"i am that mustafa."

getting to pammukale did not quite pan out. i was going to catch a ride to izmir with mo, spend the day there, and head on from there -- izmir is halfway. however, on the way to izmir out plans fell through and we ended up turning back to find a strawberry stand, which was not open yet, and from there we headed back to bergama to look for mustafa, dealer of pine nuts.

we set out in search of mustafa's shop from the town square overlooked by the white marble ruins of the temple of athena, high at the top of the hill behind the town. mo had looked for the store many times and failed every time but once. we did not find it on our first attempt. we asked a nearby taxi driver, tried again. found the store -- closed. we inquired at the nearby bakery: does any one know where is mustafa who owns the pine nut shop next door? the baker did. he told us: you will find mustafa in the tea shop with the simit wagon in front (simit is a kind of pretzel). down we went to look for the simit wagon. no simit wagon. about to give up, but deepdown determined, we asked at a restaurant. does anyone know where is mustafa who owns the pine nut shop up the way? a man stood up. i, he said, i am that mustafa.

he walked with us back up to his shop and opened the sheet metal doors. inside was a courtyard and an unlocked building where he had us to wait.

we were in a plain tile lobby with industrial power fixtures and fixture-less fluorescent lights. to the left, wholesale canvas bags of pine nuts, processed and unprocessed. to the right, an arrangement of green plants. at our feet, a balance with weights, 5g, 10g, 20g, up to 100, then as well weights up to five kilos. the door to mustafa's office was across the empty lobby. most of the lobby space sat unused.

"the machinery is in the back," said mo, picking up an unhusked pine nut, tarry and brown. he manipulated it. "the trick is to crack the shell without cracking the nut inside."

there was one bag of unprocessed nuts, and several bags of finished product. then mustafa returned, sent for tea, and ushered us into his office.

he and mo talked and talked -- about pine nuts. easily they talked for thirty minutes. on the table in front of his desk was an arrangement of pine cones, one of them placed on three to make a pyramid. there hummed a water cooler.

from there back out to the car for the ride home.

with toastywarm bread from the bakery we made pine nut buns. the pine nuts were tender. there are definitely good pine nuts and bad. i did not know this all was such serious business. i was wrong.

<< go thou and be little beneath my sight >>

at bergama last week the sky was bluer than blue and the ancient marble columns were whiter than the clouds themselves, and it was so ancient, and what _drives people to do this kind of stuff, and i have bought my burning man ticket.


here at sundance spring is blooming and i have been thinking about flowers, wood and rock.

the old city above bergama is high up on a mountain overlooking an inlet. present-day bergama, below, is famous for its unique style of carpets and kilims. from the town below you can look up the side of the mountain and see the old walls and towers that were the edge of the ancient city: the water reached in much closer then.

from the top of the hill you can see a long graceful aquaduct, like a vein that filled the town cisterns with fresh water, where it could be pumped up the to the city.

you can walk right through the ruins, the stacks of marble and stone bricks all labelled with catalog numbers and laid out on the grass, and the smaller rougher pieces in piles off to the side. and at end of a long corridor, the statue of a warrior, his limbs broken; and you can trace your fingers in the folds of his cape and let the oils of your skin do their slow inexorable damage.








here is how it happened, sunday of burning man. the temple was far out in the desert lit up with lights. i walked out with the people i'd camped with. i nearly lost them because the stars were so bright overhead. we sat at the inner edge of the circle that stretched around the temple. people held each other who had someone to hold. they turned off the spotlights. i saw the flicker of fire far to one side. i saw the shadows of four people bearing torches. it suddenly got very quiet, quiet enough to hear when someone began to sing.

somewhere over the rainbow
bluebirds fly
birds fly over the rainbow
why can't i?

there was no echo. then the four torch bearers moved to each of the four corners of the temple, and not one of them hesitated; the flames took it very fast; within twelve minutes it was gone.

very different than the temples at bergama that even after two thousand years were impressive enough to make me say wow.

until recently there was going to be no temple at burning man 2008; doubly challenging; doubly symbolic because it's obvious when there is a first temple and then a pile of ash, less when there is nothing to remind you -- that nothing lasts, that nothing is certain, that the ladder of love has no top and no bottom --

but --


there is going to be a temple this year, done by the same people who made last year's teahouse. it will made out driftwood all decorated with reclaimed materials. driftwood because in life we are carried on currents bigger than we are. there is driftwood all long the beaches here. they collect it and use it as tinder for lighting the dining room stove.

i want you to know

that when i came upon the wish tree at bergama i picked up a slip of paper from the ground where it'd fallen and tied it around a branch anew, and made a wish for you.

and i will never tell you what it is, or it will not come true.

stay beautiful : )