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NOMAD WORLD TRACE
USER INFO: CHAY-YA

Name: Chay-Ya

Photos: chay-ya's photo libraries

NAVIGATION.
Peddling ( 11th Apr, 2006 )
nomadic ( 22nd Mar, 2006 )

CHAY-YA
 
Peddling

peddling.
peddling.
cyclic.
rhythmic.
electric.
peddling.
between me, my bike and the almighty world there aint no windscreen divide,. Just my legs and two wheels imitating the motion of all life. Pumping blood through my veins reminding me that I'm alive. Igniting the body, the alluring energy source. Renewable. Transforming the fuel of carrots and sweet melon and dates. Feel free, to plug your extended, exntension cords into me as this little generator will happily light up your eyes and commmunity. Peddling. Peddling. Cronies in parliamentr. In China a distraught peasant patiently beats back the encroaching desert. Scolded white, the reef remembers times of life and florescence. The ocean reads it's engulfing bosom, submerging isllands and licking at our guilty heels. The dirty C words. Climate. Change. Peddling. Peddling. Dearest neighbour, politician, brother. t's getting harder to disguise with spy noise and fake moustache the arid land and precious water that's increasingly sparse. Peddling Peddling. Above in the smog of CO2 and CFC's, a heavy grey plane leers at me. People inside you are moving so fast, so fast in your air conditioned Dooctor Who's phone box, a mix oftime and space that is virtual reality. As for me, I'm peddling. Peddling at a rate that I can sing annd meditate. Wheels connected to the earth following the landlines that ground and navigate. Squinting up at the great birdI huff, and flex my carves with the grace and superiority of this marvelous clean ennergy. Dearest Aunty, shopkeeper, preachert, you swerve your wheels and honk your horn at me. I remind you that this road is my road too, in fact there's plenty of room, how about we ride together a bicycle meant for two? Three maybe fifity. The skies a haze, the news is grey but I'm feeling groovy. Wellbeing multiplied. Synergistically satisfied. Neef would be proud of me.

Chayya

 
nomadic

Our nomadic instinct is out of context in this, the city with it's squares, efficient parallel lines, connecting up the dots.
I often feel torn between wanting to move on, explore and travel, with the other extreme of setting up a little house with my spice racks and art books.
A nomadic existence comes from an ancient way of living. Simple and sustainable. Setting up communities, living with your people, growing plants to eat, collecting things, and then all moving onto a new place.

Keeping everything balanced through dynamics and minimal impact in one location. Allowing regeneration. Movement is at a pace that doesn't make your head spin.

These pavemment city structures are not natural. Too much focus in one place. There is not enough energy available for everyone in this concentration of population. And so we take it in turns being down.
Vaguing out, tuning in to a desensitised frequency.
Everyone gets sad in the city.

Why does this happen? It doesn't need to. Find your place within (or outside of) the chaos, let the little things colour you in..

One breath of clean ocean
lying on the grass, afternooon light dappling on skin, sharing bites of apples.
Looking for patterns on the sidewalk, explosions of splattered paint on grey walls watching powerlines merge, writing songs on their grey electric strings.
small birds flight,
the song that engulfs you and forgets you in it's submersion,
breathe in musical ascension.

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