Breeze

Your silence is as vast as my country.
Your breath, a gentle zephyr upon my beating heart.

The Essence

Myths are things which never happened but always are.
~Sallustius

In the Spotlight

I've boarded the train, scrutinized the numbers on my ticket amongst the the Chinese characters and meandered my way to what I hope is my hard sleeper. Next stop: Xian, the Terracotta Warriors with over 2000 years of history and an adventure in the making.

Shortly thereafter a couple arrives with a new born. The woman smiles and nods and then busies herself with the child. The man quickly engages in conversation as the train slowly begins to rattle its way along the tracks. I find the Chinese very curious and friendly. Canadians are well thought of in China due to Norman Bethune's participation in the Long March. "Canada and China...very good friends," the man tells me.

It hasn't taken me very many days to realize that our western sense of "taboo" is completely non-existent in this country. Just a day before, after a bout of food poisoning and looking incredibly jaundiced, a Chinese person came up to me and inquired, "so, is your skin white or is it yellow?" How does one explain that? Normally, if I feel good, not quite so yellow. One would never get away with pointing out skin colour in Canada...it just simply isn't politically correct. Here, however, absolutely nothing is off limits, except perhaps criticism of the government.

As the train creeps through the country side, We pass a series of your standard Chinese shanty shacks. Farmers toil the fields accompanied by mangy looking dogs. Eventually, up a dusty hill, I see an unusually luxurious looking residence. Officially the Chinese can't own land, or so I've been told, but the man is most obviously nervous about this topic and the sharp contrast of this house compared to those we saw previously.

The conversation turns back on the baby. With the one child rule, children are spoiled and doted on. These parents, like so many others, are beamingly proud. My mind keeps flitting to a particular fair haired, blue eyed "waspy" looking friend back home who had allegedly been born with a mysterious "Mongol spot", a dark spot at the base of the tailbone which I've been told is common place amongst almost all Asian children. The spot usually disappears when the child is anywhere between two and four years of age. For years, this girl's doctor teased her of being descended from Genghis Khan, for the spot is sure "proof" of Mongol blood. I wonder. It is not something that I had ever witnessed. Was it true?

Eventually curiosity overcomes my reserved, stoic upbringing. I have to know...so I ask, "is it true?" The father immediately flips the child over and whips off her bottoms and there it is. I'm stunned. I no longer remember what I had imagined, but it certainly wasn't this...a big dark blue, round spot that looks like a huge bruise. The father explains that there is a myth about a benevolent goddess...although looking at the size of the spot, I'm not quite sure how benevolent she could be. When the child is coming into the world, if the goddess decides to spare the child's life, she gives it a hard smack on the bottom right as it makes its way into the world leaving this big round blue spot. This young girl has been spared and apparently blessed.

Twinkle, Twinkle

Sometimes Christmas comes a little early and sometimes it arrives a little late, but happy surprises are always welcome no matter when they arrive. Yesterday Rupert arrived on my doorstep. He apologized for not making it in time for Christmas, but explained that like me, he has the travel bug. When he knew he was making the trek all the way here, he decided to stop a few places along the way. I can't really blame him, I probably would have done the same, especially since holiday travel can be so grueling if one needs to get somewhere fast.

" Besides," he said, "the weather was just dreadful there for a little bit." But to make up for his tardiness, he brought me a little treat: a sweet tin full of gummi bears... "oops, they're not really bears," he said, " it would be odd a bear bringing bears as a treat, don't you think? "

"Of course," I replied. So in actual fact, they are sheep. Just as well, I can count them as I fall asleep.

Rupert is getting along fabulously well with the crew and we have brilliant conversations. I'm sure we'll be bestest of friends as we pop gummi sheep while he intimately whispers me all his secrets. And of course he gives the bestest of best bear hugs.

Who?

Who has not felt moments of extreme pain? Who has never felt, at some moment in life, the desire to give up?

Who has not yet felt lonely, extremely lonely and had the sensation of having lost all hope? Who?

Who among us has not searched for that beacon of light to lead the way? Not reached out towards that ray of sunshine in hopes of deliverance?

No one, not even the rich, the famous, nor other important people are exempt from having moments of solitude and deep bitterness.

Imagine

Imagine. You drive into Horseshoe Bay, join the queue, and then turn off your engine. You are off on a great adventure. You get out of your vehicle and take a little stroll while you wait. You pass a mother with her child. You hear the child exclaim, “But Mom, you said we were going to see a fairy. All I see is a big boat.” You chuckle to yourself as you continue on. Time passes quickly and the next thing you know, you’re boarding that big boat. You cover your ears as the horn blasts loudly. The boat leaves the terminal. It meanders its way along the coast, through the islands and across the straight. You pass numerous abodes: large houses, estates, mansions, little cottages, cabins and make-shift shelters. They dot the hills and cliffs. You wonder about the people who live there, where they work, what they do, who they are, these people who are so tied to the water, so exposed to the elements. Water, water, water, water, water. Wind. The ferry approaches the other side. We are now nearing the Nanaimo terminal. You patiently wait to be signaled off. You disembark. You drive through the town and head north on the Island Highway. You continue along following the pack of cars that came before you. Slowly they disperse along the way. Just north of Parksville, you take the Highway 4 exit towards Port Alberni. You drive along the narrow, winding, twisty highway across the island.
You take in the views of snow capped mountains and rushing streams as you traverse the passes. You travel through dense forests where the trees loom high overhead obstructing the few rays of autumn sunshine fighting to get through. You pull over into a small parking lot alongside the highway. This is Cathedral grove.

You get out of your vehicle and stare in awe at these ancient towering giants some of which are 800 plus years old. The huge branches stretch out above draped majestically with moss. The largest tree in this particular grove has a circumference of 9 metres and stands a proud 76 metres high. It was once much taller, but its top snapped off in a horrific windstorm in 1997. It is still, however, a sight to behold. The air seems denser, thicker, moister. Your breathing is as slow and calm as the zephyr which gently moves through the trees. You listen to the forest speak. You take in its noises, you breathe its peace. You are transported to a place where time doesn’t exist. It doesn’t matter. After thoughtful meditation, you decide to continue on to your final destination. You pull out of the parking lot and onto the winding highway a much calmer you. You continue along towards BC’s rugged west coast. Before you even get there, you can almost smell the salt in the air. You finally have it…your first glimpse of the Pacific Ocean.

You pull into the famed Long Beach with its miles of pristine sand. You rush from your vehicle and head straight for the crashing waves. You follow the thundering roar of the surf and disappear into the sheets of ocean mist. You spend the remainder of the afternoon exploring the coves and beach, checking out the tidal pools, watching a few brave surfers ride the giant curling waves, following the shore birds, mesmerized by it all. You end it all with a glorious west coast sunset.

Wordless Thoughts

I am that fool
who hears a speechless voice
that murmurs wordlessly
in my mind's heart and sends me whirling
into the world of metaphors to find a comparison
t0 arouse an abyss of precious and immeasurable understanding.

Going, going....

Gone...
As you see, I am off. I will try to post pics with snippets when I have time and can find an internet cafe or wireless. Your job is to figure out where I am...anywhere along the way. Let me know, and if you guess right, there just might be a special prize in it for you.

Coming Soon...

...to a Blog Near You:

Where in the World is Carla?

Stay tuned - Details to be announced.

Delirium

One man's dream...everyone else's nightmare...

That Which Is

Do you hear the whispers of those whose blood courses through your veins as you trod on the soil from whence they came?

Do the voices of the past echo down through the shadows of the mountains or do they bubble up from within?

Can you feel the stories the stones have witnessed, the sagas of the very same imprint on your DNA?

Do you recognize that which you have never seen but is, the distant memories and past dreams which call out, which draw you in?

It is...
the passage of time
the stillness of eternity
the deja-vu