Letter 6 from Indochina – Hoi An June 25, 2011
Posted by Liz Mead in : Into the new space, Sunrises , add a commentHoi An is on the coast of Vietnam about a half an hours drive from Danang. It has an ancient old town in its heart, closed to cars, draped with silks, colors of all sorts, lanterns of all shapes, paintings, food smells, and souvenirs.
The fact that the town is closed to cars, enables you to wander through the narrow streets and alleys competing only with motorbikes and cycles. Many people cycle as the town is very narrow and easy to negotiate. There is none of the crazy traffic here.
Well catered for tourists, the town is famous for its tailors and its history. Tickets allow you into prayer houses, community houses, assembly halls, shops and museums are now all accommodated in ancient houses.
The house interiors are black ebony wood, with inner courtyards and upper floors enhanced by both Japanese and Chinese architectural elements such as 3 tiered rafters representing the major lines of the hand across 5 pillars representing the 5 elements of wood, fire, water, metal and earth or curved roofs representing the back of the turtle. Open Wood doorways framed with decorative peonies, open to stone courtyards, with altars or fountains with carved painted sculptures behind. And high above this cool peaceful retreat, the orange brick roof tiles resemble the scales of a dragon on restful watch.
This town was, like Venice, an important trading town, these houses and bridges date from the 17th century their tourist visitors now hosted by 8th generation members of the same families.
My first night in such a place, now a river restaurant, was bliss, sipping a glass of french red, eating Cao Lau – the famous dish from Hoi An – rice noodle with pork and croutons in a fragrant broth and white flower (Rice dumpling stuffed with shrimp) . Outside, as the night came on, giant-sized colourful animal lanterns of phoenix, turtle, dog, lion and cat, came to life to dance on the river.
On either side of the river, colourful fishing or ferry boats painted with 2 eyes at the bow were safely moored. Trees, shop fronts and bridges were laced with lanterns. Street vendors cooking dish after dish of banh canh or com ga. Hoi An is like a fairy land, a land of myth, rich with history, a land of stories.
The next days were filled with culinary delights such as duck with banana flower salad, Com ga -chicken rice and seafood – clams, bbq scallops whose shell was the size of a child’s face, squid stuffed with pork, grilled or braised, leather jacket cooked in lemongrass and wrapped in banana leave.
I had clothing made for between $10-$25 a piece completed within a 24 hour time frame. I hear nothing but delighted customers marvelling at how accommodating the tailors are. I then visited Cham Island to snorkle over colourful coral, and pray at a 300 year old pagoda and seek my fortune by shaking sticks… I still have the fortune (written in Vientnamese! the future, alas will remain a mystery) and one blissful morning was spent swimming on the quiet local beach of Ba An. I got there on bicycle past the bright green rice lotus flower fields.
On the last day I went to Myson the ancient temple town of the Champa people. Dating back to the 14th Century – the ruins are often compared to Angkor Wat, though for my part much less imposing and of course in greater ruins than Angkor. Myson was further savaged by the Vietnam war, on top of the centuries of decay, this site is gentle, resilient and very much redolent with the honest stoicism of the Vietnamese.
There’s something bizarre but blatantly honest about the B52 bombs that sit in the tiny museum alongside the Lingam and Yoni and broken statues of Shiva claiming their place in the ruins.
Gold on the water seers aplenty November 24, 2010
Posted by Liz Mead in : Sunrises , add a commentThere’s gold on the river outside my home.
Sometimes its yellow gold sometimes white.
It hits the water at about 5.45 am when the rising sun hits the metal and glass on the houses at the river’s edge.
It’s a visual feast that sustains me and sets the tone for the day. The continually moving vision begins as a dense tablet or block of gold poking up from the glassy surfaces of the water. Then as the water regains its breath, as if some mighty hammer broke it, the gold begins to break up into shards and fragments, like smashed glass or mosaic. It’s as if a thousand fragments form as the River Cat shakes up the water. Then as if a master craftsperson was at work – each tiny jewel becomes a knotted thread forming the pattern of a magic carpet floating on the water. Then the crafted hand of light slowly slides beneath the carpet and unrolls it to display its beauty for traders in an ancient bazaar.
Then a minute later it’s gone. Just dull brass, then brown, then nothing, just the green blue water again. And all the time this golden feast of the eyes lasts about 15 minutes. I notice it in late spring, something perhaps to do with when the sun rises and the temperature or atmosphere and how it affects the morning light.
On the weekend my girlfriend Linda showed me slides of their Syrian trip and the city of Palmyra
The city is called the bride of the desert, shimmering in gold it welcomed caravans into the bazaar and souks, trading gold, jewels, carpets, spices and power, seducing them with sweetness. Once a splendid centre of trade and power, the city temples, pillars, roads and houses are now pinkish white stone tablets in the desert, echoes of stories and footprints thousands of years old.
Like all good bloggers, trying to tie a knot in the thread of my story, I googled Palmyra and gold, sure that Linda had called it the golden city.
Instead I came up with a reference to Palmyra New York outside of which Joseph Smith Jr, Prophet and the founder of the Mormon church uncovered golden tablets – inscribed with the teachings for his new church. Smith’s followers believe he was a seer.
Well that wasn’t expected!
All I can tell you is that a couple of years ago, my own favourite seer and psychic asked me who was going to the Middle East because she saw a golden City in the desert. At the time, I thought it was my own journey to Dubai but clearly now I stand corrected and humbled in the presence and prescience of seers, gold and a vision splendid.
Whether on water or on sand – take time to watch the sunrise and celebrate the art of story.
If I was a milk-maid it would make sense. April 24, 2010
Posted by Liz Mead in : Sunrises , add a commentI’m up before the sun.
Which is useful in my pursuit of 16 perfect sunrises but not so good for my energy levels.
The reason I’m able to capture the sunrise, is that I’m waking too early!! I’m still thrown by the daylight saving we have in Oz, and find myself waking at hours called “witching” or “sacred” or “milking” hours.
There I am – wide awake , hanging out with my sacred witches. Wishing them to hell, and wanting mindless sleep. Trying to meditate and having no joy.
In the end, I just resign myself to the fact that my sleeping patterns are changing and it’s time to get up. Perhaps I should be living on a farm or a fishing boat. Then waking early would be useful.
The problem is,because I’m neither a fisher or milkmaid or worshipper, I’m just missing out on sleep. I’m groggy through the day and exhausted by early evening, and fall asleep also to early and so on and so on.
What happens in the witching hour is the onslaught of anxious thoughts. Anxiety about practically everything. Every decision I’ve made or failed to make the previous day. Every possible problem that may arise during the up-coming day. Every hope I’m holding and every doubt I’m wrestling to overcome,. They all come calling at the witching hour. What I’d do for a cow to milk!
I think monks and nuns start worshipping at that sacred hour, because angel –wrestling before the sun gets up is scary and you need to direct that anxiety into some good solid chanting.
Of course, they say that this time also is the time when the veil between the worlds is thinnest. The world, punctuated by sunrises, and the other world, or after-life many believe in.
Who knows, perhaps I have to be awake to unveil or witness something -like the sun. It’s worked for cultures and religions, it won’t hurt me to be attending to the numinous for a while. I still wish I had a cow though, to keep me company.
From America January 27, 2010
Posted by Liz Mead in : Sunrises , 1 comment so farI’m in California and have left it until the last minute to get a shot of a perfect sunrise. I’m capturing 16 perfect Sunrise photos to act as metaphors of my expanding into new spaces.
I can picture the colour spilling out behind the filigree branching of that skyward bold old oak tree on the corner of 15th and McDonald Street Santa Rosa.
So each morning I’m up and ready in my thermals, jeans jumper and joggers only to find that saintly rosey sky leaden with rain clouds and hiding its splendid colour.
OK so I could have been more strategic and planned to photograp
h on a dry sunny morning – perhaps even a snowy tipped one whilst in Detroit. But how did I know it would be raining for 10 straight days.
I guess I was too busy actually expanding rather than thinking about or recording it. (And yes I had chocolate when I shouldn’t have!)
My trip was and has been primarily to touch base with my twin; for me a source of parallel thinking, feeling and insight. The process of checking in with her always crazily, uncannily provides a parallel insight into how we’re going. It’s sort of a life co-coaching exercise.
I had the great benefit of meeting some fabulous people whilst away. Friends of my sister who are into similar mental and work-based pursuits. I recorded some podcasts with them and will store them on my All in 10 minutes blog.
We had great talks about stories we tell ourselves and how they stack up. How we use metaphors and the power of thoughts and language to steer us toward or away from the path of individuation and wholeness. How the intrapersonal communication is informed by those internal stacked stories. And how our cells store memories of traumas, joys, grief and phobic reactions. I’ll group the talks as a podcast series called “internally communicating”.
My dear friend James who is a professional podcaster would be horrified at the quality of some of the audio – so it won’t be good enough to store on a professional site such as his. I searched word press to find the plug-in podcast function – only to find my childhood guru “Mighty mouse” as the marketing icon. Now if that’s not a personal sign of a sunrise I don’t know what is.
So Here I come to save my day – rain or not, with a final blog from America
