Mango Season

 

There was a powerful Monsoon storm this afternoon, it rolled in perfectly on time (between 4 and 6 as always), the Great Thunder Gods announcing themselves as they came.  Suddenly the skies opened and rain came roaring down, bring it's blessings and cool air and winds, and once again the streets filled with rushing water, the sidewalk became a river, and it all ended within an hour as the Monsoon moved on.  I was reminded of the same phenomenon in an entirely different place,  more than 20 years ago when I was in Bali.  

I went to Bali to study sacred  mask arts and traditional masked theatre, and worked for a while with Ida Bagus Anom, a Brahman traditional mask artist, although Anom was anything except traditional! Bali truly embraced me!  Within a matter of 2 months there I had had a show and performance at Buka Creati Gallery in Ubud, became friends with an Australian healer and an Australian artist whose work was all about the Goddess, I'd travelled through the country, had many conversations with both Balinese and Ex-pats, and was completely in love with Bali's art, culture, and spirituality.  I remember being at the airport, getting ready to board the plane, and thinking "Why am I leaving?  I am so much more at home here than I am in Tucson?"  I assumed I would be back, but I never did go back, and I will always have some regrets about getting on that plane.  In time, I became responsible for the care of my brother, and then my mother - it was while visiting her at an assisted living facility where she eventually needed to live that I wrote this poem.  It's  not about monsoons, but about Mangos, which are literally the fruit of Monsoons, the gifts of the Gods.

Mango Season

 

Parking on the second level,

I struggle sometimes with fate and duty.

 

Turning the key, my tropical imagination

carries me far away

to wander among volcanic archipelagos,

I remember the Island of the Gods

in mango season.

 

Here, summer heat rises

from waterless pavements.

I walk to the "Memory Care" unit

a long beige hallway, too familiar now.

 

Bewildered eyes regard me from wheelchairs.

The old man in the white striped shirt says,

 

"Take me home. I don't belong here".

 

If I could, if I only could,

I would take us all home.

 

Instead, I bring fruit

imagining for them

mango season

in all its splendor.

 

(2011)

from APHRODITE IN BROOKLYN and Other Mythic Voices 

Saraswati, Mangoes, and a Butterfly

                               Mango Season 

Struggling with unexpected fate
my tropical imagination
carries me still,
wanders 
among volcanic archipelagos,
remembers the Island of the Gods
in mango season.

Here, heat rises
from waterless pavements.
I walk to the "Memory Care" unit
the long beige hallway, too familiar now.

Bewildered eyes regard me from wheelchairs.

The old man says, 
"Take me home. I don't belong here".

If I could,
if I only could,
I would take us all home.
Instead, I bring fruit
to share

imagining for them

mango season

in all its splendor.

                              (2010)

Lately I've been looking back at old poems, old performance, archiving and re-discovering them as not only souvenirs of my past, but bits of myself that have become lost and need to be re-glued into the scrape book (or epic) of my life.  To be honest, I am also sometimes so overwhelmed by the ugliness of what is happening in this country that I go back to find strength in Beauty.  Careless I used to be, taking so much for granted.........but now I find my memories a treasure, and I praise the Beauties  I've been privileged to see, taste, hear.  

 I was a caretaker for my mother and my brother for years, and became familiar with nursing homes, watching strong people diminish as their souls gradually withdrew from this plane of being......and I had many days spent running urban errands, my vista a hot parking lot or a Fry's pharmacy.  Into the picture window of my mind at such times would often come the strangest and most vivid landscapes:  Bali and the great black volcano Kintamani  I once stood before,  or the sweet, sensual shapes of ripe mangoes, their great generosity and abundance always offered.  These poems come from that time. 

Love is Saraswati's river
flowing through our lands.
She will feed the rice fields,
She will accept our woven offerings.

She will bear our ashes
and the fires of Kintamani
to the sea.

Formless, she neither takes nor gives;
we impose these significances
upon the flowers we cast in her. 

From birth to death,
Saraswati's river sustains us to the sea.

                                 

a butterfly

hovers before me

in a parking lot 

no less a messenger of hope, 

vanishing at last

into some blue distance:

whole, winged,

always going home

 (2009)

Poetry, Interludes

a butterfly,
hovers before me,
in a parking lot
no less messenger
of hope, 
vanishing

into some blue distance:

whole, winged,

always going home.

 

Struggling with unexpected fate
my tropical imagination
carries me still,
wanders 
among volcanic archipelagos,
remembers the Island of the Gods
in mango season.

Here, heat rises
from waterless pavements.
I walk to the "Memory Care" unit
the long beige hallway, too familiar now.
Bewildered eyes
sometimes regard me from wheelchairs.

The old man says,
"Take me home. I don't belong here".

If I could,
if I only could,
I would take us all home.
Instead, I bring fruit,
to share

imagining for them

mango season

in all its splendor.

 

 

Dancing the Goddess: Masks for the 21 Praises to Tara

It is with the purpose of bringing benefit to beings in this world of chaos and confusion that the Mandala Dance of the Twenty-One Praises of Tara is offered.

It is in respect and gratitude to the Lineage holders of the various Tibetan Buddhist traditions who have maintained and embellished the ancient teaching of chanting the Praises of Tara.

It is in unity with the people of Tibet who universally call out to Tara, who chant Her Praises from childhood and who recognize in Her the Universal Mother and Protector.

It is in order to acknowledge the dignity and capability of women to accomplish the highest spiritual attainments that this Mandala Dance of the 21 Praises of Tara is offered.

May All Who See These Praises Danced Or Who Hear These Praises Sung Be Inspired To Attain The Highest Expression Of Humanity To Be Themselves The Embodiment Of Compassion And Wisdom.

Earlier this summer I was asked to consider creating a collection of masks for Tara Dhatu.  The magnitude of the project, which will entail going to Bali in the next year and working with Balinese mask artists in Mas, has been a bit daunting, along with trying to understand the specific ideas, images, and context for each Manifestation of Tara within the lineage, as well as personal style, Prema Dasara  has developed with her community.  So I recently created a new Blog to document (and invite feedback) the course of the Project.   Here's the link if anyone is interested:

http://taramasks.blogspot.com/

The Blog will pursue a collaborative work in progress.  Composed of  sketches, comments, descriptions, and quotations, these materials will become a series of masks dedicated to the 21 Praises to Tara, the wonderful sacred  Mandela dances created by Prema Dasara, as well as  a book archiving the Project.  The masks will be used in devotional dance in June of 2015 at a Conference at the famous Buddhist Temple of  Borobodur.  Dating from the 8th and 9th centuries, the Temple compound is located in central Java, and  is a UNESCO World Heritage site.   It will be a great privilege to participate in this Project.

It is also my privilege to make, in this collaborative way, my own offering to Tara, who I know only in the most personal of ways, and to whom I shall always feel blessed by.  Here's my own story. 

 

Tara Dhatu’s Web Page

Tara Dhatu Facebook

Video:  http://youtu.be/5uRdPepeuws

What a wonderful journey this will be!   Some recent notes........................

This is a mask devoted to White Tara I had made to my design in Bali in 2000.  It belongs now to Lena Grace in Portland.  It was a successful collaboration with the carvers of Mas - beautifully carved, serene expression, and made big enough to be comfortable on most Western faces.

Stern Tara

I like this stern face.   Prema noted that she would prefer the Lightning Bolts are horizontal, which could be easily done in the course of painting the mask.

Serene Tara

This face derives from a sample mask I made for Prema in 2010.  She looks very Balinese to me, and very "vegetal", a face that belongs to the Lotus gardens.

 Moon Face

One of the Taras is specifically related to the Moon, and so this round, serene face would belong to Her.

Laughing Tara
 

This collage is actually derived from a mask I had made in Mas for the Japanese Sun Goddess Amaterasu.  The Balinese are familiar with this oriental, laughing face, and would have no problem doing it well - the odd nose on this mask is the result of my insistence that, when carving the mask, they make it big enough to fit a large Caucasian nose.  They had a tough time with that idea, but managed............

.

 Wrathful "Black Tara"

 

The images I have seen of Wrathful Tara are very similar, and no doubt reflect the same roots, to images of Kali - the skulls in the headpiece, extended "fang" teeth.  For that reason, this image is similar to "Kali", and I'm reticent to make the image prettier.......ferocity, and the banishing of demons, does not seem like it belongs to an attractive face............

Kali Performance 2010 (Photo courtesy Lena Grace)

Saraswati's River

.

Love is Saraswati's river flowing through our lands. She will feed the rice fields, She will accept our woven offerings. She will bear our ashes and the fires of Kintamani to the sea. Formless, she neither takes nor gives; we impose these significances upon the flowers we cast in her. From birth to death, Saraswati's river sustains us to the sea.

In my previous post, I posed the question "how would we live, if rivers were also Goddesses?", and this poem from Bali came to mind.  The Balinese begin each day with an offering. I can't speak about beauty without making my own offering to Saraswati , the Hindu Goddess of the arts, truth., and language.

She is often shown bearing writing tools and a musical instrument, tools for inspiration and truth speaking, which are inseparable. As the embodiment of speech, Saraswati is present wherever speech exists, but She represents the best in human culture: poetry, literature, sacred rituals, and truth-speaking between individuals. Even today, when a new baby arrives, grandmothers make a five pointed star - called "Saraswati-sign" - on the newborn's tongue with honey. The tongue, the organ of speech, is thus "hitched to Saraswati's star" early.

When I was in Ubud, the Arts Capital of Bali, every morning and at twilight I beheld the stately procession of 5 white geese making their way up the busy street I lived on,. In the evening, heading back to whatever rice paddy they called home, they would make their return. Although people on motor scooters often went around them if they could, I was amazed at the utterly un-Western patience with which Balinese motorists followed behind the geese. They did not honk at them (although the geese certainly honked their own mysterious way up the street), nor did the Balinese try to shoo them out of the way.

"Sacred to Saraswati", explained my friend Nyoman.

"The Sanskrit word sara means "essence" and swa means "self." Thus Saraswati means "the essence of the self." Goddess Saraswati is worshipped by all persons interested in knowledge, especially students, teachers, scholars, and scientists.

Two swans are depicted on the left side of the Goddess. A swan is said to have a sensitive beak that enables it to distinguish pure milk from a mixture of milk and water. A swan symbolizes the power of discrimination. Saraswati uses the swan as Her carrier. This indicates that one must acquire and apply knowledge with discrimination for the good of mankind. Knowledge that is dominated by ego can destroy the world."

- Bansi Pandit