Friday, April 13, 2007


Spring lights up the air. Walk to work and birds are singing, the sun is bright, the air is crisp and clear, my body cool and not covered enough for the morning but by the afternoon it will be just right. The cool is wakeful. The cool is peaceful. The cool wakes the body, makes it feel fresh, light, a spring inside of me somewhere that is untapped. I feel here and not yet here.

There is the bell temple as I walk to work and Fal-un-gong guy. has returned to the park. He is practicing his morning ritual and I have come to cross his path at the high point of his prayer. I can see it there, as he practices, as his hands move and his body flexes. The essential spirit, the shin of the land that he calls and makes his. I can see it moving above his head, and as he thrusts his hands to his waist his hips convulse with it and his head is momentarily thrown back before he rights himself with hands overhead again. I watch the moment and I feel the spirit that he draws down and wish I had time to stop my walk. To go and stand with him in prayer, in reverence for nature and the sun that is just now rising, and the spirit that has woken up for the day. I leave him to his continued mediation and walk on.

The trees are crisp and green and parts of the land still bare and brown but it does not sadden me to see it. There is a tension here in the land now. A waiting. Winter has stayed over long in the land of the morning calm and spring which had a start a month ago has retreated and is now staled, waiting, patient, not sure if it is safe to completely break free. Spring is waiting in some places.

In other parts of the land spring is not afraid. Spring is ready, willing, and able to break free. I see it in front of the hospital across the street. The Mun-un-gwha flowers are blooming, a parade of red and pink and magenta colors that burst into the eye. The bloom fiercely and close knit. Safety in numbers, safety against any cold that might spike into them, safety against the cats and the dogs that run loose in the night and chomp at the stragglers that grow on the age.

I walk on, fast in the crisp air so I won't be late and I come to my school and wonder at it. I work in the original building of the school, built sixty years ago in Daegu. This building is a historical landmark, it cannot be constructed with special permission from several different government agents. It was the rearing room for presidents, senators, world travels, taxi drivers, waitresses and whores. It has a history as diverse as any school house. I like the old building. I enjoy it's intense draft in the winter and it's broiling interior in the summer. It's mine and I enjoy it. The walls of the building crawl with ivy and there is a park behind my classroom where I can watch the children play during my lunch time from my office perch. A simple pleasantness.

Thought and moments passing as I walk to work.

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