Sometimes the vibes are just right, the egos disappear. On the beach this seems to happen a lot. In this corner, the Island Rhythms acoustic and djimbe duo + myself on flute. Armand TJ and a number of Frendz sit in a circle, grooving to the flicker of artificial candles.
Fire, who needs fire? The jungle is inside us - some call it remembrance of the natural world.
Fire, who needs fire? The jungle is inside us - some call it remembrance of the natural world.
Regarding my last post BORACAY BUZZ KILL (OR THE BEACH, A COMEDY CONCEPT)- some people have asked why I would hang out in such a smartphone infested locale. Others have asked me whether I myself have not been guilty of taking photos of superlative sunsets.
All I can say in my defense is, my evening jog begins among that clusterf--- of sunset-capturing devices and reaches its apogee at a much quieter spot. Somewhere I can swim solitary-like and rash free (although the number of sand-skimming boats parked a hundred yards offshore has multiplied).*
Damon Shulenberger #endurancewriter
* The writing is on the wall - there is very little planning to the current wave of development. It is accepted wisdom that the green tropical lushness on a very small island that once defined the word 'paradise' must be covered in haphazard, four-story boxes.
All I can say in my defense is, my evening jog begins among that clusterf--- of sunset-capturing devices and reaches its apogee at a much quieter spot. Somewhere I can swim solitary-like and rash free (although the number of sand-skimming boats parked a hundred yards offshore has multiplied).*
Damon Shulenberger #endurancewriter
* The writing is on the wall - there is very little planning to the current wave of development. It is accepted wisdom that the green tropical lushness on a very small island that once defined the word 'paradise' must be covered in haphazard, four-story boxes.
Speaking of the nature within, which I keep alive in even the most urbane environments, below is a poem that accompanies April's art from our 2013 Earth Fabric project.
In the Clearing
There is no clearing, the jungle is overpowering
with elephant shriek and trumpet moan,
the man, the dream, the cunning child
closed in, convoluted
The dreaming world, the beach
the screams through the thicket
nature, untrammeled
piercing horror and never ending
sightless eyes
Cries that reverberate and remind us just how
insignificant is our colony, how
transient and unnecessary––
we are not moving toward the harbor,
we are not shifting with the sun
But if we allow the darkness to run inside us
and the labyrinthine shadows to form in our soul
then maybe we are in the clearing, home.
From Earth Fabric
There is no clearing, the jungle is overpowering
with elephant shriek and trumpet moan,
the man, the dream, the cunning child
closed in, convoluted
The dreaming world, the beach
the screams through the thicket
nature, untrammeled
piercing horror and never ending
sightless eyes
Cries that reverberate and remind us just how
insignificant is our colony, how
transient and unnecessary––
we are not moving toward the harbor,
we are not shifting with the sun
But if we allow the darkness to run inside us
and the labyrinthine shadows to form in our soul
then maybe we are in the clearing, home.
From Earth Fabric
Above, a recording from another memorable night in Boracay, this time at Lokal Bar. These Talagda tribal flutes I have been playing around the world have found their rightful home. This is the first time I ever played miked up––surprising considering all the jams with DJs in Playa & Tulum last spring.
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