Day 1039

My seed is strong. My seed is good.

Day 1037

I return from my new bride's village home. My presence emboldens the many of her family. There are fruit trees there, and at night, the song and call of many birds: new and old, same and different.

Day 1019

I MAXIMUM LOVE THE JAMES.

Day 1017

My beautiful wife, laboring among the papaya trees: winter.

Day 1014

JAMES ALL DAY TIRED I AM WORK PLANT DIG HOLE PLANT WHEN IS GO HOME FROM THE VILLAGE MARY

Day 1010

The marital vow binds me to my new wife. We tell the story of this place in separate voices, together.

Day 1007

MARY GOOD WIFE FOR JAMES THE MARRIAGE LOVE AND GOOD WORK SO I AM WRITE NOW FROM THE VILLAGE MARY

Day 1007

MARY GOOD WIFE FOR JAMES THE MARRIAGE LOVE AND GOOD WORK SO I AM WRITE NOW FROM THE VILLAGE

Day 1000

I have taken a wife.

Day 999

My body is strong of limb and bone. I move through the forest with stealth and cunning. My children follow like the lamb follows the ewe.

Day 979

We will start again.

Day 975

I have made the signal for those who will follow me from the village, through the paddy, into the rainforests.

Day 971

He of cow brain refuses to wear the red hat.

Day 967

Who brings me this bowl of rice every night? It is me. My community waits for me in the village.

Day 962

I have constructed a humble reed shelter in the forest and buried tubers nearby.

Day 956

The Red Hat is powerful among the people. But there are many corrupters among those who do not wear it. I begin investigations.

Day 950

I have taken certain security precautions. The children I trust wear red hats. This way, I know at all times the spies.

Day 941

I remain at my post. I will not leave. I am here until the end.

Day 933

Who is this man of paunchy girth who sits behind his desk in air conditioned splendor in the capitol, calls himself a "CD", and "requests" that I take a home leave? Who is he? Has he ever felt the warmth of the soil or the radiant smiles of the children coming out of the pond? Has he ever walked barefoot in the dewy pre-dawn grass and beheld the wonder of the paddy? I am who I am. A man. A man bursting with love. Who are you, CD? Perhaps it is you who needs a "break".

Day 924

Is it possible to give too much of oneself? And yet, always, it is still not enough. I do what I can. The people (sometimes) smile for it.

Day 922

A German is not an American.

Day 920

What is the earthen pot, except the land journeying in a different vessel? What is a German, but an American born in another country?

Day 917

A journey is like the earthen pot. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it.

Day 909

Everyone is my brethren. I journey to find the German.

Day 905

If I am unwell, it is the will of the universe that my immuno-globulins be tested. However the fever, may my mind stay vigilant. Prepare the body in honey and clover. Say, "He worked for the good, wherever he saw it, as best he knew how."

Day 901

Perhaps, I shall stay here until my body is wrapped in a white sheet and placed gently in its cool grave. Or, perhaps, I shall be placed high atop the funeral pyre, and the people will breathe in the smoky essence of my travails.

Day 900

Nine hundred days. You say these are many, or the few? Nine hundred humble gestures of enduring hope. Nine hundred smiling children in the day's sun. Nine hundred drops of fecund water from the village pond--that I have yet to sterilize. Yes, I arrive only at the beginning.

Day 894

My Country Director has recommended that I take a home leave of six weeks duration. I have flatly refused his request.

Day 893

Two men enter the quiet paddy. One man is quick, but arrogant. The other moves like the humble mongoose, all shoulders and quick first-strike.

Day 890

Bloody, runny stools... My country celebrates its birthday tomorrow... The german practises with his throwing stars in the forest.

Day 883

Met with the village elders. They trust me, and my work. It is good to be here.

Day 876

Tonight, I cook a meal on my own. I burn the noodles a little. It is a humble meal, as I am humble in the face of these people, this paddy.

Day 871

I stroll barefoot in the forest with the children. We watch as Gui Shap and Cobra spar and tussle under the canopy. Am I Gui Shap or Cobra?

Day 870

The German celebrates the NBA championship in his compound. I walk the streets of this village, to the simple school, and continue my work.

Day 866

The blood of my body is luminous. It marks everything, my trousers. I bleed for these people.

Day 860

My fissure has opened up. I bleed anew.

Day 855

Memorial Day, somewhere. I say it is only Sunday. I have much work to do here.

Day 848

Ignore the media speculation. My body is numinous, as my spirit. It asks nothing from the German.

Day 842

What shall cure this illness, if not faith?

Day 838

Hives, some infected. I burn reeds to make the allergen paste.

Day 835

Blood on my sheets.

Day 834

The people of the village have a taste for peanuts.

Day 827

Sell a man a peanut and he'll eat for a day. Teach the children, as I do, and they shall eat forever. So it is known.

Day 824

The peanut vendor has disappeared from the market.

Day 821

I am to initiate the reckoning that will change everything.

Day 816

Fact: I have a single elevated-level allergy. Fact: that allergy is all legumes of the nut variation. Fact: this is known by everyone in my village. Conclusion: Someone is attempting to negatively impact my work here, the work I do of my own free will, to help the people.

Day 814

News of the Great Pretender Mortenson has spread via the BBC.

Day 811

My inquiries are met with uncertainty. The situation of my allergies was made clear prior to the terms of my service. Even the man selling the peanuts knows this.

Day 808

Peanuts at the market. I make inquiries to the elders.

Day 805

How do I honor my forebears with this work? The children do not challenge it.

Day 802

Mist brushing the lonely face of the river: I do good work here.

Day 797

I approach my eight hundredth day in the village. The children bustle. There is to be a feast, I suppose, though I shall not be the guest of honor. It is to these beautiful people that I give thanks. It is for them that I do all of that which I am capable. They understand this, so our gratitude is a circle.

Day 788

Who am I to fear the bite of the malarial mosquito? I run barefoot through the cobra-ridden forest. I bathe in the fetid ponds. I am a child among men. A man among children!

Day 785

Here, learning is like the leopard arriving to the egg farm. I am both bountiful and never enough.

Day 784

Who am I to shield my body from the life-giving sun?

Day 779

Upon my body, the sun of the rainy season, like the lachrymose faces of the beautiful children.

Day 774

I care not for shoes. I walk barefoot in the dewy grass at dawn.

Day 771

The German leaves for the city.

Day 767

Does not the night-bird flying overhead see my work among these people? And so also his brother, the day-crow?

Day 765

"Who are you to claim this body?" I said. "I am no one," he said. "It is late," I said, "the moon rises over the village."

Day 763

Like the vaunted Phoenix, I build my nest of twigs.

Day 761

My body will not contain itself.

Day 759

The German twists my words. His impure connivation. His supple, graceful body.

Day 753

Is this not my penis? Is not the bamboo reed I hold in my hand my own?

Day 749

I am at peace with the periodicities of love.

Day 742

What is the limit of my accomplishment except that it is unbound?

Day 738

I came. I saw. I conquered.

Day 734

I break bread with my children.

Day 731

Harvest! O, blessed, the season of my bounty!

Day 730

My pain brings me closer to these people. What I suffer is the emblem of their struggle.

Day 728

Love hurts. I get that.

Day 727

I awake in the fetal position.

Day 725

I have given too much.

Day 723

The German asks much. I give what I can give.

Day 722

An understanding, yes, but I still bristle when he works with my people. What is this feeling?

Day 720

My world is made whole by the good of the children. I am manifest in their good deeds and pure hearts, their long and lithe bodies glistening with the good sweat of work.

Day 716

The German and I have reached an understanding.

Day 715

Are these hands that work for the good not the tools of angels?

Day 713

But I have promises to keep

And miles to go before I sleep

And miles to go before I sleep.

Day 711

I would write these people a new Constitution. I would give them liberty to prosper and be good. The German understands neither the means nor the purpose.

Day 709

These cracked calloused hands : besmirch them not for they are the hands of freedom.

Day 708

Days of work, and the night. I rise early to continent myself.

Day 705

I bathe naked at dawn in the pond.

Day 704

Is my work good because there is the a great need, or is the need great because of my good work?