Buddha in the Attic Tour!

Buddha in the Attic is a story about spiritual exploration. It's about a girl who knows she needs spiritual gratification and explores different religions, experiences different cultures, meets interesting people to learn as much as she can about that spiritual side of herself.  


Religion Tour - Greater Vancouver
Trip Planned For Buddha in the Attic Story Research


Places to visit: 

The Nanaksar Gurdwara Gurusikh Temple18691 Westminster Highway, Richmond B.C.

Open daily (phone for timings). All visitors welcome. Please dress modestly. Shoes are to be taken off and heads covered (scarves or caps) before entering the prayer hall. No admission charge. A free vegetarian meal is served in the cafeteria. Sundays are busy, but weekdays are less crowded. If you are looking for more information on the Sikh religion and its traditions, please set up an appointment with Mr. Ranu Tirlochan Singh at the above phone number.

Ling Yen Mountain Temple10060 No. 5 Road,
Richmond B.C.
Phone: (604) 271-0009

"This is a nunnery and meditation centre. If you would like to tour the Temple, please phone ahead and talk to one of the volunteers (ask for Susan or Mai) in order to set up an appointment."

International Buddhist Society

"The temple is open to the public and does not require an admission fee. Our main goal is to inform the public about Buddhist philosophy and our organization, and so we encourage visitors to come and explore our grounds. Guides and explanations in both English and Chinese accompany most of the features at the temple, for the convenience of visitors."

9160 Steveston Highway (between No. 3 and No. 4 Roads)
Richmond, B.C., Canada
V7A 1M5

Peace Mennonite Church 

"We invite you to join us in worship every Sunday morning at 9:30am, and for all our other gathering times and activities.

Our purpose as a church is to meet God in worship, to learn together about God and life, and to meet one another's needs in caring and personal ways. You are always welcome to join us." Note: Meet Tim Kuepfer. Saw his interview once. He is awesome. 

Richmond Jamea Mosque 

The first and the biggest mosque in British Columbia (Sunni). I have never been there before. Attend Jumma prayers.

12300 Blundell Rd 

British Columbia V6W 1B3 

Richmond Canada 

...

The Ram Krishna Mandir in the Vedic Cultural Centre8200 – No. 5 Road, Richmond. B.C.
Phone: (604) 275-9182.

Open to all. Their Sunday devotionals from 10.00 a.m. to 1.00 p.m. encompasses Kirtan and Arati(religious chants and prayers) followed by Pritibhojan (lunch) at no charge. Please dress modestly. Donations always welcome.

Other weekly programs include Yoga/meditation classes.

For more information or if you’d like to know more about Hinduism, please phone Bimla Veer Singh at (604) 275-9182 or (604) 270-7672

Notes: 
Phone each center ahead of time. 

Go to each place via bus or sky train. On my own is the best way. 

What to take: Notebook, 

pens, camera, water bottle, a snack, a map, notes on the faith, questions to ask and other things of interest to look for.

Read as much about the faith before visiting its center. 

Take special notice of the people and the culture.
Talk to the people. Don't be shy! 
Add another church to the tour? Perhaps a Catholic Church. 

Try attend an event, rather than a tour to get as much as possible out of the experience. 


mucho thanks to this website: http://www.margaretdeefholts.com/heaven-via-richmond-bc.html


The zebra is very excited to start trotting on this tour. xD 

.....

Andzzz a poem! 

Visiting Modernity

Your return was on a dark night,
when the fireflies of modernity
dotted the night,
and it wasn't silent
because it was the night of today.

Your children were up
and blue and white flickers
scurried across their windows.

You passed by quietly,
with your steps soft.
the streets were narrower you noticed
and the buildings straightened and shadowed.
and the air was dirty and cheap.

The hair line of the earth had receded
and the underneath lay withering,
its ugliness fully exposed to the semi moon,
which too seemed half hearted in its attempt.
or perhaps faded by the gray haze.

There were no stars,
but fireflies, measured in their height and distance,
refusing to move.
such precise fireflies you had never seen.

You noticed the silver bellied monsters that
purred smoke, gleaming sun rays out their eyes
as they sped by you, ruffling your hair.

You weren't sure whether to be awed or sickened,
for things has certainly changed;
you could tell by the blue and white flashes,
and the lack of idle eyes.

The trees too were different,
bare of branches and leaves,
naked and exposed,
straight and measured in their distance
like nature had never intended before.

The horizon held not mountains
but buildings tall like arms
reaching toward the sky,
snatching away the stars.

Gray, you realized was your children’s colour.
they celebrated it, adorned their city and their lives
with this shimmering gray
pasted to their hands,
their roads,
spewing out of their homes.
chugging out of the monsters
they had befriended.

You decided not to speak
for white wax clung to their ears,
metal ran their blood,
and the blue and white flashes
stole their eyes till they
could see you no more.

Unfinished Book Cover for an Unfinished Book :)

mongolian has done it again :( it looks much happier in real life dont worry!

and it will be completed and given wings to fly off to its rightful owner

verry soooooon :)

Zebra dropping in: A Sentient Excerpt

An excerpt from the currently in-process novella, Sentient. 

Which, by the way, is an awesome story.

A/N: This story started a long time ago in PK with a short story sketch titled The Question/Inner Peace. Since then it has inspired few other short stories and skits. I finally decided I needed to get to the bottom of this story that kept coming up in my writing and for the past year and a half, I have been attempting to write it out. My writing process for it is very different from my usual process. This one is written out in scenes, in snippets of dialogues and paragraphs. In my head the overall feel of the story is crystal clear, but bit by bit the details are coming out. They are not in chronological order, so my randomly ordered excerpts will not be able to illuminate the story properly but I still think you'll enjoy them. Also they'll jump from first person to second person narrative because I'm exploring both right now. Sorry if it's confusing, but it's all part of the process and you get to see it in its raw, unpolished form. And yes, hopefully I'll be showing more excerpts as time goes on. Story is mostly in note-form and random scenes right now.  

Excerpt # 1

I want more of the world. Even when I am on top of the mountain there is not enough of it. In fact, on the mountain, my hunger grows. What's beyond the horizon? I feel drawn to the elusive, hazy horizon, especially the western side, where the sun rises. Perhaps if I get up high enough there will be no horizon to obscure my view. Perhaps if I can lay my eyes on everything spread out below me, I will be satisfied. It is definitely a hunger that I feel. A strong desire. To consume it? To take it all in a wholesome and satisfying way, and keep it in. The spring of sharp wet grass, the spongy cool earth, the elegant, sensual curves of a tree, the delectable cotton clouds, the colours of the sky, the drowsy roll of this flat green prairie spreading out from the foot of the mountains. The mountains. Solid and ancient and steady. The silence, the wisdom of these mountains. It's all so much and I want to take it all in and much more. I am greedy fro the curves of this world. I want to sink my toes in its dirt, stretch my arms up to the sky on its highest peak and drink in the air. I want to feel more than I already can.
 Its as if there's another experience there but I don't have the bodily sense to sense it. But I have a feeling, a void that tells me it exists. It isn't all that confusing, this wild desire. But the fact is I can't explain it and I think it's unique to me. I'm not too sure about that, but lately I've been observing people acutely to see if anyone else feels it. I was with Bryon the goat herder the other day and when we made it to the top of the hill I was hit by that feeling again and I couldn't sense it in him. The day was bright and cool, the grass a cheerful perky green, the prairie overwhelmingly vast and green, the sky glowing blue with fluffy delectable clouds. My hands were clutched tight to my side trying to contain the desire for it all. My heart was leaping and aching and I at once utterly peaceful and filled with longing. I looked toward Byron. He was drowsily looking at the white dots of bleating sheep ambling away while he chewed on a single blade of grass. I envied his job and pitied him. He was not overtaken the scene around him and did not display the same wild desire--in fact very little interest at all.
Liss, the butcher's daughter however displayed a different attitude. She was far more interested. We were walking down Fyll's farm which is at the farthest one.
"Beautiful day, eh?" Liss said. I'd heard such exclamations followed by sighs before, and I always got excited. But I realized soon enough they lacked a wild ache and longing, a strong desire that I always had.
"Yes! Yes, it's gorgeous." It was a gorgeous day in deed. The sky was heavily clouded except fro a few patched  where the sun poured through, a glorious golden. The clouds too glowed golden because of the sunlight behind them. It had just finished raining and a slender rainbow to the east was still visible. Everything around us was clean and fresh looking, and now bathed in honey coloured sunlight. I was overtaken again by the way the sun poured through small patches in the sky. I want to be a part of it. I was not satisfied with just marveling at it. There was something else I had to do it. Fly to it? Touch it? Open my mouth and let it pour into me and then swallow it? But you can't touch light. I clutched my hands tight, trying to keep that urge in control. I glanced towards Liss's hands. One was calmly holding on to a pail, the other was loose by her side.
"Makes you want to drop everything and just stare all day," she said.
"Or much more," I said. She looked at me curiously.
"Like paint it?" She asked.
"Sort of. More like become it. It makes you want to become it." She looked confused.
"Oh," she said. There was a brief silence. "What do you mean?"
At that moment I felt I shouldn't go deeper into it. That what I would describe would was something very freakish, not natural at all, that it would set me even further apart. I felt it was a personal feeling, no supposed to be shared by anyone because no one would understand it. But I longed so much to be understood, to know that I wasn't the only one with such passionate longings for unachievable things. What if she could understand? I wouldn't be alone. I looked at her hopefully. She was my age but a head taller. She had pale hay colour hair and a splash of freckles on her nose and cheeks and wide honest brown eyes. There was a clean and simple quality to her that drew me to often seek her company.
"It's like there's something more you're supposed to do with this kind of beauty. I want to touch it but I can't. There's something that tells me what I'm not supposed to just stand around and stare at it. I need more of it, and I need it very close to me. I can't stand that it's not tangent."
"Oh. Yes, you need to paint it. I think you're a painter," she said in her simple matter-of-fact way. I shrugged. I did not say this to her but I knew she was wrong. Painting would not have been satisfying. I couldn't fully capture what I was seeing before me. It would only be a small piece of it. A painting could never capture the wonder, the splendour, the rush of all my senses, the chills of my spine, the goosebumps and the ache within that was part of the beauty. A painting in its one dimension-ess just could never do it justice. Nothing could. It was in the moment sort of thing and you could attempt to make it tangible with colours or with music and only succeed in revealing just a small part of it. A painting of a sunset can never do justice to the sunset itself and that's what it was like for me. I needed do something with it that would do complete justice to it and satisfy my longing for it by making it achievable. I had to make the sunlight stay in my hands.

...excerpt end....

Excerpt # 2

We could hear the distant sound of the waves. Every time I heard that sound I would realize with a sudden jolt how long I had come. I would look to the sky and still feel amazed that around me were the shapes of buildings, not an open landscape of softly swaying grass. I looked towards the old man. I still didn't know his name. He took another sip of the tea and set it right.
"It is curious indeed," He said.
"But it's driving me crazy. And I well--sometimes I do feel I am crazy. I mean other people don't feel it and it kills me to badly desire something I can never attain." He didn't say anything. I was getting used to his lapses of silence.
"It is because you are mistaken about what you desire," he finally said. I waited for him to continue. His papery wrinkles were dark and mysterious in the night, but his eyes were youthful and bright as the moon. If I looked at them too long I felt shivers, so I looked down at his hands. There was nothing young or odd about those hands. "I think you are pinning an inner sense of beauty and grace, a feeling your soul to this outer beauty, " he continued. "Nature is indeed very beautiful, but what you want deeply, what you are desiring most is that inner beauty. You want to understand that sense more. You're grappling passionately with it. And you've pinned it to nature because that's when that sense is most alive--when you're around beauty and splendour like nature--and that's why you want more of nature. It is actually more of this feeling, and understanding of this feeling that you want more of, not nature. So, you're searching in the wrong place. It's not the mountain peek that will satisfy you, but something within you. The answer is inside you and that requires you to go inside yourself to find it. If it helps to be around beauty to come to terms with it, so be it. But now you know where to look--inside. I can't help you more than that. Only you can find the way to satisfy that void."

....excerpt end....

Give thanks to Allah

I would like to begin in the name of Allah and by giving my thanks to Him, that He gave me a chance to write about Him and His blessings..

At the time of dawn, when the sun begins to rise, the beautiful blend of orange, yellow and red spreads across the sky in a painting that no artist can capture. And birds start their journey with their busy chirping, flowers open themselves, fresh for a new day, adding wonder to our garden with their colours and different shades. Allah is the Artist, who has painted our world in these beautiful colours and perfumed it with fragrant smells.
     Allah knows about our life affairs and gives us courage to handle them bravely. He knows about our mistakes, from the tiniest to the greatest, that we have made in our life yet He doesn't disclose our secrets. Instead He gives us respect from those around us and unconditional love. Allah expects us to face each day with a positive smile and gratitude for His blessings. But what do we do instead? We only return His infinite favours with complaints, sadness and negativity. Yet he doesnt stop showering us with blessings. Even for a second if He were to stop His blessings on us, would we survive? 

He has shown us the path of Truth with many signs...but we choose not to see. Allah is our sustainer, He is our Creator and He is the One who has power over all. When you feel all alone in this world and there is nobody to count our tears, there is One who is just waiting for us to turn to Him.

Always try to recognize Him in everything your eyes see. One day when you have recognized Him then you will be the wealthiest person in this world, for you will have everything and thats Contentment.

Imam Ali (as) has said: Contentment is the greatest treasure. 

Written by Jhakkoo

A Hen's Carpenterish Sides

Necessity is the mother of invention - very true!!

Made from a free IKEA cardboard plate & mug holder. The rods holding the threads are my retired paint brushes which have greyed too much for future use =)

i had to make this because i was very tired of always spending time untangling all my threads when i sat down to stitch. now i can jus carry my mobile thread holder wherever i sit and pull how much thread i want to use =D

bumblebee-sugarplum-honey-bunch's painting!

Hereon we shall refer to her as a bumblebee, though she sometimes remind me of Pippy Longstockings. See:

Now for her work:
I have two paintings to show today. I think she was going for abstract art type of thing. Our scanner kind of sucks, so sorry if the colours don't show up brightly enough. Anyway:

Ocean's Offering Part 1

 Ocean's Offering (Part One) 

expect part two sometime soon.

 -zebra

The rain came down in torrents the night Jobe found the washed up body. He was standing in his balcony, cigarette in mouth, the smoke twirling up. The wind was rough and the rain fell haphazardly, slapping against the roof. With the sudden blue flashes of the lightning he could spot the dark outline of the shore below. Rain. He liked it better than the sun. The way it was dark, and concealed everything, and just sort of droned on. He found it soothing.
    He waves were just as troubled as the sky, crashing into the shore, the water seemed to boil and spill, swaying back and forth viciously. He let out a ring of smoke and leaned forward, closing his eyes and letting the rain drops pierce his face. When he opened his eyes the lighting flashed and everything around him lit up dark blue, outlines and shapes came into focus. He was staring right at it. It could have been a small dinghy, a large fish, a log even, but at that moment his first instinct was that it was a body. A dead body. Jobe wasn't much for mysteries and murders and this horrified him. It was dark around him again so he couldn't see the lump of the shore, but he couldn't get it out his mind. He brought his cigarette to his lips again, contemplating on what to do. What if it was just a log and seaweed? He'd only seen it for a few seconds, there was no knowing it was a body. He'd wait for lightning to flash again he'd get another glimpse at the thing. Jobe waited for five minutes, but the lightening didn't flash again. What if the body was alive? I couldn't be alive, not in this storm. Probably drowned. Jobe's cigarette was now reduced to a small butt, and he dropped it off the balcony, watching it as it disappeared in the dark wind an rain. What if it was alive?
    He was at the beach, the sand black and muddy, and the rain unrelentingly drilling on him. Wind blew in great tufts, slapping his face. His hands were raw with cold. Now where was it? He glanced around the beach, tugging at the strings of his hood. He slushed onwards remembering that the body at being right in front of his view fom the balcony. He couldn't see properly at all, and peered intently at the ground each time he took a step. Why hadn't he brought a flash light? He cursed himself. This is it. It should be here somewhere. He softly kicked the sand around him with his foot, probing for the body. His foot hit something soft and he tripped, falling on top it. Terrified he scampered forward on all fours, cursing outrageously. He paused and took a deep breath looking back toward the body. The rain continued pouring just as unrelentingly. He was covered in mud, and this time the rain piercing his face and hands didn't bother him. He leaned forward toward the body, staring at its face. It was a boy. Probably somewhere between the age of twelve to fourteen. With a shaking hand, Jobe felt the boy's pulse. He was alive! Bringing both his hands forward Jobe preformed CPR and the boy's body shook with coughs as water water poured out from his mouth and nose. His eyes flickered, but he didn't wake up.

..

“You want some more coffee?” Jobe asked as he poured himself another cup. Coffee and cigarettes, his biggest weakness.  He lit another cigarette. Together they made the perfect combination for him. He puffed at his cigarette after each sip of coffee.

“Smoking's bad for your lungs,” the boy said, looking up from his cereal bowl.

“So's drowning.”

The boy looked back into his bowl and mumbled, “I didn't drown.”

“You almost did.” Jobe sighed and pulled his chair forward toward the boy, “Now it's time you tell me the full story. And the truth.”

“I told you I don't remember. I just remember swimming like mad, and then reaching the shore here, and then I think I passed out.”

“And before that?”

“I don't remember!”

Jobe narrowed his eyes, “You swam to shore in that storm. Kid no one can swim in that water. Now you tell me who you are and where you're from and we can get you home.”

“I told you I'm Rudy Walkins.”

“How do I know you're not making that name up?”

The boy shrugged, taking a spoonful of his cereal. “I'm going to have to take you the police if you don't help me out.We've got to get you identified and sent home.Your folks must be looking for you. ”

“I'm an orphan.”

“Right.”

“I am!”

Jobe rubbed the back of his neck and leaned back in his chair, tapping the cigarette in a saucer. The kid continued eating his cereal. Dark blond hair, brown eyes, an abundance of freckles dotted his hands and face.

“How old are you kid?”

“Sixteen.” Jobe didn't believe him.

“Where do you live?”

“I don't know.”

“You mean you don't remember?”

“Yea.”

“But you remember you're an orphan.”

“Stop with the questions old man. I'll leave and you don't have to worry about this shit.”

“Fine with me. But where are you going to go?”

“That's my business.”

“Listen kid it wasn't any of my business hauling you up from the beach and taking care of you. So maybe you should be a little more grateful.”

“You should have left me there then.”

“You would have died.”

“Whatever,” the boy mumbled, clearly upset.

“Did you run away kid?” Jobe pressed on.

“No!”

“Look kid I'm going to rat on you. I understand if you got mean folks back home--”

“I don't have a home.”

“Or at the orphanage, or streets or wherever you're from. I won't send you back if you tell me what happened or what's wrong. Did you commit a crime? Just tell me so I can help you.” The boy looked up at Jobe, his face expressionless. He stared at him for a while, as if contemplating. The boy puzzled Jobe. At first Jobe thought he'd fallen over board from a ship and luckily washed up on shore while he was still alive. But it didn't all add up. The boy wouldn't tell him exactly what had happened, and seemed especially secretive about his family. Jobe wasn't nosey, he wouldn't have cared if the boy had run away, but the way he'd washed up during the storm was eerie. It just didn't seem right. He half wanted to go the police and get him identified, or see if there was any missing posters of him. But  he felt just as uncomfortable going to the police. Jobe ran his eyes over the boy, who stared back at him coolly. The boy put an assured air, a tough, uncooperative demeanour, impenetrable, but Jobe knew what it mean when people shielded themselves like this. He knew just how vulnerable this kid was. Don't get too involved in him, Jobe, he warned himself, better not stick your nose where it doesn't belong. 

“I'm leaving today so you don't have to worry about it,” the boy said quietly, looking down at his cereal again.

The sun poured from the kitchen windows, on the arms and hands of the boy and the man. The room was spacious, a bright white with blue-grey borders. The sun illuminated the fine grains of the wooden furniture. The kitchen table, a dark oak table, upon which the boy was having his cereal, and the man his cigarette and coffee was a small table located to the east of the room, under a small window. The sea was not visible from this window, but the sound of it could be heard from all corners of the house. The house was not neat, but casually messy, the furniture and décor simple; it was evident the man lived by himself.

“I once ran away too you know.”

“What happened?” The boy said, trying not to show any interest. He didn't look up, but scraped his spoon against the insides of the bowl. He waited for Jobe to speak.

“I think all kids run away sometime in their lives. At least they try to. Most of them come back, some don't,” he shrugged, “I was one of those kids who went back. My parents didn't even realize I'd run away. It was all in the middle of the night.” He traced the rim of the coffee mug with his fingers. “My mother and father—there was all this fighting and yelling, and I just had to get away from it all. And I guess I kind of wanted them to notice me gone. I didn't exactly want to run away and never see them again. I just wanted them to feel bad. Kind of punish them, you know?” He nodded to himself, “I just wanted them to come find me, and maybe make them realize how selfish they were being.” He laughed. “That was boyhood, kid. I understand if you ran away. I hope you'll come to your senses and go home when you're ready.”

“I told you I'm an orphan.”

“Somehow I don't believe that.”

“How come?”

“You seem well brought up. You have neat manners, clean habits. Even if you're an orphan, you have a home. You're not from the streets, kid,” he lowered his voice, “What is it? Foster family not nice?”

“Why the hell do you care?”

“You're living in my house. What if you're a criminal. I deserve to know if I'm sheltering a criminal.”

“What—you're going to tun me in to the police?”

“What if I did?”

“I'm not a criminal, alright!”

“I thought you didn't remember your past,” Jobe smirked.

“Screw you, Jobe.”

“Listen kid, you can't leave tonight. Fever might come back again. Go back to bed and get some sleep.”

“Why do you care?”

“Rudy,” Jobe stretched his hand out, but Rudy flinched and jumped back.

“Don't touch me, you perv!”

Jobe threw up his hand, backing down. “Alright, I won't. Sorry.” Neither said anything for a while.     They could hear the sound of people on the beach. The sounds were like echoes, shadows of people. Muffled laughs and shouts as tourists and beach goers took to the waves were usually a cheerful sound, but sometimes they made Jobe feel empty and hollow inside. As if they echoed what was missing. But the screeching of gulls, and the sound of the waves crashing was soothing. They were like him. Alone in their world, quiet and resilient. 
    Jobe go up and put his coffee mug in the sink. As he washed the mug, he wondered what he was going to do about the kid. His moody and defiant nature irked Jobe. He was a headache, but Jobe didn't feel right turning him out just yet. Maybe when he's better he thought to himself.

“When you're feeling better, you're welcome to join me a the corner store down the road. I could use some help.”

Rudy nodded, passing his bowl to him. “I'm going to sleep for a while,” he said, then disappeared toward the guest room.

Jobe decided he'd order pizza that night. Kids liked pizza.