travel – The BeZine

Guerrilla Poetry plus 2 more from Lorraine Caputo

Posted on April 5, 2021April 8, 2021 by The BeZine Editors

*A poetry reading*
Digital art from photographs, ©2021 Michael Dickel

Comments on a Reading

You create images
	with words you’ve carefully chosen
		& modeled into verse
But in your droning monotone
	they fall lifeless
		before my ears     my mind

Breathe the fire you felt
	when you wrote that poem
Let the words escape from your mouth
	the way they escaped from your imagination
Let me hear the laughter       the groans
	the serenity       the anger

Your words sputter out in a constant stream
	to stop
			dead
		before reaching my Spirit

GUERRILLA POETRY

The idea ….

Take the poetry out of the coffeehouses & classrooms
	Take the voice to the streets

Small groups       3 or 4 voices united
Guerrilla strikes       poetry readings
Hit with the power of poems
		& disappear, then
	into the mundane life

		laundromats
	speaker’s circle
shopping malls
	convenience stores
		police station waiting rooms

		wherever people are
	sludging through the mud
of rutted life

Strike       with the word

Then       vanish

DO IT!

BANQUETE CULTURAL

On a ball court
in Barrio Edén
we set chairs around
the stage-buffet
we are laying

creating a different space
from the bar on the corner
blaring tropical rhythms,
from the traffic going
some place
some place else
this Saturday night

Families & neighbors
take a seat, their hungering
souls, hungering minds
feasting on the songs & stories,
poetry & mime—the visions
we serve at this 
Cultural Banquet,

a now & then breeze
softly wiping away our
sweat, softly swaying palms
to our rhythms
in this different space

in The BeZine

Follow her travels on
latin america wanderer

Lorraine Caputo

Wandering troubadour Lorraine Caputo is a documentary poet, translator and travel writer. Her works appear in over 250 journals on six continents; and 14 collections of poetry – including On Galápagos Shores (dancing girl press, 2019) and Escape to the Sea (Origami Poems Project, 2021). She also authors travel narratives, articles and guidebooks. In March 2011, the Parliamentary Poet Laureate of Canada honored her verse. Caputo has done literary readings from Alaska to the Patagonia. She travels through Latin America with her faithful companion Rocinante (that is, her knapsack), listening to the voices of the pueblos and Earth.

General Interest

Eco-Tourism and Jungle Law

Posted on September 4, 2019September 21, 2019 by The Bardo Group Beguines

We were grateful for bug screens on our trip to the Amazon, but the natural world often defies human-made barriers.

For instance, we shared The Hammock Room at the Research Center with a tarantula. He wasn’t as interested in us as we were in him.

It was a reminder to shake out our shoes each morning before getting dressed. Insects and critters found their way into our little sanctuary, but it was the ones I couldn’t see that bugged me.

We ventured into the jungle with Orlando, our guide. In spite of the heat and 90+ percent humidity, we covered as much skin as possible with clothing, and sprayed the rest with repellant. Nighttime mosquitoes carry malaria, daytime ones dengue fever, and I forget which ones carry yellow fever, but I didn’t want to be breakfast for anybody.

Below are a few of my own unofficial rules of the jungle for the timid traveler.

Rule of the Jungle #1– bring mosquito repellent!

Fallen trees and leaves, mud, and overnight storms in the tropical rainforest made hiking challenging.

We wore rubber boots to keep our feet dry. Bea stepped in a puddle deeper than anticipated, and water poured into her boot.

Rule of the Jungle # 2–Watch your step!

Orlando uprooted several small trees, and cut the trunks off with his machete to make tea from the bark to relieve his mother’s arthritis. He replanted the roots in the fertile soil, so the tree would survive. Maybe the tea really was for his mom, but it was a tactful way of providing us with walking sticks to help balance on slippery walkways.

Rule of the Jungle #3–Take the hand extended to you, and be grateful for kindness in any form or guise.

So many trees and leaves were poisonous, covered with harmful insects or razor-sharp edges. Another guest at the Research Center slipped and braced herself on a porcupine tree. It left dozens of venomous barbs in in her hand, which swelled up painfully. The nearest doctor was hours away, so her guide cut the barbs out with pins and a knife, and gave her anti-biotics.

Rule of the Jungle #4–Don’t touch ANYTHING!

Rule of the Jungle # 5–There are exceptions to any rule.

Orlando caught Olive Whip Snake with his bare hands.

He showed us how to handle a snake without getting bitten…

Orlando’s grandfather was a shaman. “My grandfather said if you can get a snake to wrap around you, it will become gentle and give you its energy.” As soon as it wrapped around him, the snake grew calm, and then Orlando released it into a tree.

Rule of the Jungle #6–Be as open to new experiences as you can without endangering yourself or others.

Rule of the Jungle #7–Bring your camera!!

We caught many tantalizing glimpses of wildlife, but they were often quicker than I was when it came to focusing the camera.

However, some critters obligingly held still for me.

Occasionally I would be rewarded with a shot like this.

Or this….

Or this…

Rule of the Jungle #8–Only you can know what it requires for you to glean the most meaning and satisfaction out of your jungle experience or your life. Do no harm, be respectful, but make up your own rules, and break them whenever necessary.

Art, Naomi Baltuck, Photo Essay, Photo Story, Photography/Photographer

The Art of Work

Posted on September 25, 2014September 26, 2014 by Naomi Baltuck

Imagine a world without art and artists.

They help us see the world through different eyes.

And artisans infuse our everyday lives with beauty.

Works of art come in many disciplines.

And on many scales…

…some more grand than others.

My artist sister Constance’s painting, “The Poet”, celebrates the literary art of poetry through her visual art.

But I have great appreciation for people who would never consider themselves artists, and yet they make an art of work.

Some apply exceptional creativity to their work, like this fellow who rigged a bicycle to power a sugar cane juicer, to crank out a little work of art one cup at a time.

Some turn an ordinary business into something with a very personal touch.

In Ireland, I was moved by the gravestone of a man lovingly remembered for his gift of turning his work into an art.

Be it traditional…

…entrepreneurial…

…fleeting…

…or a treasured heirloom…

…art is all around us, and everyone is an artist in his or her own way, whether practicing with a paintbrush, chisel, camera, wooden spoon, plow, or scissors.

Art is in the eye of the beholder.

Also on the tongue…

…in the ear…

…the nose…

…the heart…

and the mind.

Whatever you do, wherever you go, party arty!

All images and words c2014Naomi Baltuck.

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NAOMI BALTUCK ~ is a Contributing Editor and Resident Storyteller here at Bardo. She is a world-traveler and an award-winning writer, photographer, and story-teller whose works of fiction and nonfiction are available through Amazon HERE. Naomi presents her wonderful photo-stories – always interesting and rich with meaning and humor – at Writing Between the Lines, Life from the Writer’s POV. She also conducts workshops such as Peace Porridge (multicultural stories to promote cooperation, goodwill, and peaceful coexistence), Whispers in the Graveyard (a spellbinding array of haunting and mysterious stories), Tandem Tales, Traveling Light Around the World, and others. For more on her programs visit Naomi Baltuck.com.

Uncategorized

Testing One’s Mettle

Posted on September 16, 2014September 15, 2014 by Naomi Baltuck

“What are you afraid of?” author Bob Mayer asked at a writing conference, “because that’s what’s holding you back as writers.”

At the time, it was social media–mastering new technology, committing to cranking out a weekly post. But I started a blog, and am glad I did. Since my first blogpost I’ve made new friends, discovered photographic storytelling, which I love, and crossed a whopper off this writer’s to-do list.

Marriage was another commitment that terrified me, but I faced that fear too.

It took seven years before Thom and I felt brave enough to assume the awesome responsibility of parenthood. It’s the most joyful, most difficult, most rewarding, and most important undertaking we’d ever signed on for, or ever will.

Whether we choose them ourselves or take what fate throws our way, the most daunting experiences are often the most edifying.

The most challenging ones tend to be the most rewarding.

With the toughest climbs come the best views.

After the kids were old enough to change their own diapers, we thought could rest on our laurels, but there was an unexpected twist to the parent/child relationship.

We raised kids who challenge themselves. Bea watched her big brother do his math homework, and designed her own “Really Hard Math Problem.”

As they tested their own mettle, and created their own challenges…

…we were forced out of our comfort zones just to keep up.

Thom and I would never have chosen to go to the Amazon jungle if the kids hadn’t been keen to go.

It was hard to watch my kids twist and turn like little spiders on a web as they climbed 200 feet up into the canopy to zipline. And for the first (and probably last) time in my life, I went ziplining too. You never know when someone might need a bandaid or some bug repellant.

Only for my kid would I board a hot air balloon in Cappadocia, another thing I swore I’d never do. But it’s good to feel a fire in your belly and rise above your fears.

We are not extreme travelers. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: most of the adventures I have are in my own mind. But for the sake of my kids, I’ve put on my big girl panties and donned a hard hat once or twice.

Sometimes you have to throw caution to the wind.

I appreciate people who can lure me out of my comfort zone.

Sometimes it’s good to commit to a path with unexpected twists and bends.

I’m sure I’m a better person for it. And if nothing else, Life Outside The Comfort Zone provides great material for a writer.

General Interest

Still

Posted on September 10, 2014September 8, 2014 by Naomi Baltuck

Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noonday sun. And so do we. It was over a hundred degrees, and the sun blazed down from a cloudless sky. The plaza was nearly deserted as we approached Batalha Monastery, and I was wilting. Still, it’s a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and we couldn’t miss it.

Batalha Monastery, the ‘Monastery of Battle’, was begun by King Joao I to commemorate his victory of the Portuguese over the Castilians in the Battle of Aljubarrota in 1385.

I was glad I came.

In the cloisters, time stands still. The view hadn’t changed in six centuries.

Inside the church the stained glass softened the harsh sunlight.

A dramatic tomb for King Joao and Queen Phillipa of Lancaster depicted the royal couple with joined hands, symbolizing the alliance between Portugal and England. Surrounding bays contained the tombs of their four younger sons. I’d already seen so many tombs that week, and couldn’t muster the energy to snap a shot, although I was moved to photograph the stillness of the Royal Cloister.

I found the symmetry soothing.

And then I stepped into The Unfinished Chapel, where rests the tomb of their eldest son, King Duarte and his wife, Leonor of Aragon. Their final resting place was less monumental, and still uncompleted, without even a roof. Their chapel too was designed to house the tombs of their descendants, but that hadn’t happened either. Duarte and Leonor were its sole occupants.

Duarte’s story was also less remarkable than his dad’s. His reign was short, troubled, and plagued by poor choices. He preferred writing to war, and was likely better at it. He began The Art of Riding on Every Saddle, “…in accordance with the saying that writing books is an endless task, which I do for my own relaxation and entertainment…I am going to write…with the objective of improving the riding skills of those who decide to read my writings in good will…”

That book, like his chapel, was also unfinished. Duarte died young, swept away by the plague, leaving his wife to mourn. From that day on, she signed her name “the sad queen.” She lived only a few more years, her short regency also plagued with conflict. Sadly, she died in exile. But she rests beside her husband.

Their tomb, their accomplishments, and their lives might have been less glorious than those of their victorious parents. But their unfinished tomb is open to the sun and the breeze, the infinite sky. The sad queen and her husband, in gentle and loving repose, seem less a statement of diplomatic alliance than a forever snapshot of a loving couple, still tenderly holding hands after all these years.

I think I’d rather be remembered for my pen than my sword, and would rather be successful in love than in war, or even in my writing.

Still, plague notwithstanding, I’m going to finish my damn book.

Click here for more interpretations of The Weekly Photo Challenge: Reflections.

General Interest

Grand is in the Details

Posted on August 25, 2014August 23, 2014 by Naomi Baltuck

This magnificent mountain in the Peruvian Andes is Huanya Picchu.

To me it looks like a great green ghost, its strong stone arms wrapped protectively around the ancient Incan city of Machu Picchu .

Machu Picchu, meaning “Ancient Mountain,” was built in the 15th century, at the peak of Incan culture. One of the greatest artistic, architectural, and land use achievements of the world, it was chosen as a World Heritage Site in 1983.

No one can say for certain, as the Incas had no written language, but it is thought to have been a royal estate, perhaps a summer retreat, or maybe a religious center.

It was so remote that the Spanish conquerors never found it, but it was by no means isolated.

It was connected to the vast Incan Empire by a royal highway called The Inca Trail, linking Machu Picchu to 25, 000 miles of roadway, the Incan version of the Internet. Special runners called “Chasquis” traveled as far as 240K in a day to keep the king connected, or to deliver delicacies to his dinner table. Runners could rest at stations along the way, or relay messages by tag-team.

Much of The Inca Trail survives to this day. This section leads to the Sun Gate.

Another steep trail leading in the other direction hugged the cliffside. This Incan drawbridge made it impossible for outsiders to invade the city…

…unless you count tourists.

The grand view was worth the walk.

Machu Picchu is surrounded on the other three sides by steep cliffs and a raging river, making it practically impregnable.

Magnificent. Dramatic. Ingenious. Grand.

Machu Picchu’s grandeur can be found in the details. Like the integration of natural elements into its design, shaping the city to fit into its surroundings. Terraces not only took on the curve of the mountain, but prevented landslides and provided a hanging garden for growing crops.

Its location was a matter of sacred geography. It was situated among mountains with religious significance to the Incas…

…and is perfectly aligned for key astronomical events.

This instrument cut into the bedrock was used for astronomical observations.

The Incans worshipped the mountains as gods, and this was reflected in their building.

Everywhere we turned, we saw natural features incorporated into the design.

Architecture mirrored nature’s design.

Walls were built around huge boulders, which remained cradled in the earth where they had slept since the mountains were born.

This did not prevent Incan engineers from using natural features to provide creature comforts, such as running water.

On our second visit, the clouds lifted. We arrived in time to see the morning sun turn gray stones gold.

We tried to imagine what it might have been like to have lived there half a millennium ago…

The dry stone walls were constructed without mortar, with some stones fitted so tight a blade of grass couldn’t squeeze between them. Even so, the ancients must’ve worked hard to keep the jungle at bay…

…just as they do today. There were redshirts perched on ladders, whose full time job was to keep the weeds from taking over.

The backstairs whispered ancient secrets, but we couldn’t quite make them out.

We could only wonder at the world around us.

The flora…

And fauna.

Each one…

…a tiny miracle.

Great civilizations come and go….

…and life goes on.

As hard as we try to unlock them…

…Machu Picchu’s walls hold onto their secrets.

In the grand scheme of things, what does it matter if we don’t know all the answers?

It is a privilege to be there…

…following in the footsteps….

…of the ancient ones.

Click here for more interpretations of The Weekly Photo Challenge: Reflections.

General Interest, Naomi Baltuck, Nature, Photography/Photographer

The Mistery of Life

Posted on July 25, 2014August 11, 2014 by Naomi Baltuck

One of the most breathtaking places I’ve ever been is Switzerland, and not just because of the high altitude.

How can someplace be so wild and rugged…

…and yet so tidy and tame and settled?

You can take an escalator to the top of the mountain…

…and just when you think you’re alone in the most remote place in the world…

…you stumble upon a chalet where you can buy a cup of Ovaltine.

Or you hear cowbells and realize you are not alone after all.

When you’re looking straight up at the sky, where no mountain ought to be–surprise!–you realize its just playing peek-a-boo from behind the clouds.

We went for a hike, but the landscape seemed so domestic that we felt we should really call it a stroll.

We stopped to make a friend or two along the way.

And belted out the words to The Sound of Music because…why not?

Unlike the deliberate and well-defined cable car ride up to our little village, there was no clear threshold, no magic doorway from domestic to wild. The landscape changed so gradually we hardly noticed.

No cowbells here.

And then a shroud of mist descended so swiftly.

The path was obscured and maps were useless.

We couldn’t see the landmarks described in the guidebook.

It would soon be dark. We had no choice but to put one foot ahead of the other…

…keep walking…

…enjoy the mystery and adventure…

…And trust that sooner or later we would get where we were going.

That’s life.

Beauty, Buddhism, Corina L. Ravenscraft, General Interest, Nature, ocean bliss, Photo Essay, poem, Poems/Poetry, poetry

Tropical thoughts

Posted on July 1, 2014June 30, 2014 by dragonkatet

It’s summertime here in the South, and the weather puts one in mind of the tropics; the steamy humidity, warm summer sun combine to promise that you’ll need another shower as soon as you dare to step foot outside. Many years ago (2006), I was lucky enough to be able to visit the Big Island of Kona, Hawaii for a couple of weeks. You hear stories, of course, of the beauty, but nothing compares to the reality. It truly is a tropical paradise. The native people are very eco-conscious and generally helpful, friendly people. They have a deep respect for the Earth and their simple ways of life were incredibly appealing to me. It’s terribly expensive to live there, since the economy is tourist-driven, but if I ever had the money, this is where I would retire and happily spend the rest of my life.

I got to snorkel with Green Sea Turtles…

Swimming with sea turtles, Kona, HI, 2006

and see plenty of Yellow Tangs and Needle-nosed Knifefish (which floated right below the surface of the water in schools) — Both are types of reef fish.

Yellow Tangs and Butterfly Fish on the reef, Kona, HI, 2006

I also got to see some amazing waterfalls (although it was raining like a monsoon when I went to see them) This is Akaka Falls…

One of my favorite pictures from the trip is from Pololu Valley. You could see the mountains, the coast and the rainforest vegetation all in one shot…

There were some wonderful examples of island art, from hammered tin gates…

Fantastic Hammered Tin Gate on Ali'i Drive — Fantastic Hammered Tin Gate on Ali’i Drive

to the carved, wooden Ki’i statues in various places all over the island. These statues are usually meant as guardians to protect and watch over certain sites. This one is from “Place of Refuge”…

One of the Ki'i (Wooden guardians) At Place of Refuge — One of the Ki’i (Wooden guardians) At Place of Refuge

To my great delight, there were even dragons!

And Buddha was there, too!

It was such an inspiring trip, I couldn’t help but write a poem to help me remember the experience. If you ever have the chance, I hope you will go! It was an enriching journey for the artistic spirit and the soul of anyone who appreciates nature. 🙂

~ Kona ~

Muted moonbeams drift through vaporous clouds,

While gecko songs mesh with the soft click of palms.

Awash in the gentle susurration of waves’ persuasion,

The island breezes encourage me to let go…relax.

No pressure here, no hustle and hurry,

No scamper and scurry,

On “island time”.

Simply hang loose and flow.

The scent of exotic, tropical orchids,

Mixed with the lush green of giant, verdant ferns.

The bright flicker of numerous birds in the brush,

Calls from long-forgotten conchs and steady drums…

All convince me that I,

Have finally found my way home,

To Eden.

~ C.L.R. ~ © 2006

((Someday, I’ll get back there and once more find that kind of peace and serenity.))

About dragonkatet Regarding the blog name, Dragon’s Dreams ~ The name comes from my love-affairs with both Dragons and Dreams (capital Ds). It’s another extension of who I am, a facet for expression; a place and way to reach other like-minded, creative individuals. I post a lot of poetry and images that fascinate or move me, because that’s my favorite way to view the world. I post about things important to me and the world in which we live, try to champion extra important political, societal and environmental issues, etc. Sometimes I wax philosophical, because it’s also a place where I always seem to learn about myself, too, by interacting with some of the brightest minds, souls and hearts out there. It’s all about ‘connection(s)’ and I don’t mean “net-working” with people for personal gain, but rather, the expansion of the 4 L’s: Light, Love, Laughter, Learning.

General Interest, Naomi Baltuck, Photo Essay, Photography/Photographer

Mad Cow Disease

Posted on June 23, 2014June 22, 2014 by Naomi Baltuck

Last July I visited the Hampshire College campus in Massachusetts. I was there to spend a few days with my daughter Bea…

…who was studying at the amazing Yiddish Book Center at the college.

Hampshire has a lovely campus in the middle of rural farm country. And it was 97 degrees.

I’m from The Emerald City and I know green when I see it. Believe me, that countryside was green.

It was midday, and the campus was deserted, except for mad dogs and Englishmen. Oh, yeah, and Bea and me. We were walking to the dorm to sit in front of the AC and have lunch (did I mention it was 97 degrees?). Then out of nowhere came a couple of dairy cows, fresh off the farm, looking like two giant Oreo cookies on the hoof. Completely out of context, they looked larger than life.

One doesn’t often see cows going faster than a mosey, but these two came galloping toward us–no, frolicking is the only word for it. They came frolicking across the manicured lawn.

They seemed giddy with the sense of freedom. No cattle lows here. In fact, I could almost hear one calling to her girlfriend, “Woo hoo! C’mon,c’mon,c’mon, come ON!!“

Oh, they were fresh, and they were frisky! Across the campus they bounced, udders swaying, heads bobbing. Like young girls taking the bus downtown for the first time. Or mothers in a frenzy of activity when Baby goes down for a nap. Grownup sisters on their first overnight after the kids are weaned. Old ladies and their girl herd down at the senior center on Bingo Night.

A student heading out to the parking lot saw them. Before ducking into the safety of her car, she shouted, “Get inside! Mad cows on the loose!” But Bea and I weren’t afraid. If this was Mad Cow Disease, we wanted to catch it. I swear, those cows were laughing and shoulder bumping!

They were on their first jump over the moon. New sights, new smells, new tastes. Maybe the grass really was greener on the other side of the fence. How would they ever know if they didn’t give it a try?

“You’re going to stick your head into a garbage can? Then I’m going to stick my head into a garbage can too!” Thelma and Louise on the hoof!

Out from under Farmer Brown’s thumb! You go, girls!

I knew then and there, I would never wait for someone to open the gate of the corral. If it’s locked, I’ll jimmy it.

Whether your middle name is Hamburger Helper or you’re just tethered to a milking machine, life is short. You can put in your time on the farm, but if you wait patiently for someone to put you out to pasture, chances are it ain’t gonna happen.

It’s up to you to kick up your heels while you still can.

You hear what I’m saying? Get Moooving!

General Interest, Naomi Baltuck, Photo Essay, Photography/Photographer

The Inside Story

Posted on June 9, 2014June 9, 2014 by Naomi Baltuck

When my daughter Bea was studying at the Yiddish Book Center in Massachusetts, I went to visit her. We zipped down the turnpike to Old Sturbridge Village.

The village is a living museum including 59 restored buildings, a working farm and water-powered mills. There were craftsmen…

…artisans…

…tradesmen…

…and re-enactors.

We were invited to look through a window in time…

We saw village life as it was lived between the 1790s and the 1830s.

I enjoyed the opportunity to see the old buildings from the inside out.

Everywhere we went there were whispers, hinting at the inside story.

Upon reflection, one thing was clear…

Just as we do today, those people worked hard…

…fell in love…or not…

…cherished their children…

…and valued their friends.

Some things never change.

All images and words copyright Naomi Baltuck

General Interest, Naomi Baltuck, Photo Essay, Photography/Photographer

Tempest in a Teapot

Posted on May 20, 2014May 19, 2014 by Naomi Baltuck

When my daughter Bea and I were in England, I took her to the picturesque little town of Rye.

Rye was a Cinque Port, charged in 1155 by Royal Charter to provide ships for the royal navy, and rewarded with tax-exempt status and other privileges.

Rye was situated on the coast until The Great Storm of 1287 silted the harbor, and transformed the coastal port into a river port, two miles inland.

The town’s history is colorful, with smuggling, and raids by and against the French, just across the Channel. It’s also said to be the most haunted town in England. There’s the ghost of the girl who fell in love with a smuggler and was murdered by him for her indiscretion. Turkey Cock Lane is haunted by the ghost of the monk bricked up alive behind a wall for trying to elope with a local lass. The mysterious boy wrapped in a shroud, and a pair of duelers reenacting their last fatal sword fight are just a few of the ghosts who frequent The Mermaid Inn. So many stories!

Every house has a story. In Rye, as with everywhere else in England, they like to give their houses a name. White Vine House was very pretty.

On a narrow cobbled lane called Mermaid Street stands The Mermaid Inn, which dates back to 1156.

It was remodeled in anticipation of a visit from Queen Elizabeth I. On a previous trip, I stayed at The Mermaid in a room with a plaque on the door boasting that the Queen Mum had once spent the night in that very room. I think I can truthfully say I have slept in the same bed, looked out the same window and, at least for a little while, sat on the same throne as Queen Elizabeth II’s mum!

The Mermaid Inn was so famous that the house across the street was known simply as “The House Opposite.”

We discovered an unusual house, with two front doors. The owners called it, “The House With Two Front Doors.” (Well, of course, they did!) They even had the name painted on it in shiny gold paint.

The neighbors who lived next to The House With Two Front Doors also had a house with one distinguishing feature, a bench built into one side of the porch. Maybe they thought the neighbors were getting too high and mighty, with their spiffy gold-painted signs and their highfalutin name. In what seems a clear case of one downmanship, they too gave their house a name, and put up their own sign to let passersby know they were looking at “The House With the Seat.”

I want to know all the stories–big ones like The Great Storm that changed the whole coast of England overnight, compelling but heartbreaking ones like the Mary Stanford Lifeboat Disaster, in which the entire heroic rescue crew was drowned in a storm, trying to save survivors of a shipwreck who had already been saved. Some of my favorite tales are the Tempests in the Teapots. Those you won’t find in tour guides or history books, but you might be fortunate enough to stumble upon one. A local told us stories about watching the filming of Cold Comfort Farm in Rye. Afterwards we took afternoon tea in the teahouse where one scene was filmed.

Stories live all around us. Some fall into our lap like ripened fruit from a tree. Others are hiding in nooks and crannies, waiting to be ferreted out. Often we are left to speculate over the missing details–not unlike trying to read tea leaves in the bottom of the tea cup. Who hid in the priest hole over the fireplace at The Mermaid Inn? Who was left to mourn the seventeen lads lost in the Mary Stanford disaster? Do the occupants of The House With Two Front Doors and those of The House With the Seat ever sit down together for a cup of tea?

All images and words c2013 by Naomi Baltuck

General Interest, Naomi Baltuck, Photo Essay, Photography/Photographer

Another Man’s Shoes

Posted on February 15, 2014February 12, 2014 by Naomi Baltuck

I’ve always told my kids it’s nice to share, but not everything. Bea was asthmatic, and every cold she caught seemed to morph into pneumonia. Since pre-school, they’d had it drilled into their heads not to drink from someone else’s cup. And, of course, when you’re traveling, don’t drink the water!

Years ago, while traveling in Italy…

…we had a long train ride from Naples….

…to La Spezia.

We were delighted to have a compartment to ourselves. The kids sketched and I knitted, while Thom read aloud to us from the YA novel, Donata, Daughter of Venice.

When the train stopped in Rome…

…a middle-aged couple came in, lugging bags, suitcases, groceries, and a 2 liter water bottle. I smiled politely, and we scooted over to make room, but I was privately disappointed to have to share our quiet space. They stowed their stuff, Thom tucked away our read-aloud, and I determined to catch up on my travel journal.

The man introduced himself as Giorgio, and his wife as Leah. Giorgio spoke very good English, but it was different. It sounded to me like he was speaking English with an Italian-Australian accent, an unexpected blend of cultures. As we left behind Rome Giorgio told us he was born in Italy, but lived in Australia. Their daughter studied in Pisa, had met someone, and now they were returning to the Old Country to attend her wedding to a nice Italian boy. Then Giorgio kindly offered us a drink of water from his bottle…which I politely refused. We couldn’t afford to get sick while on vacation.

“Please,” insisted Giorgio, perhaps assuming my reluctance was due to shyness. He filled six little paper cups with water, one for each of us. I took the cup, wishing there was a potted plant I could discreetly pour my little helping of hospitality into. Cups in hand, both kids watched intently, to take their cue from the Queen Mum of The Land of Do Not Share. I lifted the cup to my lips. Yes, and then I sipped, ignoring everything I knew about contagion, as well as the shocked stares of my children, and the smarty pants expression on my husband’s face.

Giorgio shared much more than water. As the train rattled along, he told us, step by step, how to cook his favorite Italian dishes. He told us we really couldn’t leave Italy not knowing how to make our own tomato sauce, or white cream sauce, or garlic sauce.

“Brown, but don’t burn the garlic,” he said. He dictated recipe after recipe, and I wrote it all down in my journal. Canneloni, parmigiana eggplant, chicken breast filet. “It is not difficult!” he assured me. Leah nodded in solemn agreement.

We passed a field of sunflowers. With tears in his eyes, he pointed and said, “Itsa beautifulla!”

I heard that heartfelt expression many times on our train ride. When we passed farms, olive groves, or little villages, his eyes would mist up. Overwhelmed, he shook his head and said again, “Itsa beautifulla!”

“You must miss Italy,” I said. “Why did your parents leave?” Giorgio said his family wanted to escape the pain and aftermath of post-war Italy…

…for a new life in Australia. He said Italians made up the one of the largest minorities in Australia. Like the Irish, who came to build the railroad in America, Italians provided cheap labor in a rapidly developing country. Just as the Irish faced discrimination, and were confronted with “No Irish Need Apply,” the Italians were told, “If you don’t like it, go back to Italy.”

Giorgio was a teenager, wanting desperately to fit in. Money was tight, but his father must’ve understood, because he bought him handsome new cream-colored shoes and matching trousers. To show off his new shoes, Giorgio and his brother walked out on the town. A gang of boys started following. They laughed at the shoes, tossed ethnic slurs, kicked dirt on the brothers and the prized shoes. Devastated, Giorgio went home. In his backyard, he took a knife and shredded the shoes beyond repair. His father couldn’t understand, but Leah did.

Giorgio was seventeen and Leah was fourteen. Both were born in Italy, the children of Italian immigrants to Australia. Once they found each other, they never looked back. Well, hardly ever. In time, Australians came to respect Italians as hard workers, and recognized the contribution they made to the country, much as we now celebrate Irish-Americans, at least on St. Patrick’s Day.

When Giorgio and Leah got off the train in Pisa…

…we felt we were saying goodbye to friends. We finally had the compartment to ourselves, but we didn’t whip out our read-aloud book. We needed time to think about Giorgio and Leah, and the story we had been privileged to share.

Of course, Thom and the kids teased me about sharing a cup with total strangers. But you’ll never know what you’re missing if you aren’t willing to share a compartment on a train, accept a drink of water from a stranger’s paper cup, or walk a mile in another man’s shoes.

All words and images copyright Naomi Baltuck

Liz Rice-Sosne, Photo Essay, Poems/Poetry, Shamanism, Teachers

Traveling to Macchu Pichu

Posted on January 30, 2014January 28, 2014 by Liz RS

There is something truly wonderful about travel. I have been blessed in the past to be able to visit a number of other countries. I have been to Egypt, France, England, China, Mexico, Switzerland, Bolivia, Peru, Spain and I lived in Okinawa for a year. The Okinawa year was when I was quite young and with a former husband, not a really, really great experience. David and I never really traveled as Americans. We have always been aware of the “ugly American syndrome” and truly did not wish to participate in it. We did not make any reservations other than airline. Although to be honest, I brought that sort of travel to an end in 1996 when we arrived in Seville without Hotel reservations after having driven from Madrid. I was 50, it was hot, we were dirty and very tired. Exhausted, looking for a hotel while driving down streets no wider than the car was not my idea of fun. But we survived and we were introduced to Tapas.

Travel, if you allow it to do so will open your mind to the rest of the world. You will see people other than those to whom you are accustomed. You will see things through their lens. When visiting ancient cities or ruins should you take the time you can see things through the lens of those who once were. I believe that travel builds compassion, empathy, sensitivity, mercy and tolerance towards others within the individual traveler. Traveling is about real connection with another culture. Visiting Machu Picchu was something that I wished to do since I was 8 years old. I did not grow up with a television but instead had a subscription to National Geographic Magazine. How I loved it. It opened up for me new vistas and made me aware of the world that was “out there.” I had my first yearnings to connect with others, different from myself.

It is difficult to select a favorite trip. I remember incredible aspects of each country that we have visited. Below is a poem and a few photos from one of my favorite trips: Machu Picchu, Peru. I was privileged to be able to engage a native shaman while on my trip to Peru. At Machu Picchu my husband went one way and I another to do ceremony with the shaman. Later we met up and navigated the mountain. One of the important things that happened to me while there was that I lost my rapidly growing fear of heights. The only way up the mountain was by bus. The road was one bus-wide. Looking out my window straight down the mountain face was frightening. Really frightening! It was at that point that I said to myself, enough! I will no longer be afraid of heights! By the time that I was on top of the mountain my fear was gone. I knew that this was true when I walked up to the edge of of the plateau and dangled my foot over the edge. I was so grateful for that loss, it was life changing.

Still, stillness now

Quiet, center … centered now

Go deeply within

yourself.

Slowwwwww … ly

Deeply quiet.

Deep within

Space consummation.

Not hurtling … no, not hurtling towards the void. But slowly advancing.

Slowwwwly … condense all thought.

Become nothing.

Find

your place

your opening

mo v v v v e slowly towards

your opening. Be still.

Enter.

Slide

down

through

the tunnel.

LAND. Quietly.

Summon … your Power.

Summon your … Animal.

Let.

Let him/her

Now take you into the void. Void. VOID.

CIRCLE … find what you need.

bring it back. BLOW.

Rattle … feather.

Return now … open, open, open … your … eyes.

The rocks carved to mimic the mountains in the foreground.

Surrounded by the Andes.

One could quite literally reach out and grab the clouds.

One of the two mountains on top of Machu Picchu.

Another view as the day moved forward and the mists lifted.

Unique perspectives!

An ancient alter.

A view of the terracing.

Looking down, no longer afraid!

Doing ceremony with the Peruvian shaman.

This is one of my favorite photos. Rain was upon us. We took cover in one of the nooks and crannies looking up at the sky covering us all.

– Liz Rice-Sosne

LIZ RICE-SOSNE a.k.a. Raven Spirit (noh where), perhaps the oldest friend to Bardo, is the newest member of The Bardo Group Core Team. She is also our new Voices for Peace project outreach coordinator and our go-to person for all things related to haiku. She says she “writes for no reason at all. It is simply a pleasure.” Blogging, mostly poetry, has produced numerous friends for whom she has a great appreciation. Liz is an experienced blogger, photographer and a trained shaman. We think her middle name should be “adventure.”

General Interest, Naomi Baltuck, Photo Essay, Photography/Photographer

The Flight of the Sparrow

Posted on January 18, 2014January 17, 2014 by Naomi Baltuck

Last summer I saw a baby Stellar Jay perched on my arbor, resting after trying out its wings. I looked away for an instant; when I looked back, it was gone.

It reminded me of something The Venerable Bede once said. Bede was an Anglo-Saxon monk born in 672A.D.

In The Ecclesiastical History of the English People he compares a person’s life to the flight of a sparrow. Imagine sitting in a mead-hall at supper by the light of a blazing fire, while outside a winter storm rages.

A sparrow flies in one door of the hall, into the light, then darts out out another door, back into the cold dark night. “So our lives appear for a short space,” said Bede, “but of what went before, or what is to follow, we are utterly ignorant.”

People have many different thoughts, feelings, beliefs and explanations as to what or if anything comes before…

…or after the sparrow’s flight.

Sooner or later each of us will fly out into the night.

That seems to be the only thing everyone can agree upon.

I don’t need to know all the answers before I fly back out.

I am right here, right now, basking in the warm and beautiful light of life.

Whatever happens outside the mead-hall won’t change the way I live my life here and now.

I have work I am passionate about…

..family I love and good friends to play with.

I care about issues in the wider world…

…and in my own little sphere.

I hope I can make some small difference…as a writer, a storyteller, a parent, a friend…

…and to leave even just a little nightlight shining…

…when my flight is done.
null

All words and images copyright Naomi Baltuck

Naomi Baltuck, Photo Essay, Photography/Photographer

Making Correct Change

Posted on December 17, 2013December 8, 2013 by Naomi Baltuck

Imagine a time when Manhattan was all forest. Now the surviving trees are like living things herded into a corral of concrete and steel.

We have careened through time like a car without brakes…

In our wake a city of skyscrapers has sprung up where once a forest grew, but the city remembers its roots…

The past lurks, like a silent ghost, peeking out from dirty windows in the attic…

…or a little lost child, peering from between the legs of strangers in a crowd.

Beneath all the the glitz and glamor and bright lights…

…the old grand dame still thrives.

From past and present must come the future.

If we proceed with caution…

…careful reflection…

…and respect for all living things…

…the heart of the city will always be strong.

Naomi Baltuck, Photo Essay, Photography/Photographer

You Mean It’s NOT a River?

Posted on December 10, 2013December 8, 2013 by Naomi Baltuck

Some people say life is a river. I think it’s more like a mountain.

It has its ups…

…and downs.

It can be glorious.

Mysterious.

Precarious.

Fraught with fire…

…and ice.

No one can climb it for you.

But, oh, what a trip.

As you find your way…

…the climb can be difficult.

The right path isn’t always clear.

But there will be beauty all around you. In little things….

…or stretched out before you in all its grandeur.

In Hawaii they say love is like fog–there is no mountain on which it does not rest.

May there be friends to share the journey.

…to make you smile…

…to guide you…

…and support you.

Life is a delicate balance, a precious jewel, a piece of work.

Yes, look before you leap…

…and wear the proper footwear.

But as the saying goes, we don’t trip on mountains. We trip on molehills.

All words and images c2013 Naomi Baltuck

Naomi Baltuck, Photo Essay, Photography/Photographer

Sunrise in Gibraltar

Posted on August 20, 2013July 24, 2013 by Naomi Baltuck

This sunrise was our reward for an early start on a big day. We were staying near Gibraltar, and taking the ferry over to Tangier in Morocco to spend the day. It was our first time ever in Africa, and we were a little nervous to step through that door.

Our driver Rashid was very helpful. Rashid was a good son, who lived with and cared for his elderly mother. His English was difficult to understand, so he and the kids communicated in Spanish. If I had a question, I could make myself understood in my rusty French, but his replies came too quickly for me comprehend. We worked out a system in which Rashid would reply to my French questions in Spanish, which the kids would then translate into English for me.

We were typical tourists. We went to the market.

And did what most of the day trippers do.

We felt grateful for just a quick peek into another world.

One glimpse down a dark alley shed light on another way of life.

We walked past little shops and businesses…

In Tangier we were given a taste of new flavors, colors, music, and customs.

I saw this cat in a narrow passageway, and it occurred to me that cats all over the world speak the same language. I wondered what would happen if people did too. Something would gained, but much would be lost as well.

Then it was time to cross back over the Straits. The kids will never let me live down the fact that I accidentally bought a rug, my only souvenir of that trip. I just wanted to bring home some of the warm vivid colors of a world so very different, and yet so much the same as ours.

Sunrise to sunset, long after the threads on my rug have faded, that day will stay with me.

Naomi Baltuck, Story Telling, Photo Story

Mine (yours, and ours)

Posted on June 17, 2013June 6, 2013 by Naomi Baltuck

My child…my world…

My wish is for her to grow up in a world where people are judged for who they are, and not by the color of their skin, not for who they love, who they worship, by their gender, or the size of their bank account. My wish is for this world to become our world, where ‘live and let live’ is only the starting point, and where my children, your children, all children become ‘ours’ to educate, to heal, to care for so they are prepared and able to help make our world a better place.

And because it’s the right thing to do.

That is my wish.

All words and images c2012 Naomi Baltuck

Comments on a Reading

GUERRILLA POETRY

BANQUETE CULTURAL

Lorraine Caputo

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I got to snorkel with Green Sea Turtles…

and see plenty of Yellow Tangs and Needle-nosed Knifefish (which floated right below the surface of the water in schools) — Both are types of reef fish.

I also got to see some amazing waterfalls (although it was raining like a monsoon when I went to see them) This is Akaka Falls…

One of my favorite pictures from the trip is from Pololu Valley. You could see the mountains, the coast and the rainforest vegetation all in one shot…

There were some wonderful examples of island art, from hammered tin gates…

to the carved, wooden Ki’i statues in various places all over the island. These statues are usually meant as guardians to protect and watch over certain sites. This one is from “Place of Refuge”…

To my great delight, there were even dragons!

And Buddha was there, too!

It was such an inspiring trip, I couldn’t help but write a poem to help me remember the experience. If you ever have the chance, I hope you will go! It was an enriching journey for the artistic spirit and the soul of anyone who appreciates nature. 🙂

~ Kona ~

Muted moonbeams drift through vaporous clouds,

While gecko songs mesh with the soft click of palms.

Awash in the gentle susurration of waves’ persuasion,

The island breezes encourage me to let go…relax.

No pressure here, no hustle and hurry,

No scamper and scurry,

On “island time”.

Simply hang loose and flow.

The scent of exotic, tropical orchids,

Mixed with the lush green of giant, verdant ferns.

The bright flicker of numerous birds in the brush,

Calls from long-forgotten conchs and steady drums…

All convince me that I,

Have finally found my way home,

To Eden.

~ C.L.R. ~ © 2006

((Someday, I’ll get back there and once more find that kind of peace and serenity.))

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