Science, Art, Litt, Science based Art & Science Communication
LAVENDER ORCHIDS FOR THE QUEEN OF LIGHT copyright by Michael (Miguel) Forbus
Lavender Orchids For The Queen of Light
I
was born without sight in San Paolo. My dear parents went to God shortly thereafter from the tainted water in the street. I lived in a box of a house in the Thieves’ Ghetto. I had to beg for food or visit the garbage heap as a last resort. I always thought I could see shadows and light but probably not. The darkness was bad for the child and the adult as they had to lead me through the barrio to the piles of garbage that we ate. I had many illnesses and called for God to please take me home to Mama.
On a day of darkness as the carrion feeders circled, a smell of lavender wafted by my stoop. A voice like silk said to me, child, take a walk with me. The voice sounded soothing and trusting. She took my filthy hand in hers and the lavender began to overtake my stench. She walked me across the city to the houses with gates. I heard them open and we walked in like we owned the place. She did. Once inside she poured me some hibiscus tea with honey. It was so delicious and clean, and everything seemed fresh and smooth. I heard the maid say, the dueña is loco again. She took me up the stairway and called for a bath. The young maid drew a bath of lavender leaves and other herbs and almost scrubbed my skin off. My hair was cut and shampooed and my clothing burned.
The lavender lady then took me to the basement where she walked me into a room of death, or so it seemed. It smelled of the garbage heap, and I must have passed by many dying and dead. She guided me to a table, bade me to lie down and put the ether to my nose. I fell into a dream where I could see all of life, but it was uncanny, I had never seen before and all things weren't as in the mortal world. She rubbed my eyeballs with a liquid that burned like hot pokers and her men held me down on the table. She then plucked my eyes from my head. With a speculum she held my lids open and placed new orbs in my sockets and tightly bandaged my eyes.
I prayed for my life. The pain was immense but every night she sat with me and talked until I slept. She told me of the Sultans in Turkey, their jewels and their opulence, and how the beauty of the earth outside the slums was so gorgeous. Every night the lavender lady told me she was coming. One day she unwrapped the cloth and rubbed more of the ointment on my eyeballs and miraculously the light began to shine through. Suddenly figures appeared and I could make out objects in the room. And the lavender wafted about as if it was in my eyes or someone’s eyes nearby. Through the next month she showed me how to walk properly and use instruments to get things done, such as eating and cleaning myself.
She always looked at me with what I felt was immense love and as she healed me, I began to feel the depth of her caring in my heart. I always wondered why she chose me. One day she told me to sit. She said, Pablito, you have the eyes of my son and you were the first urchin we saw, there was no surveillance. You will now become my son and all this will be yours one day.
I flew from the house shedding the fine shoes, blouse and belt and ran back to the ghetto, where my nose led me and I ate my fill. I never wished to be pitied.
copyright by Michael (Miguel) Forbus
I
was born without sight in San Paolo. My dear parents went to God shortly thereafter from the tainted water in the street. I lived in a box of a house in the Thieves’ Ghetto. I had to beg for food or visit the garbage heap as a last resort. I always thought I could see shadows and light but probably not. The darkness was bad for the child and the adult as they had to lead me through the barrio to the piles of garbage that we ate. I had many illnesses and called for God to please take me home to Mama.
On a day of darkness as the carrion feeders circled, a smell of lavender wafted by my stoop. A voice like silk said to me, child, take a walk with me. The voice sounded soothing and trusting. She took my filthy hand in hers and the lavender began to overtake my stench. She walked me across the city to the houses with gates. I heard them open and we walked in like we owned the place. She did. Once inside she poured me some hibiscus tea with honey. It was so delicious and clean, and everything seemed fresh and smooth. I heard the maid say, the dueña is loco again. She took me up the stairway and called for a bath. The young maid drew a bath of lavender leaves and other herbs and almost scrubbed my skin off. My hair was cut and shampooed and my clothing burned.
The lavender lady then took me to the basement where she walked me into a room of death, or so it seemed. It smelled of the garbage heap, and I must have passed by many dying and dead. She guided me to a table, bade me to lie down and put the ether to my nose. I fell into a dream where I could see all of life, but it was uncanny, I had never seen before and all things weren't as in the mortal world. She rubbed my eyeballs with a liquid that burned like hot pokers and her men held me down on the table. She then plucked my eyes from my head. With a speculum she held my lids open and placed new orbs in my sockets and tightly bandaged my eyes.
I prayed for my life. The pain was immense but every night she sat with me and talked until I slept. She told me of the Sultans in Turkey, their jewels and their opulence, and how the beauty of the earth outside the slums was so gorgeous. Every night the lavender lady told me she was coming. One day she unwrapped the cloth and rubbed more of the ointment on my eyeballs and miraculously the light began to shine through. Suddenly figures appeared and I could make out objects in the room. And the lavender wafted about as if it was in my eyes or someone’s eyes nearby. Through the next month she showed me how to walk properly and use instruments to get things done, such as eating and cleaning myself.
She always looked at me with what I felt was immense love and as she healed me, I began to feel the depth of her caring in my heart. I always wondered why she chose me. One day she told me to sit. She said, Pablito, you have the eyes of my son and you were the first urchin we saw, there was no surveillance. You will now become my son and all this will be yours one day.
I flew from the house shedding the fine shoes, blouse and belt and ran back to the ghetto, where my nose led me and I ate my fill. I never wished to be pitied.
copyright by Michael (Miguel) Forbus
Views: 85
Comment
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Comment by Dr. Krishna Kumari Challa on July 22, 2009 at 9:06am
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Very inspirational messages, Michael.
Krishna
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Comment by Michael Forbus on July 21, 2009 at 2:02pm
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HIBISCUS FOR PEACE AND ONE WORLD
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Not by harming life Does one become noble. One is termed noble For being gentle To all living things.
- Dhammapada, 19, translated by Thanissaro Bhikkhu.
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Understand Your Ego
Just as energy can be used for many different purposes, so can pure existence be experienced in relation to any phase of life—anger, hatred, or jealousy as well as love and beauty. Every human action must be carried on through the ego, which plays a role comparable to that of a pipe or channel through which energy is conducted for different uses. We usually think of the ego as a kind of constant, unchanging entity. In fact, however, it is simply a succession of physical and mental events or pressures that appear momentarily and as quickly pass away.
–Katsuki Sekida, from A Guide to Zen (New World Library)
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From these prejudices there arises conflict, transient joys and suffering. But we are unconscious of this, unconscious that we are slaves to certain forms of tradition, to social and political environment, to false values.
~ Jiddu Krishnamurti
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Making Space for Enjoyment
A major goal of spiritual practice is to clear our mental space of the intellectual and emotional garbage we have been collecting . . . and to provide space for the experience of true relaxation and enjoyment.
- Tulku Thondup quoted in Buddha's Nature by Wes Nisker (Bantam)
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We might have something to talk about there. I am interested in doing something with my work. I have made one prototype book with my writings and illustrations and looking for the proverbial publisher. I am working on an illustrated poetic and lyrical version with my illustrations, my translations and another's Chinese Mandarin calligraphy. A cover that opens like a yin-yang. Sleep well and I hope your heart flows out over all you know as it does everyday. My best to you, Namaste, Miguel
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Comment by Theonesoul on July 21, 2009 at 7:54am
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Namaste' Miguel, what a lovely story .To see God in everything has changed me totally when i was 6 yrs old :) And yes, if u have eyes that can feel , the you see a whole film stripe .Miguel, thank you so much .This is so lovely and I can only say" thank you so much"
I really need to work on ur writings as a video. together with ur art work, once u allow me...
Please let me know ok?
wishing u a peaceful evening and yes, i will carry this in my heart ..
Embracing you in oneness
I am You
You are I
Namaste'
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The one, the onesoul, this story is one that makes me think of you for some reason. Very odd. So I must give it to you. I want you to know that when your read it from the first work you own this work. When you read it then things will feel different then if you just read it. It feels differently to me when I see my work or read my work, just as I know it does for your. Not an ego issue but and issue that has to do with knowing all the while you were creating you were playing with God. The flowers, I grew, I photographed and also painted in software. I think these things belong together so they are also yours and I will print them and send them if you wish. It would be my pleasure. Namaste, Miguel
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The One Soul, the one....This is another piece that sort of fits in the puzzle. For your eyes, you will be rich in stories as I am, this is yours. Namaste, Miguel
La Cocina
I
am in the kitchen roasting chiles and you are in your studio playing The Gipsy Kings, and quite loud, I might add. I began to think, as the chiles charred, of all the merengues and tangos we had danced when we were so young that we could dance the night away and take shot after shot in celebration of the great Manitas de Plata. “The fingers of silver,” as he and his brother were known, could pound anything made of wood and keep the flamenco rhythm vibrant and steady.
The Kings began to play "Bamboleo," a song we always danced to dizzyingly fast. It was not tango, staid and slow and methodical as if the dancers were just clothing away from having sensual sex on the dance floor. It is the beautiful dance, like classical flamenco against the nuevo. There is no comparison, their lives are diferente.
Suddenly the music changed again to the dance song “Baile, Baile,” and I heard you turn it up. I knew what you had in mind. You were tired of the paint and canvas and wanted to move with me. My Paloma, as I recall, it was at a dance hall that we first met and I saw you with your hair of midnight and eyes so deep and you stared right through me as if I was a peasant. You did not know me. But had you looked around, you would have seen much whispering and pointing my way. They were speaking of the fight I had that day with the deadly Muerte de los Hombres Bravos.
You danced in order to feed your mother who took you in when the pinche fascistas took your family. You were young and alone. Old men and pimps tried to get to you, but you were strong and unwilling to do their bidding would run nimble as a tigre. I think that is why you can dance through the night until the dawn breaks. An old abuela feared for you and took you in. You brought all the pesetas home, every pinche centavo. Nothing for yourself but an enchanting perfume, I had smelled it before, but for some reason you would dance with me very little until the owner, the dueña, would insist.
You always said to her that I smelled of death and it would soon be mine or I just had killed. Either way my hands were wet with blood to you. I was a handsome young man, people would tell me. Always groomed, but you knew nothing of me. I was the youngest and bravest fighter of the bull in all of Mexico, Juan de la Luz. They nicknamed me the keeper of the ears. I am sorry, I find the sport revolting though it was handed down to me from my father and grandfather, who was badly gored and sits in a chair by the bull pen all day, sips aguardiente and loves the smell of the toros’ excrement. He drinks copa after copa until the failure leaves him. It is a long day for him watching us practice with the cape and laugh from the nervousness of impending death for either the fighter or the bull.
This night the owner Dona Hortensia or Tangie as we called her, forced you to dance with me until I was finished dancing as I had bought everyone bollitos. You told me, listen to me, cabrone, I will dance with you one time, once, for all the bollitos and then no more. I pleaded to you, why, am I that ugly to you? You looked at me with those eyes with which you have slain me and said, I will not touch a man involved in death in any capacity. You spoke with such certainty. But if you should ever leave the ring, my beloved Paloma promised, you are welcome to request one dance and perhaps I will accept and you will never buy another bollito for the rest of your or my life. I will dance with you until the Gods take me. If they take you first, I will take my own life, so as to sleep with you in eternity.
At this time my eyes were as red as Sangria. I kept looking away, but you gently put your hand to my cheek and turned my head until you looked so deeply in my eyes. I was lost in your love. I never fought again, not even a rooster. We had enough pesetas for life and I stretched your canvas and watched you paint and I cooked for you all of those foods you loved and if we did not dance every day, the tango, the merengue, the salsa, we would have been fatter than the pigs we keep as pets to kill the snakes.
I have never been happier, and now you come in for the before-dinner dance and a little of the nectar of the Gods and my lazy ass got up and we danced until we were drenched with sweat, and out of breath. We ate the holiday Chile Rellenos that night with Walnut Cream and pomegranate seeds. You asked me why I cooked such an extravagant meal for a midweek repast, I told you, Paloma of my life, you are a celebration, you have taught me endless tenderness and love. It goes through the earth and you taught me to swim naked in all glory. And it is no sin to read poetry all day in the hammock and sometime the chores must wait on the art and also the dinner. The art is life in paint. You are the One who taught me to be a kind man to everything, plant, animal, drunks and whores. Always love Miguel, always with love, you would say and I know now my love, and as the guitarra finishes and the dance is over, I bow to you, my Paloma, your eyes of gold tell me that you know that I know.
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"May i repeat this?..."I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way.”
hummmm a quote i so love.... thank you so much for being such a gentle and kind person..and for bringing me back memories ..
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“You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.”
and ..yes ..love is the only answer for everything...
and .......awwwwwwwwww for the image cuz it is beautiful .....
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This quote from Pablito and this Dahlia belong to you. When you look at them, you can feel in your heart that they belong there. My humble gift for you glorious gift of your voice and song. Peace and Happiness, Miguel
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