Travel LogAmong Shi*'s albums
View on map
The Dongba and I
Lijiang is the centre of Naxi culture, which has its own pictographic language and animistic religion. The Dongba is a religious leader, like a Tibetan Lama but probably more akin to a shaman. His calling seems to agree with him, if happiness is anything to go by ...
Chance meetings along the road ... one essence of travelling. Stopping at the side of the road for the driver to take a mobile phone call. This Yi really wanted to talk ... difficult ... but then the driver came and translated. She was trying to tell me about her husband and how he died 8 years ago in a car crash. About her daughter's success in her exams. So warm and friendly ... we all have the same concerns ... and she had a wonderful jade and silver ear ring too! The Yi are one of the 'minority ethnicities' living in Yunnan province.
Let's dance put on your red shoes and dance the blues Let's dance to the song they're playin' on the radio Let's sway while colour lights up your face Let's sway sway through the crowd to an empty space If you say run, I'll run with you If you say hide, we'll hide Because my love for you Would break my heart in two If you should fall Into my arms And tremble like a flower Let's dance for fear your grace should fall Let's dance for fear tonight is all Let's sway you could look into my eyes Let's sway under the moonlight, this serious moonlight If you say run, I'll run with you If you say hide, we'll hide Because my love for you Would break my heart in two If you should fall Into my arms And tremble like a flower Let's dance put on your red shoes and dance the blues Let's dance to the song they're playin' on the radio Let's sway you could look into my eyes Let's sway under the moonlight, this serious moonlight
Written on Water Everywhere ...
She sees a golden haze as the fresh light blinds her momentarily on her return from the underworld, the darkness that is at once both imminent and transitory. A price paid for eating of the tree. But now, blinking and seeing again, always as if for the first time, the Primavera. The hope of summer, still scantily dressed in a hint of luminous pale green. The faith that happiness will return, that loss and occlusion is passing. Persephone stands and looks, a mythical figure of change, redemption and, to me, the passing cloud of depression. I am an avatar of this pomegranate-eating woman. We all share her legacy – descending into darkness, seasonal or personal – in an unending cycle. Persephone always wonders whether she has the heart to do it all again, as she walks from darkness to light. Then she sees the first spring flower and feels the first weak warmth of the early season sun. A smile slowly spreads across her winter-pale face, ‘Bloody Pomegranates!’ ................................................................................................................................................... Looking into the mirror pool, reaching out like Michelangelo's God, the two fingers meet, the image shattered. The mercurial water runs alchemical up my arm, the sudden moisture spreading through me. And I think, 'I heard you call my name ...'
Gudjuarati carver refining details. A bit of India in the English countryside. She looked very cold!