Silence Is The Stillness Within.

I've had just enough time to...   be silent.

Taken of the monkey who asked me to be silent in a Kuching shop

Shall we communicate in silence?

Words only get in the way

Sweep them all away

And Let silence rule the day

It speaks no truth

It tells no lies

It does not explain nor elaborate

Or paints wondrous pictures for the mind

Uncluttered Unpolluted

It is the gentle ripple of a still pond

Not the roaring superhighway

Of a mind racing under closed lids 

Silence is not the absence of sound

But the stillness within

_______

Silence is golden...

but my eyes still see.

Silence is golden, golden.

But my eyes still see.

Silence Is Golden - The Tremeloes

Part II - The Monkey Wearing Its Suit of Armour.

I've had just enough time to...   see the monkey wearing its suit of armour

Taken in the same temple in Kathmandu of the monkey wearing its chain of armour.

The Monkey wrapped itself in chain

Invisible

Only to itself

And the others wonder why

It so willingly

Wears its burden

But the monkey feels safe

In its chains

Of armor

That was how I found the monkey

In the temple

Still wearing its chains

A century after

Part I - The Monkey Holds Its Thorny Fruit.

I've had enough time to...   see the monkey holding the thorny fruit

Taken in a Hindu temple in Kathmandu, Nepal. The monkey was still holding the fruit when I left.

The monkey holds the thorny fruit

It hurts its hand

But it won’t let go

It does not know what to do

Except it desires it

And it knows not why but

The Monkey holds on to it obsessively

And its blood

Stains the floor

That was how I found the monkey

In the temple

Still holding the fruit

A century after

Never Trust A Monkey.

I've has just enough time to...   be cautious of a monkey.

Taken in the Monkey Forest in Ubud, Bali where monkeys dictates.

In the Monkey Forest in Ubud, Bali; monkeys are everywhere. And even where you do not see them, sneaking up on you. They fear no man nor beast for after all, they are the descendant of God. But godly creatures they are not. They have been away from their god Hanuman for too long and been near to man for longer still. They lost their noble ways and gain the wiles of human and that is not pretty. They traded their innocence for the intelligence of man not knowing that the soul was part of the bargain. So the monkeys there are there now are more man than beast and that is sad. So sad.

For now, they don’t warn you when you’re down in beautiful Bali “Never trust a man.” They warn you “Never trust a monkey.” And it is all man’s fault. For it was not a monkey’s nature to covet and steal till they saw it in the intelligence of man stealing from their neighbours.

Never trust a monkey!

Swinging Birches.

I've had just enough time to...   wish I'm again swinging birches.

Caught the monkey swinging in the Taiping park and wished I was the one swinging.

I stopped to watch the monkey swinging on the branch.

It seemed so much fun that I wish I was the one swinging 

And the monkey was me.

_______

"Birches" (1916) - Robert Frost

I should prefer to have some boy bend them

As he went out and in to fetch the cows--

Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,

Whose only play was what he found himself,

Summer or winter, and could play alone.

One by one he subdued his father's trees

By riding them down over and over again

Until he took the stiffness out of them,

And not one but hung limp, not one was left

For him to conquer. He learned all there was

To learn about not launching out too soon

And so not carrying the tree away

Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise

To the top branches, climbing carefully

With the same pains you use to fill a cup

Up to the brim, and even above the brim.

Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,

Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.

So was I once myself a swinger of birches.

And so I dream of going back to be.

It's when I'm weary of considerations,

And life is too much like a pathless wood

Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs

Broken across it, and one eye is weeping

From a twig's having lashed across it open.

I'd like to get away from earth awhile

And then come back to it and begin over.

May no fate willfully misunderstand me

And half grant what I wish and snatch me away

Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:

I don't know where it's likely to go better.

I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,

And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk

Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,

But dipped its top and set me down again.

That would be good both going and coming back.

One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.