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X woke up to the warmth and security of a big loving family. The numerous aunts and uncles made it an annual ritual to get together. When it was the turn to host in X's house, X would sleep in mother's study that opened to the living room where by an old brass stove that burnt charcoals the adults played pokers, cracking roasted nuts and chatting over cups of green tea. They would notice when X stood at the door, and speak fondly of the child. Between remarks and exclamations, they would sing their praises that X stood patiently to hear.

Look how much taller you've grown from last year
Look how round and red our child's cheeks are
And skin has the sheen of perfect white porcelain

The kettle on the old brass stove gently emitted steam. As X scanned smiling faces of aunts and uncles, a sunflower seed that had accidentally strayed into the burning charcoals cracked, the sound familiar.

The iron pipes of the stove wound up to a hole on the wooden framed window where it discharged carbon diorxide. The old elms in the courtyard shedded half of the leaves. A lone bird perched on a bare branch. The late autumn sun hang high and cold in a patchy blue sky.

X enjoyed the moment when the door was opened and the adults all looked up from their cards. The room had a warm smell of green tea and roasted nuts. X saw one of the aunts that sat closest to the door smiled, and opened her arms wide as if embracing an invisible child. The rest of them put down their cards and praised X with such vigor that in a stilled moment X was dazzled by this infinite shower of affection.

X rubbed the sleep bugs off the corners of the eyes and walked to the aunt who patted her knees and opened her arms ready to cuddle the child. X heard yet another outpour of remarks.

Look how adorable the chubby little arms and legs are, just like lotus roots
The lips pout like that of a fresh picked cherry
Look at the pair of handsome eyes, coal black

Haven't you all noticed X's eyebrows. Aren't they long, dense and dark with an upward pointing cluster at the bend like that of Zhongkui the ghost catcher? Mother intercepted, loud and proud.

She scurried into the room holding a tray of snacks in small plates of fine china. She wore a silky red dress of elegance and festivity. X has a good boost of Yang with that upward turning eyebrow of Zhongkui's. She reinforced, making sure her point of ghost catcher was heard.

The visitors murmured to themselves in agreement or disagreement with mothers pride, then returned to their cards as if from an insignificant distraction. Even the aunt who was ready to embrace X turned around at a collective loss of interest in X's existence. X's joy sunk with the vanishing attention.

Don't idle around, love. Play in the courtyard so you won't perturb the adults. But don't walk afar. Mother allowed X to grab a handful of roasted pine nuts and opened the door to let the child out.

The lone bird that looked down at X from the tree had a dull green colour. Its neck was long and serpentine as that of a flamingo that X once saw on television and its beak shone cold grey. Its eyes were half closed and the iris by a chance glimpse was white. X cracked the nuts and threw the hulls at the bird. None of them hit high enough. The bird was motionless. Its claws clenched the branch tightly. X imagined what it would be like in flight.

Wind blew. Cloud began to move fast. The sun cast shifting patterns of shadows unto each of the three walls of the yard.

X woke up and rubbed the sleep bugs off the corners of eyes. The moment the door was opened, the room smelt of warm green tea and roasted nuts. Wisps of steam danced up from the silent kettle like white ballerinas. A stray sunflower seed cracked in the old brass stove. Otherwise, the room was quiet.

They have gone. Mother smiled from her corner lounge under the westward window in the dying light of dusk. She wore a dark green silk blouse that had gold embroideries of sweet-scented osmanthus. Her hair was neatly plaided and coiled in a beautiful way X had not seen. She patted her knees and opened her arms wide to embrace the child.

Gu huo niao (姑获鸟) appear in many Chinese and Japanese folklore to be the ghost-bird rebirth of women who died giving birth. It steals children to raise as own. A Guohuoniao has greenish feather, nine heads and a bleeding neck.It hovers around households that have beautiful young children often by spotting the children clothes hanging to dry outdoors. It marks a return by dripping two drops of blood unto the clothes. At dusk it would put away the feathers and revisit as an ordinary woman.

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Having analysed well
All deeds of body, speech and mind

Those who realize what benefit self and others
And always do these are wise

- Nagarjuna        Preciouse Garland of Advice 

This is the first time in my life that I have used my skill for nothing in return.

Back in June when mother was here, i bought a few books of the 14th Dalai Lama. For her those were all precious teachings that only the lucky could hear. I doubt if her "luck" of having me this tenacious and quick-tempered child was heartily felt. But when I promised to sight translate the pages for her my mother's face was brightened. She even took out her pad and borrowed my four-colour ballpoint pen (hers was lost) to take some serious notes. Of course, my patience had run out before the first few pages were interpreted. As she planned to take home one of the books as well as my electronic dictionary, I only let go of the latter convincing her that our countrymen at the customs would function their bit of the censorship. 

My mother, the duckweed lady, in joy and sorrow left with my electronic dictionary of which she found little use.

I looked for the Chinese translations of the books online. They were either in Taiwan, or had to be mail ordered from Hong Kong while my mother's visit to Hong Kong was as brief as a few hours. I then decidedly that even having a Hong Kong friend to take it across the border and mail to my mother would be too much of a risk as anything with the smiling old man's portrait would have a negative link.

This was when it stroke me that the books would never be found in China. For people as ordinary as my mother, the teachings would never be spoken.

The decision to translate the whole book(s) came as natural as my impulse to buy these books. I had thought that by translating it thus making it a free read in Chinese I was in violation of the copyright. Indeed, the English version was copy-righted. However, the greater importance of making the teachings heard outweights the copyright issue. A real buddhist teaching is taught to transcend all barriers of communication. I believe a good is done.

An update of my Chinese translation for "Widening the Circle of Love"is avaialble at  http://milkymilkyway.spaces.live.com/

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If my wandering in Rhodes shopping centre is counted, today I have walked 3.5 hours. My get-fit-for-bikini plan is clearly motivating.

Apec leaders and their huge entourage will infest the city. Tomorrow the back street of my office will be barricaded. I'm eager to see the demostrations and scavenge some pictures to BBC gossip channel.

Good night, Sydney. 

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One gloomy afternoon in July, a raven circled between the concrete buildings on our side of Pitt Street. The sight of birds was not rare in the city.  Flocks of sea gulls, pigeons and an occasional wandering ibis colonized beneath wherever people would sit and have lunch. But to see a bird fly at this height in such anxiety and hurry was not usual.  The raven rested on our windowsill briefly before taking off to another building across the road. Its wings spread out in full length effortlessly riding an invisible wind. My colleague next to me exclaimed, “Somebody is going to die in this office. See you later.” People laughed.

 The raven perched on a higher windowsill on the Thai Airlines building, its head turning quickly searching... The navy glassy façade of the Australian Stock Exchange stood indifferently on the right. In each of the square boxes, people minded their own business.

It only occurred to me later that night as I told K about the raven when we were awaiting sleep in each other's arms. It dawned on me that the thing in front of the crossing was another ravern. I remember phoning K that I saw a terrible mince of black-winged meat, blood not dried yet. I dared not looking twice. I said. People were waiting calmly at the crossing. No one seemed to have noticed the smashed thing. Yet as the light turned green, they walked over in measured steps accurately avoiding the thing at their feet.

I had a reason to guess that the later raven was searching for its spouse. In its anxiety, the giant black bird might not have recognized the victim at the crossing. Or it might have been there when it happened. And in all despair and vanity, it was driven on a quest to search for the perished soul.

Since then I have never seen another raven in the city flying at that height in such anxiety and hurry.

 
*An australian raven is smaller than its relatives in other continents. It has white iris, neck hackles and occasionaly blue sheened feathers. It could well be a timid creature contrary to its fierce roles in known legends. 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Australian_raven 

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