The perfect light of resplendence

In between certain places

In between places

when our bodies were done
we found ourselves
more or less in ashes

bound to a mantle
we caught glimpses
of ourselves through
creases in open doors

the children were scared
and peered into our urns
the cat ran away

we attended the wake
wakeful and filled with space

somewhat surprised
at the turnout we were

still warm
empty
alive and
ultimate

A secret valley

A secret valley, Langtang

A secret valley, Langtang

                                                it is said that no one knew about this valley
                                                that it was secret for some 500 years

                                                but i wonder at the role of such fables,
                                                somehow able to illusively embolden us,
                                                to make masks for the fact of our smallness

                                                                                    the fact is
                                                we are procured from thin air
                                                and other astral flotsam

                                                                                    our one ostensible aim
                                                to make sense of the strangeness of being

                                                coaxed cleverly by specific histories
                                                we have evolved to think we speak for all things

                                                how we cannot

                                                in this secret valley, hid for 500 years
                                                memories of ascetic pilgrims are stored
                                                in the stellular veins of mica rock

                                                much later down the track
                                                we walk and hack our heels in,
                                                lustily

                                                these rocks are ghosts
                                                that weave our clothes
                                                with silver dust and

                                                now we are made from earth
                                                our own ascetic robes loosened by
                                                valley echoes of benevolent laughter

                                                                                    the truth is
                                                                                    (though mostly we don’t feel it)
                                                we thrill the pilgrims with
                                                our thorough artlessness

                                                we are so out of touch

                                                but for such
                                                intents and historic purposes
                                                this does not mean
                                                so much to us

The gift of perspective – a view from Nagarkot

Nagarkot

Nagarkot

It takes me four hours to climb from the screaming city; to wade through the accomplished rural chaos of Bhaktapur to Nargakot. I end up so high the trees look like broccoli and mud brick houses shine like chocolate smarties in the hills. The air is crisp like fresh sheets; it seems to breathe me, not the other way around. Below and above me everything appears small and vast, chaotic and ordered at the same time.

Suddenly I’m filled to bursting with the universe’s blissful disorientation, and I’m struck by an intimate and comforting knowing – I am part of that same crazy confusion, it is my own internal aliveness.

Everything we’ve lost can be found

The bowl in question

The bowl in question

at the cliff edge upon which
everything still sane with the world
teeters or is lost completely,
there are moments
when with utmost clarity
humanity reveals itself
wide and deep like an old bowl
to save sanity from falling.
in that human moment we
might be forgiven for thinking
that everything we’ve lost
can be found.

Yesterday i bought the most beautiful handmade Nepalese-Tibetan singing bowl. I’d played scores of them all over the place before I found this one that resonated deeply with something in me. They say sometimes of instruments that the instrument chooses you. This felt like that.

On my way from the singing bowl shop to another appointment, I caught a taxi with a nineteen year old Nepalese man called David who had a crooked homemade cross and the word ‘Jesus’ tattooed on his forearm. Over the heavy bass of a strange but rocking Nepalese-Anglo dance remix, we talked about Christianity, guitars and other things. It was a good twenty minutes following my exit from the cab before I realised I’d left my singing bowl in it.

To my surprise, this actually didn’t upset me too much. There’s something really cool happening internally over here – a combination of acceptance, awareness and something magical I can’t quite put my finger on – so I was sort of resting in the conviction that I’d manage to find it again.

And find it I did. It took me most of the day today, but with the overwhelming generosity and help of a group of Nepalese cab drivers, who truly went out of their way to rally the troops and to help me locate David – one young cab driver in a BIG city – I’m happy to say I have my singing bowl back.

It’s really nice to know that against a pretty bleak global backdrop, there are still really good humans out there. Sometimes you just have to be open to the possibility and look a bit harder.

Side note:

In addition to the cabbies, I also want to pay credit to a couple of people I’ve had the honour of acquainting over the last few days – even if just in a literary context. I came across Alice Walker’s title ‘Anything We Love Can Be Saved’ the other day at a truly inspiring talk on ‘Men Against Sexism’ in Nepal which was presented by Ben Atherton-Zeman. Ben travels the world talking to communities about gender-based violence and gender equality and is a pretty inspiring guy. You can have a look at his site ‘Voices of Men’ here. Ben cited Ms Walker’s ‘text and I thought it was so beautiful and profound and poetic I wanted, in some very small way, to pay homage to it – hence the title of this blog entry.

She writes:

“It has become a common feeling, I believe, as we have watched our heroes falling over the years, that our own small stone of activism, which might not seem to measure up to the rugged boulders of heroism we have so admired, is a paltry offering toward the building of an edifice of hope. Many who believe this choose to withhold their offerings out of shame.

This is the tragedy of our world.

For we can do nothing substantial toward changing our course on the planet, a destructive one, without rousing ourselves, individual by individual, and bringing our small, imperfect stones to the pile.”

Pretty beautiful stuff if you ask me.

x

Dear human, just feel me

Dear human, just feel me

Dear human, just feel me

yesterday i spent three hours
at guru swami dada’s place
through esoteric talk of
chakras ghosts and death
he said: you see the problem
with humanity is that
communication has
simply broken down

we don’t believe each other
how bizarre that we should
need ID to prove that we
are us as though plastic
has more weight than word
imagine god at heaven’s gate
turned us back because
we lacked a visa

To begin again – a sketch from the roof

From the rooftop, Boudha, Kathmandu

Boudha, Kathmandu

from the rooftop
colours blend through
rain-covered lenses
marble pools like
melted rainbow
paddlepops

clothes stick
to me bewitched
by thick air
its heat unsettles
like piled-on
woollen blankets

in streets below
cars spit dirt
on muddy kids
their laughter mixed
with prayer bells
chorusing between
tall houses

this divine chaos
is not lost on me
it comes from
all directions

but

up here i dream
i’m floating under
water heavy with
symphonic echoes

quiet exists
deliciously and
only inside

Side note: 

As many of you know I have recently moved to Kathmandu, Nepal. I am staying here for a little while primarily to work with the Women’s Foundation Nepal, a project partner of the Global Women’s Project of which I am Director back home in Melbourne. I feel incredibly lucky to have found myself in the company of some formidably passionate and capable Nepalese women and there are no doubt many great things ahead for the partnership! If you’re interested in staying in touch with the work of our two organisations please subscribe to our GWP blog.

Although I will no doubt also write about my work here, this blog, Burning the Couch (which has been been asleep for so long!), is primarily a space for me to reflect creatively on the deeply personal decision to come to Nepal. Like so many people tired with the banalities of modern life I really found myself wanting back in Melbourne; craving inspiration, more creativity, colour and chaos. I’ve been here just two days now and already I am heady with it. In such a place the words just flow.

If you, like me, feel an urge to get off the couch, or to set fire to it, please do keep reading.

In gratitude, namaste x

Announcing the launch of the Global Women’s Project!

Well it certainly has been a while since we last conversed. Apologies to all my readers who’d been trying to contact me, fearing I’d fallen off the face of the earth. Since returning to Melbourne from Morocco I’ve been treading a fine line between busyness and laziness, and the two dispositions have converged to expose a black hole in this blog’s timeline. Rest assured though, I’m alive and well, and with lots of exciting things going on.

So indeed, I have returned to Melbourne, to a more temperate (and temperamental) climate, to the comfort and conversation of friends and family, to my good guitar, and to a new job. I promise to properly update you on how things finished up in Morocco where I was working on the establishment of a women’s project with mothers of street-connected kids, but first I want to share with you something I’ve been working on recently, as part of a wonderful team of individuals: the Global Women’s Project.

The Global Women’s Project (GWP) is a secular, volunteer-run, not-for-profit organisation based in Melbourne. GWP works to support women and girls in developing communities to access literacy and skills training and lifelong learning opportunities which lay the foundation for them to make informed choices and exercise greater control over their lives. GWP currently partners with women-led organisations in Cambodia and Nepal. GWP not only provides financial and technical support for these organisations, but is designed as a global collaborative space, which promotes friendships and cross-cultural ties between women across the world.

So for everyone who supported my work with women in Morocco, and for newcomers to this blog, I invite you to explore GWP’s fabulous new website here.

We’ll be officially launching in the New Year, so make sure you like our Facebook page in order to receive invitations and updates.

And in the meantime, have a very happy New Year, one filled with positivity, friendship, joy, peace and love!

Briony