle. This community of over a hundred members is highly successful and productive. They produce many dozens of products, the majority a variety of deliciously lush and crisp vegetables, all packed with the most tender living care, make vegan bento boxes, bread and lots of high quality chicken eggs. They grow their own rice, green tea, wheat as well as soya beans to make tofu, soy sauce and miso, run a very successful natural lunch Cafe, and raise about 28 kids as a bonus. I was able to live in their midst for a while, working in the paddies, with the carrots, bees, in miso production, mixing large cauldrons of steaming beans right off the fire and combining them with prepared koji. I ate so well, even if just twice a day, as they skip breakfast there to give the body time to digest all that deliciousness. Eating like that, I felt I could probably become very old. Slowly I got to understand the power of their life, the beauty of it, and got mega inspired.

And Yes! What I must speak of is the amazing richness I feel in having been recieved in Konohana family.

When I just entered this land. The archipelago of the dragon. Every night, after dinner, The children would line up chairs, in front of all the adults. And one by one, if they felt like it, they would be given a chance to tell all present about their day. This was a pretty serious moment. They were so beautiful. One of them would facilitate the meeting, and ask who wanted to share their stories next. And than they would just stand on their chairs and tell, with full conviction and enthousiasm, about their lifes. Than, when they had finished speaking, there would be a moment for the grown-ups to give comentary or ask questions. And than again the facilitator would ask 'lalala...lala. de mas ka?'

With such a sweet sincere voice.

This Language is really funny. It makes me laugh, in a good way. It's totally different from what I had imagined, actually of what I had imagined Jappanese to be. I don't know what I had imagined. Maybe something more Asian, something more Chinese maybe. It's really not at all. It sounds really different, and the intonations are very different too.

With all their people, the 4 plus houses they live in and hundreds of fields, they practically own that little sleepy corner of Fujinomiya, where the soil is rich and deep and black, on the toes of mighty Fuji mountain, snow capped and solemn, and so close.

And sometimes, when we were at work, one of them would say 'Sunanda'. Sunanda? I was sure I knew that word, Sunanda...But from where.....? And tahn it came, Yes, Sunanda, back there, in 2009, while exploring the Dogon country in Mali, Africa, With this Jappanese friend Deisuke, he used to say it too, Sunanda, I see. Sunanda. I understand. It was a revelation.

Yesterday, my last full day there, after lunch I got all the children in a chaotic circle around two boxes of instruments that had been lying dormant in a closet.
As you might imagine it produced a "hels kabaal", or to say, so much noise that even the sound of my own quite movements around one of my shiatsu clients that afternoon was almost too much for my tender ears to bear.
But we had so much fun! Trying to bring any organization into that unruly bunch with my little Japanese and their enthusiasm was a futility perhaps, but all but the most destructive got to bash and trash to their hearts content I believe.

It was a lot of hoops to jump through to get here, and the trip is far from over, but so far, all is well, and I do like this Asian culture so much.

Now I have passed on. Leaving that wonderful family, working so hard, in the morning's cold sunlight. Hitching, again, now in Japan, the sunrise kingdom.
Temporarily landing in a high intensity wayside service area, possibly the biggest I've ever seen with 6 separate toilet buildings, and dozens of restaurants and Japanese crazyness everywhere. I'm camping a little ways away, in a bamboo grove.

Tai Chi Zapote

As the last post was rather long, I´ve sliced the end bit of it like it were a ripe, creamy Zapote, and retrofitted it into the start of this next chapter.

So for you trustworthy readers, this might be old news, but now with the addition of some juicey imagery. 

However, on a different note, who of you have ever had the pleasure to put you teeth (well, you don´t really need them, as it´s so soft, but never mind...) into the deliciouss, bodily fruit that is sometimes called Zapote, or also Mamey? 

It is about the sweetest fruit you can imagine. A rare splice with the texture of salmon, mango and peach, and similarly coloured, the taste somewhat resembling condensed cotton candy, honey and watermelon, but way creamier, and feauturing a huge shiney seed in it´s midst, that is used to grind into porridge flour.

It often is the start of a glorious day, here, on the magic lake of Atitlan.

Anyway, to return to the story....

I left the crater on a Saturday, and headed for the capital. There I took a crazy seatless bus west, and made it almost to the Honduran border, to the town of Chiquimula to be exact. In the closed market district I found a derelict hotel and when making for the main street for a bite found almost every other shop to be a metal barred farmacy beaming into the night. 

Next morning, after doing my practice near the football field cum garbage dump, closely observed by squadrons of vultures, animal and human alike.  

Than hit the border of neighboring Honduras, and in the early morning touched base in the charming town of Copan Ruïnas. Where, upon reaching a safe hideaway, opened a little magic box.

Rize, oh Ancient Sun, and create this day Anew!

Got ready for another magic adventure, and dropped out. 

Then, there was a burst of energy, and I made my way over to the ancient city. I did not directly go over to the impressive heaps of stone, but first made a detour through the forest. Oh what Forest! How alive do I feel in this jungle,  so vibrant so green,  so alive. Upon a great  grandmother tree I came, Ceibal sacred world tree to the Maya, many hundreds of years old like a great elephant leg and a enormous skirt of wood big like a whole house, standing there clad in a coat of life, bromeliads and ferns and mosses dangling from it's ginormous branches, who, what a creature! How I enjoyed the smell of this forest, the forest floor so reminding me of that earthy smell that European Forests apparently share. At last I came to the central great Plaza where Aras dwell in  trees as one approaches. Their crazy loud calling deafening ones ears,  screaming, oh so funny they are. Copan  ruins do not future any great pyramids but instead there are many smaller structures, with lively inscriptions, and representations of human faces so queer and different and wonderful. How enchanting to imagine how all these statues and stones have just stood here all those long years in the jungle, being overgrown, until cleared one more in recent times. Once this city was home to some 60,000, now it is almost abandoned, but for nature, it is a new city all over again.  

Hanging out with the Homies at Copan, Back in the Heydays.

Oh these people, so insane! So

much Stone, entire Hills they moved. And then left everything, for time to devour.

Than, many eons later, coming back to that save haven, utterly exhausted but greatly enriched, you may be sure that I slept well that night. 

But in the dawn of the morning I practiced my Tai Chi, as the sun rose and turned the clouds to Cotton Candy pink.  Now onwards to the coast, a beautiful bus ride through a long wide Valley carried me Puerto Barrios. A forlorn town built by the United Fruit Company as a harbor for bananas mostly, back in the days of the banana republics. It started raining, which was a refreshing surprise, as I had not seen rain for over  two months, which is strange for a Dutchman. The usual Harbor charm appealed to me, and I walked the muddy tropical streets, bathing in it's muggy air. I did not linger long. But took a boat  along the shore of that sea seems like the end of the world. In reality though, it was only small Bay of the Caribbean, but emerges the question, what is reality? 

I arrived across the gray waves in the quaint little town of Livingston. This is a home to the Garifuna people, a tribe of mixed native and African descent, I could feel their vibrant existence. After finding the most amazing, inspired, seaside, shell covered and wreck  futuring organic Cafe called Cacahuatl, and meeting a bunch of friends. I stayed in the weird, half deserted concrete chunk of a hotel that to me seem to have absolutely no place in a town like this.  But I guess it has?  I made it to the rainbow gathering that was happening in the wild jungle nearby. A bunch of friendly folks welcomed me home, and for a night I stayed in their midst, with the mud, and the fire, and the Starlight.

Why are jungle Rivers so amazing, of course all rivers are amazing, maybe apart from that black open sewer I always remember in Kathmandu,  bubbling, full of filth, and a decaying cadaver of a herbivore on it's banks. 

That one too, of course, is amazing in its own right, but not as amazing as this stream of purity. With vines hanging low overhead, insects chirping all around, and the water a deep blue. So I bathed before once more heading back into that city, and wandering along the beach, so many coconuts I found. 

Oh what a joy,  joy to drink their iridescent fluid life. The waves or metal gray covered by Pelicans. I got to jump small rivers, and explore more of this amazing jungle that makes me feel so alive. This is where I breathe, this is where my whole being takes air, emotional air. I love it so much, this climate, however muggy, I love it. I don't care if my shirt sticks wet with sweat to my back, if pearls bead on my forehead, if I'm being chased by various insects, I love it.

From Livingston I took boat up river, the Rio Dulce, and came to a halt on one of it's branches where I stayed in a jungle retreat. Surrounded by that 24-7 wall of sound, of crickets, cicadas, all the thousands of little crawly creepers all around. Absorbing the life, the vegetation, taking it deep into my heart,  and breathing out exultation.

Oh yeah people do still live out here in small, thatched huts crafted from the wilderness. So imagine their surprise,  when suddenly out comes a tall, strange looking foreigner, just sitting down on the edge of their clearing, observing their normal life. So beautiful to me however, what to them is normal.  A tiny hamlet by a stream, ducks in the clear water, sun on the palms overhead, nothing special, but so precious.

After more wandering through the jungle, my machete close at hand, feeling so safe. Like it's that which I've been missing, this sword that gives an edge to reality, and provides accuracy. It makes me feel so manly, but also more compassionate, perhaps because it makes me more aware of that my sense of right or wrong, if such exist, is of importance.

Back on the river the next day, heading over to Rio Dulce town, the town's bewildering harbor vibe. I was on my way home now, home being The Lake. But on my way there, I was determined to pass by the hot waterfall I had heard of from several people. Basically it was just stunning. In one stroke my favorite place in Guatemala by far.  Hot water of perfect temperature, gushing into a big stream of gorgeous refreshing mountain quench. Steam rising up from the two rivers merging, and limestone rock stalactites and other formations embossing the scene. What a beauty, what a natural miracle, how lucky to have known such a place. I never fail to be intrigued by springs of any sort. But even more so by thermic ones. How magical, is this Earth, that such a blessing as this hot water, just bubbles up from the ground!

The rest of that whole blessed day feeling so clean, was spent rising up from the jungle of lower altitude, and reaching the Guatemalan state of  Verapaz, the true peace, so named in the time when the native Mayans were being converted, suppressed and decimated. History? Not-so-distant. This again is the area wear during the gruesome civil war of Guatemala most of the atrocities were being committed.

Clouds on the mountain....

So much respect I have for these people, so hardy, living in these mountains. When will they ever be allowed to have their own land back?  When will we ever stop denying the rights of these natives and honor them as they deserve? These are the timekeepers, who after the collapse of the great Mayan civilization, kept counting the days, in great Cycles, to this very day.

Through a great wide valley, of steep brown slopes, I came to their city of Chichicastenango. Sunday, lively market day, understandably popular with other foreigners, but pretty all the same. I actually enjoyed it there a lot, wading through the colorful masses and every street carpeted with styles and local crafts, textures, patterns, designs, so much Beauty. People were very friendly, and even though I has not come to buy anything specific, I walked away with with a collection of aboriginal heritage in the form of various woven fabrics, with a dazzling array of designs. I felt much contented, exchanging 35 Euros for all this richness, this treasure of this memory of a people.

Did I say that I do like that town? From the rooftop of my simple hotel, the white walls of the vaulted cathedral could be seen, that which is built upon a Mayan temple platform, the original stairs leading up to it still there. 18 steps for the 18 months of the Mayan year. I did not know this when I sat down upon those ancient stones, resting after all my purchases, when a couple of street kids laughingly approached me, so shy, but finnaly eager to accept my offer of tostadas or anything they wished to eat.  What a precious moment, there on those stairs, overlooking the humming Market,  now coming to a close.

This was also the end of my nine day journey. Ask the dusk gathered, I felt most peaceful, contented and enriched by all these new experiences. Next day it would be time to reunite with my Love,  come back to that village of San Marcos with it's gravitational Force on my mind,  and start practicing Tai Chi once more.

As the weeks developed, practice became ever more intense. The village having less of a grip on me than ever before. How different this year from the last. Almost an entirely different place it seems. Every morning  in the darkness Peace and I would set out through the empty streets San Marcos, or san barcos as it might be called for all those dogs who seem so utterly nocturnal, so generously sharing their song with us throughout the nights.  So we would get to the temple, glowing yellow light shining down upon us, and many chimes tickling our ears. So in silence we would practice, slowly moving through the charged dawn air. The lake and volcanoes ever-changing, in every shade if gray, indigo, lilac and orange.  Sometimes we would be visited by a hummingbird as small as the 2 last digits of my pinky finger. Other days a sparrow would be singing on the corner of the tenple full of joy for the new day to come.  What a beautiful and intense thing it is this Thai Chi. How much there is to learn in something that externally seems so simple?! Every movement a piece of art,  a treasure slowely gained by daily attentive practice. And then again after class we would walk home passing the goat guy along milk fresh from the udder.  We would get back to our small pink house and cuddle in the sunshine, or make breakfas and live a beautiful life of sharing space together. What an intense thing as well relationships can be. Almost always are I guess? But so rewarding, so challenging, so enriching, so much opportunity to grow, and look at myself, discard the old, and develop the new. She is such a sweet being, I am convinced of it, I want to sing the song of her gloryall day, and yet sometimes my ego stands in the way. What a mirror. What an amazing opportunity to be together with such a woman of power.

While doing Tai Chi we also undertook to do a pranayama breathwork course at Las piramides with Jennica. That woman too is a Powerhouse. In only 4 days transferred to us a wealth of knowledge and wisdom, concerning Prana, the breath and its applications. We got high as a bunch of vultures, breathing deep and breathing shallow. And felt absolutely amazing. I keep passing out whenever I practice breathwork, which is very unusual for me, but I kind of like it. It's a new frontier to explore, and it feels so beneficial and with so many applications. 

Time is a strange thing, and even though the days hardly get any longer here, they  surely did pass. Peace and I treasured our every moment together, or we tried,  whenever we didn't get too caught up in our own stories. And thus celebrating life  we reached the moment that she had to leave. She going back to her life, and I remaining with mine. 

 

The temple of Dao

She left with the first boat and I saw her go across the silver water. How whimsical is this togetherness so powerful and so feeble. There were no words in the silence,  and in the darkness with my eyes closed I could not see. One day I remember before she went, we closed all the blinds one morning, and spend hours in the darkness, exploring  each others minds by orojecting our emotions to the inside of eachothers heads and living by sensation as guidance alone.  Then, when we broke the curtain, diamonds shot out in all directions, enchanting colors like never seen before, and indeed never seen are with those eyes, now anew, and  unconditioned. The trees, so vibrantly green, were absolutely crushing it out there in the sky of sun and air.

Descending them, back into that village along the lakeshore, so similar, yet now so different that she was gone. I don't know if I still remember what life was before she ever decided to bless us both and come out here. I moved into a room at the always lively Pacha Mama Family hostal, always featuring an abundance of kids, free travelers, dogs, and those clever green parrots that had learned to imitate the bunch, especially the kids. 'wait, is that a baby crying up there in that tree?'
I filled my room with papayas and other sweet wellodorous tropical fruits, and got ready for my final week in this magical town, in which I was to learn Chinese abdominal massage, from my former Thai massage teacher Zendrik. Several of my dear friends were also leaving, and I felt the draw strengthening aswel. It was the season, where one sells or pawns off as many of ones possesions as one gone one can do without, fills ones bag with as much cacao as one can carry, and heads into the many colored faces of the compass.

Everyday for a week, I rubbed peoples bellies in oil, and they returned the favor. It was a wonderfully painful experience, if such can exist. It is a curious skill to have, and I am thankful to carry it with me in my hands and heart.
Slowly I started packing my belongings,  and condensing what was needed and what to be left behind. Oh it seems like the days are always beautiful in San Marcos, even when there is fire on the mountain, or the church wakes up the entire town at 5 in the morning, with cheerful fanfare tunes intended to gather the faithful, aswell as the stray? They make sure you can hear it whoever you are, that much is certain. Practice became ever more powerful, some days,  especially in the afternoon, I would be feeling I was juggling glowing balls of hot lights from hand to hand. Every tiny movement an ammelgation of hundreds of moments of awareness, and letting go.

And so it ended, sweet as it had begun, the fore last week, our master filled us with inspiration by the show of his great understanding and possession of the technique. An inspiration that I will carry with me on my journeys to come. I came back to the lake to establish a daily practice of Tai Chi, and I feel like I can gladly say I have.
Now I am once again northbound, and then west, yes ever west, over that great ocean, where Asia awaits but without waiting.
Being, without being, that is the key.