Still Sundays

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July 24th.

A woman named Yo; the windmill within, World Rivers Project; truth is a deadbody…

Stillness is some fog today and thoughts heavy sandbags.

There is a blanket of clouds made of stubborn gray covering the Prague sky for days now. Except it was shyly sunny yesterday evening. The sun was blocked again this morning.

The sun can burn yet its power is invisible against fluffy, goofy, bulky clouds who too visit at the mercy of winds. Mirror, mirror on the earth’s wall, who is the strongest force of them all? They all win against us as the elements draw even against one another.

Some days Prague feels like an elegant barque lost in the fog of history. She sails through time, a vessel for time itself. Fogs move. Waves propel. Prague stays in some time.

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I had a dream about a blue monk last night who told me to go find out more about a nun I had actually helped the other day while I was very much awake. Dreams are a quagmire for meanings. For every meaning, there is a new dream.

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I met a woman over a week ago who works at one of the many Thai massage parlors here in Prague. Yo. She said, “Yes, my name is Yo. Like Yo Yo, the toy.” She has been in Prague for two years. She is 32 and has a “good-for-nothing-ex-husband” and her mother takes care of her twelve year old son in Thailand. “All is in Thailand.” Her English was good enough for us to communicate, albeit very slowly, which was better than any amount of effective communication with most Czechs.

Language is a barrier to communication, grace is not.

I asked Yo how come there are so many massage parlors here. She said she didn’t know.

There are a lot. And all in the most touristy parts of the city and none are sleazy or cheap. The place where she works is owned by a Vietnamese and Czech man and managed by Czech staff. It is in a lovely part of the city and very big and clean (I have walked by it many times). She came, voluntarily, with a group of twelve other women from her small town in Thailand. They are allowed vacation once a year but most don’t have enough money to go back home since it is not cheap to live in Prague and there is never enough money left after they have sent money home.

The most challenging part of her job is telling men “this is not that kind of massage.” Most men who ask for a “special massage” have their wives in the next room getting a massage too. Most men get angry to the extent that the women feel threatened when they don’t accept euros and dollars. She says she has never compromised her values. A few others with her have. “But after awhile,” Yo said, “no amount of money is enough even for them.” She is happy to work where she does because it is safe and she “makes decent money, although very tired.”

Yo yo: the toy  consisting of a length of string knotted at one end to a flat spool. What’s in a name? Sometimes I think everything.

After I was done talking to Yo I ran into a few writers in the program who had just returned from exploring some beautiful part of Prague. They were inspired and moved but still searching for stories other than their own.

I wondered how beautiful Prague looks to Yo on her way “home”, her apartment shared with three other ladies who work with her, from where she calls her son in Thailand every other night.

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It’s Sunday in Prague and despite everything the world has not ended.

Bullet train collision in China leaves 35 dead.

Egyptian security forces have fired tear gas to disperse pro-reform protesters who clashed with groups loyal to the ruling military council. Over 300 injured.

92 people were killed and 97 wounded in the Oslo bombing and Utoya Island shooting rampage.

Some deaths in Texas.

Not enough food in Sudan.

My lungs want to exhale-ignore.

I told a dear friend, an artist whose work inspires always, this is just all too much. She agreed but also reminded me that I like rivers and trees.

Yes.

Rivers, even when a little dirty; trees, even when there is no sun; naps, even when they are short; yoga, even without Marco Rojas as guide; art, even without money; music, even without fame, and real love, even if not right next to you but the kind that makes you like yourself even more, are all oil for the squeaky doors of now.

The more I write, the more I know for sure that we never create alone. Friends who support are like the wind necessary for the windmill within.

Let’s grind the status quo to flower more justice, generate electricity for art beyond the gatekeepers of our own minds, pinwheel rotate to freedom as we sit and stare at the clouds that pass by.

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I participated in artist and kindred creative Lee Tracy’s inspiring vision, the World River’s Project. “World Rivers is a global project uniting people through the element of water. Individuals from around the world dip white fabric in a local river. The fabric pieces are embroidered with the name of the river, location and date and then sewn together into a magnificent curtain.”

Inspiring and well known Czech photographer Jan Pohribny decided to volunteer his time to take some photos of dipping a white cloth in the magnificent Vtlava River in Prague which is crossed by 18 bridges, including the famous Charles Bridge.

I told Jan the water felt cool like mercury. I think he understood. After I saw the photos I was most impressed by the fact that self-conscious as I can be in front of a camera, I had forgotten Jan was even there. I told Jan that I was not expecting to be so moved by this experience but something about a pure white cloth, the river, knowing the history of this city, and my affinity towards rivers, has left me awestruck and speechless. He replied, “Well, that is why they say an image is worth a 1000 words.” I joked and said, “Well, I am going to create images with my words then. It will just take even longer than usual.” Although there are a few images, I share these three below.

The only words I have for the experience so far are as follows:

Truth is a deadbody that runs through the river of time and always surfaces.

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