There Are Places I Remember

It is lovely coming back. The kids stayed up a little extra late to see me before they went to bed. Everyone had something to show me, everyone wanted my time and attention. It was beautiful. It was homecoming.

I will, however, always remain haunted by the images of the countryside.

The majestic mountains, old, wise and worn. The billiard flat rice paddies as green as air riddled with low mud walls and salas.

The tiny villages of wood and bamboo where people sit dreaming the days and weeks away.

Laughing children, calling "Falang! Falang!”

The hills have dark stone walls. The rice paddies are flooded. The roads, when dry, crunch invitingly under wheel.

Clouds pass, flutter, give shade and threaten.

Light is direct and painful, filtered, sparkling blue or grey.

And all this reality is ours to enjoy: all of it is here and profound. All we need to do is open like a sponge to take it in; open our pores, our eyes and ears. Open our being. All the world is filled with glory.