Tuesday, December 29, 2009
The exorcism of attachment
I was talking recently with someone I cherish greatly, about the idea of transcending the mediocre in life, and moving forward in our paths. We stumbled upon the mutual question of attachment; attachment to outcomes, expectations, and desires. It seems that when one is attached to these notions, obstacles are actually created. We get caught up in what we think is successful or needed. As I have discussed in previous entries, thinking is only one facet of who we are, and when fully relied on as a guide, we are certainly left to our own demise. I have worked hard on the idea of “attachment” and have found that in some areas of my life, I have understood and applied the meaning of just being. But one area of my life has always been recessed in my wisdom, and I cannot understand how to detach. I have been working hard at acknowledging the awareness and changing behaviors, but I cannot seem to just let go. I feel that because of this I have perpetuated many painful experiences. I don’t know how to embrace and believe in good things, like love and peace without opening myself to negativity and the pain that comes along with attachment, and things lost. Although I have said before that I do not affiliate myself with any one denomination, I do often refer to Buddhism. I find that many faiths correlate with the lessons and path we take as humans, and when studied free from attachment, we can identify purely with these ideas of faith, and not fall victim to the harmful aspects of beliefs. Faith was laid down as not only a loose explanation of our existence, but also as a metaphorical encyclopedia of living. It was never intended to cause us pain, to wage wars and create prejudices, it was simply advice given by other humans who have lived before us. In an effort to connect this tangent, Buddhism for me, has become one faith whose issues of life I can identify with. And I believe that the theory of releasing attachment holds a key to happiness. Many would say that not being attached is to be detached, which is confused with aloofness. This is my quandary. I know, as a human of many experiences, and as a firm believer in love, kindness, and compassion, that being aloof is not congruent with letting go. But how do you still love and let go? How do you offer kindness and compassion to another and not become attached? I understand that you should not place responsibility for your happiness on another. I understand that you should not attach yourself to expectations. You must be you, and you must genuinely love that person for who they are. You must just “be” while letting them “be”. And in order to achieve this you must be in tune with who you are, what our insecurities and fears are, so you do not place them on someone else. But what if this all seems to be present and you still find yourself “attached”? Hurt by someone’s words. Sad about someone’s departure from your life? The understanding I get from Buddhist principles is that your sadness is only a reflection of your own selfish attachments or intentions. You are sad because you are focused on loss. You are hurt because you have attached your self- worth or happiness to someone else’s thoughts or feelings. How about the love you feel for that person? Many principles of faith say one should love without the notion of love in return. I can comprehend this idea when applied to many types of relationships; but not with a lover. I can love without compromising myself. I can be kind without a goal of seeking kindness. At some point though, when that relationship ends, my kindness is no longer welcome, or welcome in the capacity that I desire to give. If it is true, that all suffering is caused by attachment and desire, how does one not feel the pangs of separation and unrequited love? How does one cease to desire closeness? Why are we not content with platonic love? Parental love? Familial Love? The answer cannot be to kill the desire to reproduce; it seems unnatural. How do you trivialize that loss and free yourself from suffering? How do you refuse the desire for agape love? Why is it wrong to want pure, selfless and realistic love with another?
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Wednesday's child is full of woe...
I have been tangled up in knots. Uneasy. My stomach has been churning, acids eating away at the depth of my insides. Constantly on edge; on the edge of confusion. I have found that emotions I thought I no longer had use for have reappeared. Old feelings I thought I had worked long and hard on diminshing once again battle to control my life.
I laid on my couch in silence last night, fighting the desire to "do"; to distract and overanalyze. I started to think about the act of doing and the implications of the word. I have been struggling with sentence syntax in the Japanese language and had been wrestling with using the word "do". It has become increasingly difficult for me to express my needs and communicate when not knowing how and when I should be placing/using the word. My mind began to trail off into the semantics of "Suru", "Shimasu"... and I realized how important this word has become for most.
I fought with myself to not "do"; scrappling to find some serenity, some connection with the peaceful vibration of the universe. When these emotions have come in the past I always had to "do". Paint, write, drink, smoke, read... the list is endless. Most people, have come to rely on "do" to distract and detract, or on the antonym to protect themselves from fear. I search for the balance of this word. I understand in these thoughts the importance of interconnectivity; knowing who you truly are, the art of virtue, and the pratice of peace.
I suppose the biggest difficulty of my plight has been the lack of understanding and the frustration that the habits and emotions we latch onto in our first passage, as James Hollis would say, do not just disappear. So I find that some of my old tools and resources for coping or understanding do not suit me anymore. It is time to move on to the next level of my journey and pick up new evolved skills. I have been trying to practice the act of being for a few years now. Many times I have found this way to be a natural evolution of self and spirit. Many times I have felt peace and fufillment when just existing and enjoying the moments of life. I go in and out of this practice, and find myself struggling at times to phatom how it is even possible to just "exist". I beleive that we all have the ability to do this, that ultimatley, the only way we can truly find peace is to live in this manner, but I also feel that a great amount of shedding is called for in order to attain a constant vibration. I know many woud say this sounds like the Buddhist ideal of Enlightenment, or the Christian ideal of Salvation; so on and so on... but I beleive that it has no name, and that it is possible to achieve it in different ways, in varying steps, and during a wide range of times in our lives.
And so, I am shedding my skin. Something I do often in my life. I suppose as time weathers our tired bodies and expereinces grate on our souls, shedding becomes more painful, more abrasive. The skin undernreath finds itself wearing more thin as cells struggle to regenerate what was once lost. I feel it has become inevitable for me to live in this way, to accept and affirm the other forces at play. To know who I am and my own personal magic.
But something unexpected presents itself after you discover the awareness of these universal laws. There is no clear way to implement them. I know many would argue, but certain facets of worship or practice do not provide for everyone. Each person must find the path that will bring them to balance on their own.
While I write and reread this, and let words flow from my hands, I see that my confusion is the miscommunication I am suffering between myself and the universe. Much like the lapse in communication I feel between myself and the Japanese language, or the isolation of having no one here to verbally exercise my thoughts with. I suppose that by taking away the comfort of communication, I have no other choice but to move into a higher level of living. But what was once a rich and cultivated atmosphere of communication by a multitude of communication tools, has become a barren land where only innovation will preservere. My only goal being to exist. The unending result becoming the affirmation to live, not just to be alive.
In this proverbial battle of spirit and will, I am desperatly seeking a way to extinguish these issues once and for all, and fearful that I will never find the way.
I am aware of what I do have. I am not fearful of what may be. But I am concerned with the now. With living each day to the fullest. To find balance in a great deal of many things. To ponder this koan. What I feel like is the unanswerable.
I laid on my couch in silence last night, fighting the desire to "do"; to distract and overanalyze. I started to think about the act of doing and the implications of the word. I have been struggling with sentence syntax in the Japanese language and had been wrestling with using the word "do". It has become increasingly difficult for me to express my needs and communicate when not knowing how and when I should be placing/using the word. My mind began to trail off into the semantics of "Suru", "Shimasu"... and I realized how important this word has become for most.
I fought with myself to not "do"; scrappling to find some serenity, some connection with the peaceful vibration of the universe. When these emotions have come in the past I always had to "do". Paint, write, drink, smoke, read... the list is endless. Most people, have come to rely on "do" to distract and detract, or on the antonym to protect themselves from fear. I search for the balance of this word. I understand in these thoughts the importance of interconnectivity; knowing who you truly are, the art of virtue, and the pratice of peace.
I suppose the biggest difficulty of my plight has been the lack of understanding and the frustration that the habits and emotions we latch onto in our first passage, as James Hollis would say, do not just disappear. So I find that some of my old tools and resources for coping or understanding do not suit me anymore. It is time to move on to the next level of my journey and pick up new evolved skills. I have been trying to practice the act of being for a few years now. Many times I have found this way to be a natural evolution of self and spirit. Many times I have felt peace and fufillment when just existing and enjoying the moments of life. I go in and out of this practice, and find myself struggling at times to phatom how it is even possible to just "exist". I beleive that we all have the ability to do this, that ultimatley, the only way we can truly find peace is to live in this manner, but I also feel that a great amount of shedding is called for in order to attain a constant vibration. I know many woud say this sounds like the Buddhist ideal of Enlightenment, or the Christian ideal of Salvation; so on and so on... but I beleive that it has no name, and that it is possible to achieve it in different ways, in varying steps, and during a wide range of times in our lives.
And so, I am shedding my skin. Something I do often in my life. I suppose as time weathers our tired bodies and expereinces grate on our souls, shedding becomes more painful, more abrasive. The skin undernreath finds itself wearing more thin as cells struggle to regenerate what was once lost. I feel it has become inevitable for me to live in this way, to accept and affirm the other forces at play. To know who I am and my own personal magic.
But something unexpected presents itself after you discover the awareness of these universal laws. There is no clear way to implement them. I know many would argue, but certain facets of worship or practice do not provide for everyone. Each person must find the path that will bring them to balance on their own.
While I write and reread this, and let words flow from my hands, I see that my confusion is the miscommunication I am suffering between myself and the universe. Much like the lapse in communication I feel between myself and the Japanese language, or the isolation of having no one here to verbally exercise my thoughts with. I suppose that by taking away the comfort of communication, I have no other choice but to move into a higher level of living. But what was once a rich and cultivated atmosphere of communication by a multitude of communication tools, has become a barren land where only innovation will preservere. My only goal being to exist. The unending result becoming the affirmation to live, not just to be alive.
In this proverbial battle of spirit and will, I am desperatly seeking a way to extinguish these issues once and for all, and fearful that I will never find the way.
I am aware of what I do have. I am not fearful of what may be. But I am concerned with the now. With living each day to the fullest. To find balance in a great deal of many things. To ponder this koan. What I feel like is the unanswerable.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
The Euphony of Gratitude
I swore to myself I wasn’t going to do this.
Today is Thanksgiving.
When I left I knew very well that I would be missing occasions, happenings, and gatherings. So I swore: I am not going to be that person who writes melancholy and trite ramblings about missing home on the holidays.
Luckily I am keeping my word. Sort of.
I had always been that person who believes it is so much easier when other people are not a fraction of the equation. Out of sight out of mind. I entertained the idea of being away for the holidays for a year or maybe longer. Suffice it to say I was okay with it. Quite frankly I yearned for solitude. I sought out a path that would lead me to isolation. One in which I could live freely without the tangled web woven by relationships. When time moves, it moves for me. My isolation thus far has been a painful and rewarding experience as well. Time not only moves for me; it also pauses and transcends.
I reached a significant point in my journey in the past few weeks. It seems that years of sifting the wheat from the chaff has finally paid off and I have found a vibration that integrates my inner and outer life. I have found ways to utilize my time, because inadvertently, my time is all that exists. I have reached goals that I had once only dreamed of; I quit smoking without any difficulty, returned to my passion for swimming, put my long years of schooling to good use, and created beautiful pieces of art. It’s truly amazing to me and I have spent many moments in awe of my good fortune. I find it ironic, that in one instance I can cry hysterically for the blessing that the universe has bestowed on me; a poor trailer kid from a dysfunctional life whose dreams have come true, while in the next occurrence, I am so depressed and self-loathing, that all I can feel is deep sadness. But in this paradox of emotion, the very essence of self reflection and long periods of time being alienated, help me to understand that the constant flux is representative of something whole. I am grateful for the ability to feel everything in abundance. So, in retrospect, while I sit in my living room, after I just completed one of my favorite paintings, I take in the moment. I sit in total solitude. My painting hanging to dry, drinking a cup of Japanese tea, “Subterranean Homesick Alien” by Radiohead playing in the background, and I realize the perfection of the moment. The slightly askew meter of my life.
I woke up this morning fighting the sadness of not being home for the holidays. Marveling at the lie I have always told myself about hating the holidays. About hating my family life. About how I constantly isolated myself. Realizing in one of those pedestrian moments, that I have always longed for those times. Times when I could say, “I have somewhere I belong”.
Bittersweet. Right now, I belong here, but only now. Temporarily. Forever, I belong home. I belong in the hearts of the people I love. And love renews. As my day went on, I received news that my nephew was born. A beautiful new life; a colossal addition to the ubiquitous love that binds my family. So as I sit in my moment of thanks for all the things that surround me… for the merger of my universal soul… the perfection of the moment lies askew. Feeling so uplifted, but yearning to be with my family. To meet my nephew, to tell my brother I love him, to praise my sister-in-law, and to give thanks along side of my family and friends.
Oh, time, how you play fool to no one.
But what you give in exchange for your unruly behavior is the ephemeral moment of perfection and the indestructible evolution of love. The first moment my brother and sister-in-law looked in their son’s eyes, the toast for another year of thanks, and the space in between where I am sitting right now.
Today is Thanksgiving.
When I left I knew very well that I would be missing occasions, happenings, and gatherings. So I swore: I am not going to be that person who writes melancholy and trite ramblings about missing home on the holidays.
Luckily I am keeping my word. Sort of.
I had always been that person who believes it is so much easier when other people are not a fraction of the equation. Out of sight out of mind. I entertained the idea of being away for the holidays for a year or maybe longer. Suffice it to say I was okay with it. Quite frankly I yearned for solitude. I sought out a path that would lead me to isolation. One in which I could live freely without the tangled web woven by relationships. When time moves, it moves for me. My isolation thus far has been a painful and rewarding experience as well. Time not only moves for me; it also pauses and transcends.
I reached a significant point in my journey in the past few weeks. It seems that years of sifting the wheat from the chaff has finally paid off and I have found a vibration that integrates my inner and outer life. I have found ways to utilize my time, because inadvertently, my time is all that exists. I have reached goals that I had once only dreamed of; I quit smoking without any difficulty, returned to my passion for swimming, put my long years of schooling to good use, and created beautiful pieces of art. It’s truly amazing to me and I have spent many moments in awe of my good fortune. I find it ironic, that in one instance I can cry hysterically for the blessing that the universe has bestowed on me; a poor trailer kid from a dysfunctional life whose dreams have come true, while in the next occurrence, I am so depressed and self-loathing, that all I can feel is deep sadness. But in this paradox of emotion, the very essence of self reflection and long periods of time being alienated, help me to understand that the constant flux is representative of something whole. I am grateful for the ability to feel everything in abundance. So, in retrospect, while I sit in my living room, after I just completed one of my favorite paintings, I take in the moment. I sit in total solitude. My painting hanging to dry, drinking a cup of Japanese tea, “Subterranean Homesick Alien” by Radiohead playing in the background, and I realize the perfection of the moment. The slightly askew meter of my life.
I woke up this morning fighting the sadness of not being home for the holidays. Marveling at the lie I have always told myself about hating the holidays. About hating my family life. About how I constantly isolated myself. Realizing in one of those pedestrian moments, that I have always longed for those times. Times when I could say, “I have somewhere I belong”.
Bittersweet. Right now, I belong here, but only now. Temporarily. Forever, I belong home. I belong in the hearts of the people I love. And love renews. As my day went on, I received news that my nephew was born. A beautiful new life; a colossal addition to the ubiquitous love that binds my family. So as I sit in my moment of thanks for all the things that surround me… for the merger of my universal soul… the perfection of the moment lies askew. Feeling so uplifted, but yearning to be with my family. To meet my nephew, to tell my brother I love him, to praise my sister-in-law, and to give thanks along side of my family and friends.
Oh, time, how you play fool to no one.
But what you give in exchange for your unruly behavior is the ephemeral moment of perfection and the indestructible evolution of love. The first moment my brother and sister-in-law looked in their son’s eyes, the toast for another year of thanks, and the space in between where I am sitting right now.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
The brink of happiness.
Something has been happening to me. It's a feeling that is not unfamiliar; it is one that has always haunted and eluded me. Based on the fore mentioned title, it seems that the next sentence here should be my exclamation of happiness; how I avoided it all my life due to a manifestation of all of my insecurities and fears, and now finally, one day, THIS DAY, I have realized that happiness has been at my door always, and I have finally decided to answer the bell.
Hmmm.
The truth is,(or so I believe it to be): yes. Happiness eludes us all, and yes; it is always there for the taking via a shift in perspective...
But what I have been experiencing is the brink of happiness.
When I was a child, I formulated dreams and goals, to numb the circumstances I lived in. I was a severe dreamer; always getting in trouble for dazing, lollygagging, and half-assing. Every situation I encountered had a counter part. My room was a nursery filled with my children, a rock concert stage, an artist’s studio, a prison, and an empty space that I vacated...all in that order. As I got older my goals and dreams matured, but always circumvented around the person I wanted to be someday. I would imagine the qualities and characteristics I would have. I would imagine the people and events that would take place. Through this daydreaming I would uncover clues to my strengths and weaknesses, desires, and dislikes, insecurities and fears, and pave a road of self-exploration rich with facets of my inner being. Dreams served as a pathway. It was my dreams that first introduced me to the universe and the power of intention.
When I was 4 years old I went outside one night to a little hill in the woods next to my house. Everything was changing. I think from a very early age I learned about change and that most usually it comes with the yin and yang of something good and something bad. I remember being scared. But even though it was twilight and getting dark in the small clearing in the woods, I wasn’t afraid of the elements. I thought about my grandpa who told me that if I made a wish on a star it would come true. I couldn’t tell you why I wished for this, I just only remember being on this hill and thinking about it. I asked the star, in a Jiminy Cricket manner, for brothers and sisters. I knew damn well they weren’t coming from my mom and dad, but I needed them. That was the first time I asked the universe for anything. And it delivered. I spent the rest of my life adoring every inch of who they are.
I will never forget that memory. It had taught me so much in so many ways I can’t begin to list. But its pertinence to now is reflective of how dreams, how we, how our inward selves and outward selves are all threads in the loom. How our dreams and desires come from the deep recesses of our souls. They are the well of happiness. What prevents us from happiness is the way in which we access the well.
Due to my constant dual state of fantasy, I was always close to the well, but only utilized it to quench my thirst, never to stay hydrated.
When I was a kid those dreams were a life line. When I was a kid those dreams were so enhanced and extrapolated and their purpose was simply one of promise for something better. Although they were a source for learning about my personal definition of happiness, they weren’t enough alone. When I would encounter gratifying situations, I would match them up to my ideal, and if they didn’t fit, I wasn’t truly happy. I was living a notion of controlled happiness. When I look back in retrospect from today, what I do remember more than happiness is content, peace, and love. Happiness for me has become too strong of a word. I fear happiness as a component of the English language.
I (or even we as people) rely so much on happiness, because to me, happiness was a merger of actuality and fantasy. What has begun to happen to me now, is the recognition that I am on the brink of happiness. I sat down at my desk before and rolled over in my head the current circumstances of my life. I began to feel elated. I then felt an overwhelming lump in my throat when I almost said (to myself mind you), “I am happy”. I don’t want to say it. I realized that all my life I was afraid of being happy.
If you ain’t got nothin’ you got nothin’ to lose.
I was afraid to say “it” because if I did it might stop happiness from occurring. Something bad would happen. It will change. It won’t last. The funny thing is, I haven’t even fully experienced or completed the actions that I am associating with happiness. I am on the brink. I am on the brink of career situations and projects that I have dreamed of. I am on the brink of spending the rest of my life with my prince charming. I am on the brink of...
But I’m not. Maybe I am not healed, but I am at peace with my soul. Maybe I am not influential, but I am influencing children and people everyday. Maybe I am not showing work in major cities, but I am painting in solitude frequently. Maybe I am not Mrs. So and so, but I am in love. Now. Right now. I am. I am in an uncontrollable state of living.
I've never given up on day dreaming.
Hmmm.
The truth is,(or so I believe it to be): yes. Happiness eludes us all, and yes; it is always there for the taking via a shift in perspective...
But what I have been experiencing is the brink of happiness.
When I was a child, I formulated dreams and goals, to numb the circumstances I lived in. I was a severe dreamer; always getting in trouble for dazing, lollygagging, and half-assing. Every situation I encountered had a counter part. My room was a nursery filled with my children, a rock concert stage, an artist’s studio, a prison, and an empty space that I vacated...all in that order. As I got older my goals and dreams matured, but always circumvented around the person I wanted to be someday. I would imagine the qualities and characteristics I would have. I would imagine the people and events that would take place. Through this daydreaming I would uncover clues to my strengths and weaknesses, desires, and dislikes, insecurities and fears, and pave a road of self-exploration rich with facets of my inner being. Dreams served as a pathway. It was my dreams that first introduced me to the universe and the power of intention.
When I was 4 years old I went outside one night to a little hill in the woods next to my house. Everything was changing. I think from a very early age I learned about change and that most usually it comes with the yin and yang of something good and something bad. I remember being scared. But even though it was twilight and getting dark in the small clearing in the woods, I wasn’t afraid of the elements. I thought about my grandpa who told me that if I made a wish on a star it would come true. I couldn’t tell you why I wished for this, I just only remember being on this hill and thinking about it. I asked the star, in a Jiminy Cricket manner, for brothers and sisters. I knew damn well they weren’t coming from my mom and dad, but I needed them. That was the first time I asked the universe for anything. And it delivered. I spent the rest of my life adoring every inch of who they are.
I will never forget that memory. It had taught me so much in so many ways I can’t begin to list. But its pertinence to now is reflective of how dreams, how we, how our inward selves and outward selves are all threads in the loom. How our dreams and desires come from the deep recesses of our souls. They are the well of happiness. What prevents us from happiness is the way in which we access the well.
Due to my constant dual state of fantasy, I was always close to the well, but only utilized it to quench my thirst, never to stay hydrated.
When I was a kid those dreams were a life line. When I was a kid those dreams were so enhanced and extrapolated and their purpose was simply one of promise for something better. Although they were a source for learning about my personal definition of happiness, they weren’t enough alone. When I would encounter gratifying situations, I would match them up to my ideal, and if they didn’t fit, I wasn’t truly happy. I was living a notion of controlled happiness. When I look back in retrospect from today, what I do remember more than happiness is content, peace, and love. Happiness for me has become too strong of a word. I fear happiness as a component of the English language.
I (or even we as people) rely so much on happiness, because to me, happiness was a merger of actuality and fantasy. What has begun to happen to me now, is the recognition that I am on the brink of happiness. I sat down at my desk before and rolled over in my head the current circumstances of my life. I began to feel elated. I then felt an overwhelming lump in my throat when I almost said (to myself mind you), “I am happy”. I don’t want to say it. I realized that all my life I was afraid of being happy.
If you ain’t got nothin’ you got nothin’ to lose.
I was afraid to say “it” because if I did it might stop happiness from occurring. Something bad would happen. It will change. It won’t last. The funny thing is, I haven’t even fully experienced or completed the actions that I am associating with happiness. I am on the brink. I am on the brink of career situations and projects that I have dreamed of. I am on the brink of spending the rest of my life with my prince charming. I am on the brink of...
But I’m not. Maybe I am not healed, but I am at peace with my soul. Maybe I am not influential, but I am influencing children and people everyday. Maybe I am not showing work in major cities, but I am painting in solitude frequently. Maybe I am not Mrs. So and so, but I am in love. Now. Right now. I am. I am in an uncontrollable state of living.
I've never given up on day dreaming.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Don't let your thoughts get in the way...
Per the advice of someone I respect greatly, I let my mind take a back seat the past few weeks. Consequently, it is the end of October already. This hiatus from my thoughts was not a welcome one I must say, and in correlation to the metaphors I have been writing about, it is much more difficult to look into the mirror than to go through it.
When discussing the notion of connectivity or interconnectivity, it is easy to understand that we, as human beings, are part of the larger, natural picture. We too are akin to the elements: air, earth, water, fire, wind. This observation is not to compare us with an astrological influence or a pagan belief, but to show the metaphorical relationship between people and nature; much like the Japanese Shinto belief. It is said that people who are like air are flighty, fickle and that people who are like earth are solid and dry. People reflective of water are sensitive and mobile, and people who are like fire are well...you know. I suppose that the pondering of these representations are coming from my recent experience in light of the advice I had been given.
In many spiritual pursuits "fragment" is a dirty word. Fragment is the implication that one is not "one" and therefore removed from God, Dharma, or interconnectivity. I spoke in my last entry about the fragmentation of my being and how I believe that comes into play with our intangible self. Spiritually, we are supposed to be aiming at aligning those fragments, so they are no longer pieces, but are eventually a whole. I also discussed in previous entries that I believe when we are born we are born whole, and we work our entire lives, or in some beliefs many lives, to recover those pieces. The point: we are all trying to return to “whole” in our own way. The journey to retrieve ourselves and our connection to the infinite is filled with many currents. One can never be lost but only adrift. I find that we are caught in different elemental traps, such as the whirlpool of emotion, the gust of thought, the stubbornness of imbedded rock, or the burning desire of...well, you know.
Per some wise advice I understood that we only get pruny when we hang out in the water too long.
I was starting to wrinkle.
When we try to merely balance the disconnect we lose sight of the whole. The act of trying to balance disconnection is an act of rationalization. I think that rationalization is part of the journey onward, the assessment and integration of occurrences in our lives, but to linger in any one fragment is to be caught in the whirlpool. Soon we observe, process, rationalize, and integrate so much that we force an imbalance of self and interconnectivity.
I was angry that I had to stop thinking so much. Writing about my thoughts, thinking and analyzing my circumstance and environment were a comfortable and familiar element.
Its nice and warm in the water, I don’t want to get out, mom!
Then I realized. I was spinning in my thoughts. The scrutiny of my depression was preventing me from feeling the depression. If emotions are only considered in thought, then they can never truly be integrated or released. As a result, we spend our time trying to rationalize and "balance" the tear, instead of realigning our true self with the infinite. There is no need to force a balance if we can just be.
Self is a subjective and relative experience
as well as an objective and natural existence.
In true fight or flight fashion, I used rationalization as a tool to stave off the overwhelming feelings of the unfamiliar; and I don’t mean octopus legs on a stick and engrish. It was the unfamiliarity of grieving for the lack of physicality of my loved ones and the opportunity of time on my hands.
Advice when given is seldom ever new news. We all have it in us, (we are all part of the flow) but most often, the best advice, is one that we have to be reminded of. The recollection is a reminder that we are all part of the same whole.
Like the elements, we all know what to do. We are all part of something bigger, whether you call it God, Dharma, or Nature. We all know how to swim. We don’t have to learn; we just have to be reminded. Our intangible is put into place to keep us connected, not to work against us. I suppose that the best advice is to stop fighting the current, but to remember that we are not just water; we are also air, earth and fire. If we maintain all elements at once, then we can never be stuck for too long.
The past three weeks I choose experience over thought. I drove spontaneously to Oirase Gorge, which is said to be the most beautiful place for foliage viewing in Japan. My friend and I walked along the path taking in the elements at every turn. I stopped at the edge of the stream where leaves were pooling around a rock. I could see my reflection in the water. The reflection is not so austere when seen this way. The soft contours of my face shook with every breath of the wind. The warmth of the sunlight gave the illusion of a glow beaming from behind.
This is all I have of this moment, because that is all that it was,
And all that it should be.
When discussing the notion of connectivity or interconnectivity, it is easy to understand that we, as human beings, are part of the larger, natural picture. We too are akin to the elements: air, earth, water, fire, wind. This observation is not to compare us with an astrological influence or a pagan belief, but to show the metaphorical relationship between people and nature; much like the Japanese Shinto belief. It is said that people who are like air are flighty, fickle and that people who are like earth are solid and dry. People reflective of water are sensitive and mobile, and people who are like fire are well...you know. I suppose that the pondering of these representations are coming from my recent experience in light of the advice I had been given.
In many spiritual pursuits "fragment" is a dirty word. Fragment is the implication that one is not "one" and therefore removed from God, Dharma, or interconnectivity. I spoke in my last entry about the fragmentation of my being and how I believe that comes into play with our intangible self. Spiritually, we are supposed to be aiming at aligning those fragments, so they are no longer pieces, but are eventually a whole. I also discussed in previous entries that I believe when we are born we are born whole, and we work our entire lives, or in some beliefs many lives, to recover those pieces. The point: we are all trying to return to “whole” in our own way. The journey to retrieve ourselves and our connection to the infinite is filled with many currents. One can never be lost but only adrift. I find that we are caught in different elemental traps, such as the whirlpool of emotion, the gust of thought, the stubbornness of imbedded rock, or the burning desire of...well, you know.
Per some wise advice I understood that we only get pruny when we hang out in the water too long.
I was starting to wrinkle.
When we try to merely balance the disconnect we lose sight of the whole. The act of trying to balance disconnection is an act of rationalization. I think that rationalization is part of the journey onward, the assessment and integration of occurrences in our lives, but to linger in any one fragment is to be caught in the whirlpool. Soon we observe, process, rationalize, and integrate so much that we force an imbalance of self and interconnectivity.
I was angry that I had to stop thinking so much. Writing about my thoughts, thinking and analyzing my circumstance and environment were a comfortable and familiar element.
Its nice and warm in the water, I don’t want to get out, mom!
Then I realized. I was spinning in my thoughts. The scrutiny of my depression was preventing me from feeling the depression. If emotions are only considered in thought, then they can never truly be integrated or released. As a result, we spend our time trying to rationalize and "balance" the tear, instead of realigning our true self with the infinite. There is no need to force a balance if we can just be.
Self is a subjective and relative experience
as well as an objective and natural existence.
In true fight or flight fashion, I used rationalization as a tool to stave off the overwhelming feelings of the unfamiliar; and I don’t mean octopus legs on a stick and engrish. It was the unfamiliarity of grieving for the lack of physicality of my loved ones and the opportunity of time on my hands.
Advice when given is seldom ever new news. We all have it in us, (we are all part of the flow) but most often, the best advice, is one that we have to be reminded of. The recollection is a reminder that we are all part of the same whole.
Like the elements, we all know what to do. We are all part of something bigger, whether you call it God, Dharma, or Nature. We all know how to swim. We don’t have to learn; we just have to be reminded. Our intangible is put into place to keep us connected, not to work against us. I suppose that the best advice is to stop fighting the current, but to remember that we are not just water; we are also air, earth and fire. If we maintain all elements at once, then we can never be stuck for too long.
The past three weeks I choose experience over thought. I drove spontaneously to Oirase Gorge, which is said to be the most beautiful place for foliage viewing in Japan. My friend and I walked along the path taking in the elements at every turn. I stopped at the edge of the stream where leaves were pooling around a rock. I could see my reflection in the water. The reflection is not so austere when seen this way. The soft contours of my face shook with every breath of the wind. The warmth of the sunlight gave the illusion of a glow beaming from behind.
This is all I have of this moment, because that is all that it was,
And all that it should be.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Fragments of Self
[I have asked myself repeatedly why my adaptation to Japan seems so different than my peers. I look around me and see others reliving their college experience, traveling around or outside the country, experiencing life here with a zest for displacement. I have written about most of my experiences in life being something spiritual; always looking for the deeper meaning behind actions, situations, relationships, and choices. As I fumble through living each day I evaluate the "whys". I have crossed over through the looking glass only to realize that I am only staring at my reflection on the other side.]
I have grown weary of the emotional roller coaster I have been living on. I am grateful for the ability to examine my feelings in depth. I have spent more time sobbing than smiling in the past few weeks, but I recognize this as a form of purging, not unhappiness. A good friend once gave me wise advice. She told me that when you are confused, when you are upset, it is a great thing, because it means that your mind and body is sorting something out. Searching for answers.
In my personal disarray, I have entertained many notions and "why's". I have met some very intimidating thoughts that I never would have expected to entertain as a result of moving to a foreign country. For example, I have begun to explore the idea that I have inherited the same disease that my father has. I have always been afraid of losing sound mind, of being crazy. I have spent years approaching the explanation of "crazy" from a spiritual stand point. I have only believed self-medication and chemical imbalance to be symptoms, not the cause. In this thought, that I, am capable of being clinically depressed (that I am clinically depressed), I begun to dissect the issue in search of the cause. One aspect that my fahter and I do not share is the ability to self reflect and to cope with my discoveries in a healthy way. Still, that does not negate my negative thoughts, the impulse to burst into tears, or my anti-social behavior.
I could spend my time justifying my actions, chalking each emotion up to something horrible that has happened in my life, or live under the umbrella that I miss my family and friends, but that would be nominal, because one thing I have discovered for sure, is that I have felt this way my whole life.
In an effort to utilize my location, I revisited Showa Daibutsu (The tallest Buddha statue in Japan, just a few minutes from my house). Being there certainly gives me a sense of inner peace. I enjoy reading the mantras and I find solace in the meanings. I decided to purchase one of the texts by Ryuko Oda, a venerable priest of Esoteric Buddhism here in Aomori. My spiritual pursuits have provided me with a sense of direction over the years. Engaging in that exploration has once again helped me to find comfort, but the teachings in Oda's book prompted me to think about the cause of my depression.
I have never been a believer in absoluteness. I have always been a believer in ideas. In many religion's and spirituality's, including Buddhism, there is an absolute power. Even science boasts a sense of absolution through its pursuit of accountability. What I do believe in though, much like science, and much like spirituality, is creation. I believe that we have all been created. Right now I am not interested in why or how; what I am interested in is "what". What are we made of? Science has told us that we are made of flesh, bone, and about 60% water. Religion tells us that we are made of God by God. None of these ideas explain in depth the dimensions of what we are though. Although both have formulated explanations, nothing can be proven about the intangible. That is what I want to know. The intangible is what makes us crazy or depressed. It is the gamut of emotions that we all feel as humans. Science describes the intangible emotion as the chemical actions in the limbic system of our brains. Spirituality describes it as something left, for example, in Esoteric Buddhism, the intangible results from karma, which is derived from dharma or the universal law. So then, what are we made of intangibly?
I began to develop an idea about our intangibility when I was reading about the Buddhist belief of relinquishing ego: destroying self. Although I have been aware of this component in Buddhism, when I read it this time, it evoked a personal struggle in me. Aside from my opinion on the idea of destroying self and ego, what is poignant is how I began to define self during my contemplation of the idea. I started to visualize the different parts of self. Not the notion of likes and dislikes or how unique and special we all are, but the dimensions that we live in emotionally; intangibly. It seems that emotional life itself is multidimensional in two ways: sensory and perception. Most can attest to a multi sensory emotional life where our emotions are stimulated by instances like the sight of our children being born, the smell of a package from a loving atmosphere when opened, or the sound of a melody equated with a memory. I think most are aware of only the multi sensory process; base emotional information and response on a subconscious level. Multi perception though, is another multidimensional facet, and processes how we perceive our self, and who we aspire to be. I believe we are comprised of 6 dimensions of perceptive self: Fantasy, Actuality, Subjectivity, Objectivity, Projection, and Reality. These 6 components create opinion and ultimately perception.
Fantasy
Fantasy is the most important part of self I believe. Fantasy is where we create our goals. It provides a world full of perfection for us; fulfilling situations, peace, security in relationships, confidence. The list is full of endless possibilities. Fantasy is the place in our minds where we visualize who we want to be and how we want to feel.
Actuality
Actuality is the subconscious recognition of our environment, surroundings, and situations as they truly exist. I believe that although our minds are capable of observing and processing the true nature of our lives, we seldom acknowledge it. I do not list people in this category because I do not believe that people can be seen in a purely definitive light. One cannot completely be aware of every component of another person and people, blinded by subjectivity and other parts of multidimensional self, cannot see themselves in a completely objective state.
Subjectivity
Subjectivity is the way in which we exist in the actuality of our surroundings. It is our biases, our actions and reactions, it is the way in which we allow circumstance to affect us.
Objectivity
Objectivity is the conscious attempt to remain judgement free and assess life as it truly exists.
Projection
Projection is the intention to realize what we aspire to be and how we aspire to feel. It is thought of action towards changing self, whether through additive or subtractive means. This is where we feel optimism.
Reality
Reality is our individual assessment of life based on the combination of each of the perceptive dimensions and the multi sensory information input we acquire.
All 6 dimensions along with multi sensory information create our perception of the world and how we exist in it. These components are communicated within ourselves and with others through three vehicles: Thought, Physiological reaction, and Emotion. The analysis of these components, how you assess the information you acquire, is what makes you you.
Now in matters of depression or being "crazy". When these components do not add up, then self "splits". I think that the severity of the split, and of course other chemical and physical issues, warrants the degree of emotional discourse. For example, in my present situation, I have experienced a split in self when I removed myself from my reality. This does not mean that my reality was safe and secure and this new one is barbaric and threatening. I am not suggesting that reality is a lucid dream full of rainbows and no pain (although for some this is a state of denial). But people are able to create a reality that copes with the pains of life, that explains and validates it. Although it may be uncomfortable, we find ways to coexist. We spend our whole lives building those fortresses, I am simply saying that I left mine.
For some, I think the tear is to drastic, too vast. This results in full blown illnesses like schizophrenia, manic depression, and bipolar disorder. For others, the tear is like that tiny hole in your shirt that is just a hair shy of the seam. In this way, the only variance of sanity is dependant on the size of the tear, and we all are capable of insanity. By size of "tear" I do not mean the situation or circumstance that pushes one over the edge, some experiences that seem small in magnitude can be enormous for others. The tear is the width of disconnect that exists between each dimension.
So in becoming my own case study, I realized that I removed myself from my reality, and that caused part of the tear. But that only goes so far. What about the rest of my life? Why have I always secretly battled with depression, isolation, and mild bipolar feelings? There are other rips in the fabric of self. I believe that the most prominent tear for me, and quite possibly most people, is the disconnect between fantasy, actuality, and reality.
I explained that actuality is the world as it actually exists, and although we observe and process that information, we seldom acknowledge it. This doesn't mean that it doesn't find ways to creep from our subconscious into our consciousness. When that information seeps through, it is a huge shock to our intangible paradigm. We did not make room for that information in our reality, and suddenly, we must choose to embrace and integrate it or suppress it. Either way, that information has an impact on our other dimensions, effecting the fantasy portion the most profoundly. Depending on the type of information received, it can support or crush our fantasies; our hopes and dreams for self. Consequently, that is why many people choose to suppress it, but unfortunately, this perpetuates discourse. Some people diverge the information to objectivity, which is pertinent, but impossible to stay solely in that dimension. Whether we like it or not, we are also intangible beings unable to prove any real certainty of emotion and therefore cannot speculate the actuality of everything. Our only real option is to incorporate the information into our fantasy and shift our reality. If the disconnect is too large, then this can create disillusion on a grand scale, if it is small, then ultimately we are lying to ourselves. Or are we?
The idea when dealing with self is to maintain a healthy balance of disconnect. To not let the tear grow too big, but, to not sew them all up so we can continue to challenge our reality. Not challenging our reality is just as crazy as avoiding actuality. While I am here in Japan, I am discovering an old run in my stockings because it grew to big to wear them any more. I am shifting my reality, and yes, its been painful, but necessary for my growth. My very wise friend was right when she said that confusion and pain is neccessary. This epiphany is the result of my two weeks of depression. Am I cured? No. However, I got on my bike yesterday and rode through the city streets with the sun on my face. I haven't smoked a cigarette in almost two weeks. I let myself feel the freshness of the air in my lungs as my legs pumped the pedals on my bike. I rode down windy and narrow streets admiring the charms of old japan. I stopped into a small second hand boutique where a seamstress was sewing custom kimonos by hand. A couple was kneeling on the tatami looking at fabric patterns for their wedding. I let myself merge my dimensions of fantasy, actuality, and reality. I tried on a kimono and looked at myself in the reflection of the shop window. In actuality, I was wearing a stained second hand kimono, standing on a sidewalk looking in a dusty old window, but I was beautiful. 6 years ago I imagined myself in Japan, wearing a traditional kimono, in love, peaceful, feeling alive. I did that yesterday. Maybe not as I fantasized exactly, but I felt it. I felt connected to something. I saw the intangible. What I was made of in that moment was something words cannot describe. I bought the kimono for 100 yen.
There isn't any one thing that is going to heal me. Not even myself. There isn't a drug or faith that is going to present all of the answers. This is life. This is the actuality. But, I believe, that the recognition of multi dimensional perception provides us with an opportunity to experience living. It doesn't have to always be fulfilling, easy, appealing, or peaceful. Maybe it can be, but maybe that is why I have been experiencing the roller coaster of emotions my whole life, because I don't want it to be.
I have grown weary of the emotional roller coaster I have been living on. I am grateful for the ability to examine my feelings in depth. I have spent more time sobbing than smiling in the past few weeks, but I recognize this as a form of purging, not unhappiness. A good friend once gave me wise advice. She told me that when you are confused, when you are upset, it is a great thing, because it means that your mind and body is sorting something out. Searching for answers.
In my personal disarray, I have entertained many notions and "why's". I have met some very intimidating thoughts that I never would have expected to entertain as a result of moving to a foreign country. For example, I have begun to explore the idea that I have inherited the same disease that my father has. I have always been afraid of losing sound mind, of being crazy. I have spent years approaching the explanation of "crazy" from a spiritual stand point. I have only believed self-medication and chemical imbalance to be symptoms, not the cause. In this thought, that I, am capable of being clinically depressed (that I am clinically depressed), I begun to dissect the issue in search of the cause. One aspect that my fahter and I do not share is the ability to self reflect and to cope with my discoveries in a healthy way. Still, that does not negate my negative thoughts, the impulse to burst into tears, or my anti-social behavior.
I could spend my time justifying my actions, chalking each emotion up to something horrible that has happened in my life, or live under the umbrella that I miss my family and friends, but that would be nominal, because one thing I have discovered for sure, is that I have felt this way my whole life.
In an effort to utilize my location, I revisited Showa Daibutsu (The tallest Buddha statue in Japan, just a few minutes from my house). Being there certainly gives me a sense of inner peace. I enjoy reading the mantras and I find solace in the meanings. I decided to purchase one of the texts by Ryuko Oda, a venerable priest of Esoteric Buddhism here in Aomori. My spiritual pursuits have provided me with a sense of direction over the years. Engaging in that exploration has once again helped me to find comfort, but the teachings in Oda's book prompted me to think about the cause of my depression.
I have never been a believer in absoluteness. I have always been a believer in ideas. In many religion's and spirituality's, including Buddhism, there is an absolute power. Even science boasts a sense of absolution through its pursuit of accountability. What I do believe in though, much like science, and much like spirituality, is creation. I believe that we have all been created. Right now I am not interested in why or how; what I am interested in is "what". What are we made of? Science has told us that we are made of flesh, bone, and about 60% water. Religion tells us that we are made of God by God. None of these ideas explain in depth the dimensions of what we are though. Although both have formulated explanations, nothing can be proven about the intangible. That is what I want to know. The intangible is what makes us crazy or depressed. It is the gamut of emotions that we all feel as humans. Science describes the intangible emotion as the chemical actions in the limbic system of our brains. Spirituality describes it as something left, for example, in Esoteric Buddhism, the intangible results from karma, which is derived from dharma or the universal law. So then, what are we made of intangibly?
I began to develop an idea about our intangibility when I was reading about the Buddhist belief of relinquishing ego: destroying self. Although I have been aware of this component in Buddhism, when I read it this time, it evoked a personal struggle in me. Aside from my opinion on the idea of destroying self and ego, what is poignant is how I began to define self during my contemplation of the idea. I started to visualize the different parts of self. Not the notion of likes and dislikes or how unique and special we all are, but the dimensions that we live in emotionally; intangibly. It seems that emotional life itself is multidimensional in two ways: sensory and perception. Most can attest to a multi sensory emotional life where our emotions are stimulated by instances like the sight of our children being born, the smell of a package from a loving atmosphere when opened, or the sound of a melody equated with a memory. I think most are aware of only the multi sensory process; base emotional information and response on a subconscious level. Multi perception though, is another multidimensional facet, and processes how we perceive our self, and who we aspire to be. I believe we are comprised of 6 dimensions of perceptive self: Fantasy, Actuality, Subjectivity, Objectivity, Projection, and Reality. These 6 components create opinion and ultimately perception.
Fantasy
Fantasy is the most important part of self I believe. Fantasy is where we create our goals. It provides a world full of perfection for us; fulfilling situations, peace, security in relationships, confidence. The list is full of endless possibilities. Fantasy is the place in our minds where we visualize who we want to be and how we want to feel.
Actuality
Actuality is the subconscious recognition of our environment, surroundings, and situations as they truly exist. I believe that although our minds are capable of observing and processing the true nature of our lives, we seldom acknowledge it. I do not list people in this category because I do not believe that people can be seen in a purely definitive light. One cannot completely be aware of every component of another person and people, blinded by subjectivity and other parts of multidimensional self, cannot see themselves in a completely objective state.
Subjectivity
Subjectivity is the way in which we exist in the actuality of our surroundings. It is our biases, our actions and reactions, it is the way in which we allow circumstance to affect us.
Objectivity
Objectivity is the conscious attempt to remain judgement free and assess life as it truly exists.
Projection
Projection is the intention to realize what we aspire to be and how we aspire to feel. It is thought of action towards changing self, whether through additive or subtractive means. This is where we feel optimism.
Reality
Reality is our individual assessment of life based on the combination of each of the perceptive dimensions and the multi sensory information input we acquire.
All 6 dimensions along with multi sensory information create our perception of the world and how we exist in it. These components are communicated within ourselves and with others through three vehicles: Thought, Physiological reaction, and Emotion. The analysis of these components, how you assess the information you acquire, is what makes you you.
Now in matters of depression or being "crazy". When these components do not add up, then self "splits". I think that the severity of the split, and of course other chemical and physical issues, warrants the degree of emotional discourse. For example, in my present situation, I have experienced a split in self when I removed myself from my reality. This does not mean that my reality was safe and secure and this new one is barbaric and threatening. I am not suggesting that reality is a lucid dream full of rainbows and no pain (although for some this is a state of denial). But people are able to create a reality that copes with the pains of life, that explains and validates it. Although it may be uncomfortable, we find ways to coexist. We spend our whole lives building those fortresses, I am simply saying that I left mine.
For some, I think the tear is to drastic, too vast. This results in full blown illnesses like schizophrenia, manic depression, and bipolar disorder. For others, the tear is like that tiny hole in your shirt that is just a hair shy of the seam. In this way, the only variance of sanity is dependant on the size of the tear, and we all are capable of insanity. By size of "tear" I do not mean the situation or circumstance that pushes one over the edge, some experiences that seem small in magnitude can be enormous for others. The tear is the width of disconnect that exists between each dimension.
So in becoming my own case study, I realized that I removed myself from my reality, and that caused part of the tear. But that only goes so far. What about the rest of my life? Why have I always secretly battled with depression, isolation, and mild bipolar feelings? There are other rips in the fabric of self. I believe that the most prominent tear for me, and quite possibly most people, is the disconnect between fantasy, actuality, and reality.
I explained that actuality is the world as it actually exists, and although we observe and process that information, we seldom acknowledge it. This doesn't mean that it doesn't find ways to creep from our subconscious into our consciousness. When that information seeps through, it is a huge shock to our intangible paradigm. We did not make room for that information in our reality, and suddenly, we must choose to embrace and integrate it or suppress it. Either way, that information has an impact on our other dimensions, effecting the fantasy portion the most profoundly. Depending on the type of information received, it can support or crush our fantasies; our hopes and dreams for self. Consequently, that is why many people choose to suppress it, but unfortunately, this perpetuates discourse. Some people diverge the information to objectivity, which is pertinent, but impossible to stay solely in that dimension. Whether we like it or not, we are also intangible beings unable to prove any real certainty of emotion and therefore cannot speculate the actuality of everything. Our only real option is to incorporate the information into our fantasy and shift our reality. If the disconnect is too large, then this can create disillusion on a grand scale, if it is small, then ultimately we are lying to ourselves. Or are we?
The idea when dealing with self is to maintain a healthy balance of disconnect. To not let the tear grow too big, but, to not sew them all up so we can continue to challenge our reality. Not challenging our reality is just as crazy as avoiding actuality. While I am here in Japan, I am discovering an old run in my stockings because it grew to big to wear them any more. I am shifting my reality, and yes, its been painful, but necessary for my growth. My very wise friend was right when she said that confusion and pain is neccessary. This epiphany is the result of my two weeks of depression. Am I cured? No. However, I got on my bike yesterday and rode through the city streets with the sun on my face. I haven't smoked a cigarette in almost two weeks. I let myself feel the freshness of the air in my lungs as my legs pumped the pedals on my bike. I rode down windy and narrow streets admiring the charms of old japan. I stopped into a small second hand boutique where a seamstress was sewing custom kimonos by hand. A couple was kneeling on the tatami looking at fabric patterns for their wedding. I let myself merge my dimensions of fantasy, actuality, and reality. I tried on a kimono and looked at myself in the reflection of the shop window. In actuality, I was wearing a stained second hand kimono, standing on a sidewalk looking in a dusty old window, but I was beautiful. 6 years ago I imagined myself in Japan, wearing a traditional kimono, in love, peaceful, feeling alive. I did that yesterday. Maybe not as I fantasized exactly, but I felt it. I felt connected to something. I saw the intangible. What I was made of in that moment was something words cannot describe. I bought the kimono for 100 yen.
There isn't any one thing that is going to heal me. Not even myself. There isn't a drug or faith that is going to present all of the answers. This is life. This is the actuality. But, I believe, that the recognition of multi dimensional perception provides us with an opportunity to experience living. It doesn't have to always be fulfilling, easy, appealing, or peaceful. Maybe it can be, but maybe that is why I have been experiencing the roller coaster of emotions my whole life, because I don't want it to be.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Through the Looking Glass
Almost two months have passed since I have been in Japan and time has begun to march on just as it would in any typical daily routine. Days pass as I repeat the same sequence of events: waking up, showering, going to work, teaching, sitting in traffic, eating dinner, and light reading or a movie before bed. On one flip of the coin I am moving through the universal experience; setting up and knocking down the familiar. Of course, every coin has its tails, and as Alice discovered, every mirror has its reflection.
Appeasing my daily routine, I browsed through facebook this morning.
A friend of mine and a brilliant writer posted an exert from Lewis Carroll, more specifically, from Alice in Wonderland. His post reminded me of my favorite Lewis Carroll piece: the "Jabberwocky". The "Jabberwocky" always appealed to me because of its curious structure and definition, and also Carroll's unparalleled use of portmanteau. Many of us are aware of portmanteau linguistics today, but through cheesy and annoying advertising that places words like "Chillaxin" into the English lexicon. Carroll, however, had an innovative way of placing two words together to mean one thing, and referred to this approach as the balance of two words at the same time. This method was sheer perfection for a story like Alice's, which was the demonstration of what happens when worlds collide, or more importantly, when we realize that the end of the line is actually the beginning.
What interests me about Alice and her journey in Through the Looking Glass is the premise that she never really left reality, that reality (based on the idea that reality is relative) and actuality simply merged, which gave her the illusion that she traversed into a world of nonsense. When looked at through the usage of portmanteau, words like "mimsy" seem irrational, but when you understand that it is the merger of "flimsy" and "miserable" and the word is placed appropriately in a sentence, it makes perfect sense.
The merger of words leads into the merger of perceptions, and alike the merger of worlds.
For me, Japan is my parallel universe. I, like Alice, stepped through the looking glass. As I float through the monotony of modern living, I am surrounded by my reality of familiar themes. I go shopping in a supermarket and cook my own meals. I live in an apartment on the third floor and arduously carry groceries up the stairs. I drive a car and take weekend trips. I go to work and teach students. My life, is paralleledby another existence though; by the actuality of my surroundings. Hence, two worlds collide.
I always looked at the mirror wondering what it was like on the other side. The reflection that stared back wasn't quite me, how could it be? It looked like I did, but different, it moved its lips like mine, but the reply was incomprehensible. In that difference was another world filled with possibilities. A world that I have never known. I decided that by just simply glaring at my reflection everyday I would never truly know. I must get to the other side. I must go through the looking glass.
As I began to cross over I thought to myself that many people believe that there is only two sides to the looking glass, but a mirror is like a menagerie; it is contains endless reflections when presented with itself.
When I stepped through the glass time stood still, it remained daylight during the times when it should not be day. I crossed over the farthest point on the earth in a short matter of time.
I arrived on the other side to discover that I had lost a whole day.
At first glance everything resembled the image that I left. But of course, I am on the other side of the glass, just by mere principal things cannot be the same. People look like people, but they are different. It is clear that I am not from this side of the mirror. When they talk they use words but the words do not have meaning to me and it sounds like pure nonsense. Grocery stores look like grocery stores but are filled with items that I cannot identify. I have an apartment that is devoid of central heating and requires me to manually light a pilot for the stove, faucet, and shower. Trips take twice as long as I have a maze of riddled language and directions to conquer. Students realize that I am from the other side of the glass and struggle to find ways to relate to me. There is a gamut of emotion that is felt when one steps through the looking glass. Much like Alice, I feel so many different emotions everyday, and some days you are so busy trying to figure out what a momerath is, that you cant feel anything at all. Quite frankly, at times, it makes me want to stab myself with a spork.
For Alice, she was desperately looking for answers to make sense of the nonsense that she found. But in reality, she went through the looking glass to make sense of the nonsense she already knew. She discovers that the whole time she is struggling against the nonsense from the latter side of the glass, that she simply is working back to square one. What she doesn't know is that her journey was actually an assessment of which nonsense is more sensible in her own reality. The epiphany is that the parallel universe exists within ourselves, the reflection can only exist within the mirror. As you shift the position of the mirror you absorb more or less light, more or less reflections. What I am looking for is what position will refract all points of light. How can I repair the disconnect between the nonsense. How can I be all dimensions at all times?
I think this was the juxtaposition between Carroll and portmanteau linguistics. The reason the word can be balanced is because it is one of the same, yet, completely different. Carroll managed to bridge each facet of the mirror, for him, there was no going through the looking glass, because it existed everywhere. For Alice, she just needed to figure that out. In some way, Japan has turned the mirror for me, shown light on another dimension. It appears to be made of nonsense, of cultural difference, but I believe that is the illusion and I am here to find my distinction in a thousand points of light.
Appeasing my daily routine, I browsed through facebook this morning.
A friend of mine and a brilliant writer posted an exert from Lewis Carroll, more specifically, from Alice in Wonderland. His post reminded me of my favorite Lewis Carroll piece: the "Jabberwocky". The "Jabberwocky" always appealed to me because of its curious structure and definition, and also Carroll's unparalleled use of portmanteau. Many of us are aware of portmanteau linguistics today, but through cheesy and annoying advertising that places words like "Chillaxin" into the English lexicon. Carroll, however, had an innovative way of placing two words together to mean one thing, and referred to this approach as the balance of two words at the same time. This method was sheer perfection for a story like Alice's, which was the demonstration of what happens when worlds collide, or more importantly, when we realize that the end of the line is actually the beginning.
What interests me about Alice and her journey in Through the Looking Glass is the premise that she never really left reality, that reality (based on the idea that reality is relative) and actuality simply merged, which gave her the illusion that she traversed into a world of nonsense. When looked at through the usage of portmanteau, words like "mimsy" seem irrational, but when you understand that it is the merger of "flimsy" and "miserable" and the word is placed appropriately in a sentence, it makes perfect sense.
The merger of words leads into the merger of perceptions, and alike the merger of worlds.
For me, Japan is my parallel universe. I, like Alice, stepped through the looking glass. As I float through the monotony of modern living, I am surrounded by my reality of familiar themes. I go shopping in a supermarket and cook my own meals. I live in an apartment on the third floor and arduously carry groceries up the stairs. I drive a car and take weekend trips. I go to work and teach students. My life, is paralleledby another existence though; by the actuality of my surroundings. Hence, two worlds collide.
I always looked at the mirror wondering what it was like on the other side. The reflection that stared back wasn't quite me, how could it be? It looked like I did, but different, it moved its lips like mine, but the reply was incomprehensible. In that difference was another world filled with possibilities. A world that I have never known. I decided that by just simply glaring at my reflection everyday I would never truly know. I must get to the other side. I must go through the looking glass.
As I began to cross over I thought to myself that many people believe that there is only two sides to the looking glass, but a mirror is like a menagerie; it is contains endless reflections when presented with itself.
When I stepped through the glass time stood still, it remained daylight during the times when it should not be day. I crossed over the farthest point on the earth in a short matter of time.
I arrived on the other side to discover that I had lost a whole day.
At first glance everything resembled the image that I left. But of course, I am on the other side of the glass, just by mere principal things cannot be the same. People look like people, but they are different. It is clear that I am not from this side of the mirror. When they talk they use words but the words do not have meaning to me and it sounds like pure nonsense. Grocery stores look like grocery stores but are filled with items that I cannot identify. I have an apartment that is devoid of central heating and requires me to manually light a pilot for the stove, faucet, and shower. Trips take twice as long as I have a maze of riddled language and directions to conquer. Students realize that I am from the other side of the glass and struggle to find ways to relate to me. There is a gamut of emotion that is felt when one steps through the looking glass. Much like Alice, I feel so many different emotions everyday, and some days you are so busy trying to figure out what a momerath is, that you cant feel anything at all. Quite frankly, at times, it makes me want to stab myself with a spork.
For Alice, she was desperately looking for answers to make sense of the nonsense that she found. But in reality, she went through the looking glass to make sense of the nonsense she already knew. She discovers that the whole time she is struggling against the nonsense from the latter side of the glass, that she simply is working back to square one. What she doesn't know is that her journey was actually an assessment of which nonsense is more sensible in her own reality. The epiphany is that the parallel universe exists within ourselves, the reflection can only exist within the mirror. As you shift the position of the mirror you absorb more or less light, more or less reflections. What I am looking for is what position will refract all points of light. How can I repair the disconnect between the nonsense. How can I be all dimensions at all times?
I think this was the juxtaposition between Carroll and portmanteau linguistics. The reason the word can be balanced is because it is one of the same, yet, completely different. Carroll managed to bridge each facet of the mirror, for him, there was no going through the looking glass, because it existed everywhere. For Alice, she just needed to figure that out. In some way, Japan has turned the mirror for me, shown light on another dimension. It appears to be made of nonsense, of cultural difference, but I believe that is the illusion and I am here to find my distinction in a thousand points of light.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
My special friends
I realize I have not wrote in a while. I have been very busy attending seminars, multi-tasking at work, and trying to spread my wings a bit to see the surrounding area. As result, I have accumulated many topics to discuss, but feel that my experience today takes precedence. It may not be much on the adventure scale, but it certainly has a lot of heart.
A few weeks ago I was instructed that I would be visiting a special needs school here in Aomori-shi roughly once a month. I was a bit intrigued by this since people who are mentally and/or physically challenged are not often seen here in Japan. Now I am not suggesting that they hide them under rocks, but in contrast to America or other parts of the world, it is not common to see a challenged person working in your community store. I am not very clear about the place challenged people have in societal Japan, and it wasn't looking good since my only experience was witnessing a mentally handicap man, who was trying to speak to a group of smokers in Tokyo, in which every person pretended that he didn't exist. And the same goes for schools. Children are not integrated here or mainstreamed. There is no range of variation. Anyone with a lisp to cerebral palsy goes to the same institution. No exceptions.
I recognize the potential tangent I could go off on here about the effects on a child's self-esteem, but I am going to save that one for small group discussion.
However, when regarding children, I don't believe the intention is to make them invisible, I think here, challenged people are the responsibility of the family unit, and therefore it is something that is handled internally. I am not doubting that they are loved very much by their families, but I don't know that society as a whole has a tolerance for their condition, or believes that they may harbour any individual power. There are a plethora of challenges all ranging from mild to severe, and people of all types can persevere. The difference is, in my experience, that the belief that one can diligently become a prince from a pauper is a western one. A similarity though, is the belief that people no matter what do have worth, and that no one is left behind.
"Ohana means family, no one gets left behind"
This is what I believe I witnessed today. It was my first visit to the special needs school. I was relaxed and eager for this visit, I have worked with many different groups of children. I arrived at the school to a find a very casual atmosphere where everyone greeted me with a smile. Parents were dropping of their students happily, kissing them good-bye. I met my cooperating teacher and Kyoto- sensei in the foyer and exchanged a very confident introduction in Japanese. I noticed that this school did not have many stairs and had a series of interconnected ramps that ran up and down floors. The windows were spilling in sunlight that reflected off the glossy pathways. We headed upstairs where I was introduced to my desk and the days itinerary. I was only supposed to be there for half a day in which I would be teaching one class with 3 elementary school students. To prepare, I was told to create a sign that included my name, country, and likes. I designed a bright yellow poster that showcased drawn images of myself, the earth with America ethnocentrically centered, and my dogs.
As I sat at my desk waiting for the next period I could hear students from down the corridors making distant sounds in efforts to communicate with someone. I watched children in wheel chairs, some with leg braces, and some lying on platforms covered in blankets be guided past my office. Teachers and aides sang cheerfully or spoke softly to the students. I must say it was a little sobering and I got caught in a brief moment of utter sadness. I had to remember that my purpose was to interact with these kids, not feel sorry for them.
At 10:35 a precession of two teachers and two tiny wheel chairs came to my desk requesting that I join them. Two little guys, age 7 and 8 years, waved their arms in joy at our meeting, smiling large grins, and making happy sounds. Both had cerebral palsy and various other challenges that I could not understand. I shook their hands and told them my name, and then we moved our parade onward. We came into a kindergarten type classroom with a large carpet on the floor, shelves of games and toys, and a chalk board with pictures of the children and their names. We gathered in a circle and sang a welcome song. I was surprised by my ability to speak with the teachers in Japanese and find all the right words to communicate with my new buddies in both languages. I began to show off my poster when another small boy, 6 years old, and paraplegic, entered with his aide. He looked at me and said in perfect English "Hello, nice to meet you". He joined our group and we talked about my poster and I showed photos of Phillie and Mac, which was received with applause and shrieks of approval. We played "London Bridges", which consisted of a sheer red scarf attached to a wall, where the aides wheeled the children underneath, while I held the other end, and when the music stopped I was responsible for draping the scarf around them with a big hug and some tickles (melt my heart). It was a huge success! We continued with a game much like perfection, except one puts small plastic swords into the side of a barrel and hopes that the plastic pirate on top doesn't pop up and fly out. My speaking friend spent the whole game mimicking every thing I said in English, receiving great praise with every word. While the activities were ensuing, one teacher kept blowing up a whoopee cushion and putting under her bottom or another teachers or even lifting the kids out of their wheel chair and making them fart. Then everyone would laugh and say "Kusai", which means stinky in Japanese (of course I got in on it too!). When our time together was up, I received great hugs from my friends, cheers, and a return precession to my office. .,
What a day.
While I was in that class, I realized that the idea is not to hide these children away. The love the teachers had for these kids was clear. They spend more time with these children than parents. Some go to school 8 or 9 hours everyday. The point behind school, is to educate these children the best they can and help them to experience joy and love in their lives. They are not lined up in rows of 8 at desks all day feeling completely oppressed. Hmmmm.....
Does this answer my question about the societal role of challenged people in Japan. No. But it does give me a clearer insight on the value that these children have. They are truly amazing, their teachers know it, and the ones I met at least, are doing an amazing job at simply letting these children live and be loved.
I still carry around a piece of sadness in my heart, because I wish I could see them everyday, not because I feel sorry for their condition. My new friends have given me a memory and an impression that will last my whole life.
A few weeks ago I was instructed that I would be visiting a special needs school here in Aomori-shi roughly once a month. I was a bit intrigued by this since people who are mentally and/or physically challenged are not often seen here in Japan. Now I am not suggesting that they hide them under rocks, but in contrast to America or other parts of the world, it is not common to see a challenged person working in your community store. I am not very clear about the place challenged people have in societal Japan, and it wasn't looking good since my only experience was witnessing a mentally handicap man, who was trying to speak to a group of smokers in Tokyo, in which every person pretended that he didn't exist. And the same goes for schools. Children are not integrated here or mainstreamed. There is no range of variation. Anyone with a lisp to cerebral palsy goes to the same institution. No exceptions.
I recognize the potential tangent I could go off on here about the effects on a child's self-esteem, but I am going to save that one for small group discussion.
However, when regarding children, I don't believe the intention is to make them invisible, I think here, challenged people are the responsibility of the family unit, and therefore it is something that is handled internally. I am not doubting that they are loved very much by their families, but I don't know that society as a whole has a tolerance for their condition, or believes that they may harbour any individual power. There are a plethora of challenges all ranging from mild to severe, and people of all types can persevere. The difference is, in my experience, that the belief that one can diligently become a prince from a pauper is a western one. A similarity though, is the belief that people no matter what do have worth, and that no one is left behind.
"Ohana means family, no one gets left behind"
This is what I believe I witnessed today. It was my first visit to the special needs school. I was relaxed and eager for this visit, I have worked with many different groups of children. I arrived at the school to a find a very casual atmosphere where everyone greeted me with a smile. Parents were dropping of their students happily, kissing them good-bye. I met my cooperating teacher and Kyoto- sensei in the foyer and exchanged a very confident introduction in Japanese. I noticed that this school did not have many stairs and had a series of interconnected ramps that ran up and down floors. The windows were spilling in sunlight that reflected off the glossy pathways. We headed upstairs where I was introduced to my desk and the days itinerary. I was only supposed to be there for half a day in which I would be teaching one class with 3 elementary school students. To prepare, I was told to create a sign that included my name, country, and likes. I designed a bright yellow poster that showcased drawn images of myself, the earth with America ethnocentrically centered, and my dogs.
As I sat at my desk waiting for the next period I could hear students from down the corridors making distant sounds in efforts to communicate with someone. I watched children in wheel chairs, some with leg braces, and some lying on platforms covered in blankets be guided past my office. Teachers and aides sang cheerfully or spoke softly to the students. I must say it was a little sobering and I got caught in a brief moment of utter sadness. I had to remember that my purpose was to interact with these kids, not feel sorry for them.
At 10:35 a precession of two teachers and two tiny wheel chairs came to my desk requesting that I join them. Two little guys, age 7 and 8 years, waved their arms in joy at our meeting, smiling large grins, and making happy sounds. Both had cerebral palsy and various other challenges that I could not understand. I shook their hands and told them my name, and then we moved our parade onward. We came into a kindergarten type classroom with a large carpet on the floor, shelves of games and toys, and a chalk board with pictures of the children and their names. We gathered in a circle and sang a welcome song. I was surprised by my ability to speak with the teachers in Japanese and find all the right words to communicate with my new buddies in both languages. I began to show off my poster when another small boy, 6 years old, and paraplegic, entered with his aide. He looked at me and said in perfect English "Hello, nice to meet you". He joined our group and we talked about my poster and I showed photos of Phillie and Mac, which was received with applause and shrieks of approval. We played "London Bridges", which consisted of a sheer red scarf attached to a wall, where the aides wheeled the children underneath, while I held the other end, and when the music stopped I was responsible for draping the scarf around them with a big hug and some tickles (melt my heart). It was a huge success! We continued with a game much like perfection, except one puts small plastic swords into the side of a barrel and hopes that the plastic pirate on top doesn't pop up and fly out. My speaking friend spent the whole game mimicking every thing I said in English, receiving great praise with every word. While the activities were ensuing, one teacher kept blowing up a whoopee cushion and putting under her bottom or another teachers or even lifting the kids out of their wheel chair and making them fart. Then everyone would laugh and say "Kusai", which means stinky in Japanese (of course I got in on it too!). When our time together was up, I received great hugs from my friends, cheers, and a return precession to my office. .,
What a day.
While I was in that class, I realized that the idea is not to hide these children away. The love the teachers had for these kids was clear. They spend more time with these children than parents. Some go to school 8 or 9 hours everyday. The point behind school, is to educate these children the best they can and help them to experience joy and love in their lives. They are not lined up in rows of 8 at desks all day feeling completely oppressed. Hmmmm.....
Does this answer my question about the societal role of challenged people in Japan. No. But it does give me a clearer insight on the value that these children have. They are truly amazing, their teachers know it, and the ones I met at least, are doing an amazing job at simply letting these children live and be loved.
I still carry around a piece of sadness in my heart, because I wish I could see them everyday, not because I feel sorry for their condition. My new friends have given me a memory and an impression that will last my whole life.
Monday, August 24, 2009
"Where are all the cool stories about Japan?"
I like to keep up with my friends blogs that are also here in Japan. I find it interesting to learn about how they are experiencing their Japan. But recently, while I was reading one in particular, I connected to what he was feeling and became more aware of the scrutiny one gets when making a move such as this.
In the first two weeks or so that I was here, everyone (well, mostly everyone) was very understanding and supportive of my transition. I heard kind words such as "Its normal that you miss home", "This sounds very difficult", or "It can be painful."
After a while though, people expect you to just...adjust. What if you never "adjust"?
Then the conversations begins to turn another way.
"You'll stop missing home", "Really? You are still feeling sad?", or "It will be great".
And those are the polite comments. You may also get: "What is the matter with you, you're in frickin Japan!" or "Why did you bother going then". And these comments come from all social facets; family, friends, fellow people living abroad...
I think what I have found, and what I had written about in a previous entry, is that many people move abroad because "home" was not "home". Some come because they are running away from feelings or are seeking out something greater. Some are a combination of those things. The source of your journey is relative to where you are personally in life, and so that dictates the level of adjustment you feel. Clearly, not everyone is the same.
What begins to happen is, some of the people who have adapted and integrated Japan as a part of "home", cant really understand why it is so difficult for you not to. Some of the people that you spent months back home boasting to about moving to Japan, cant understand why you aren't climbing Mount Fuji and eating weird things everyday. And some of your family and friends just don't know what to say because they miss you too.
It becomes so difficult to explain how you feel. It becomes so hard to get anyone to understand. And the truth is, no one really will. They are not you.
But I think for me, when reading my friends blog, it was the first person that was connecting to the same words in my heart and head. It is not that we are not happy or excited to be here. Yes, it will get better, Yes, we will do cool things, Yes, we are grateful for this experience, But also, Yes, we are excited to return home to our loving families and friends, and Yes, we will never fully adjust to living here, not because it is so culturally different, but because this isn't our home. We already made one in the hearts of our loved ones, and for us, they are not in Japan. It can be hurtful to hear condescending remarks like "Oh, it will be great, just relax, I know" or patronizing ones like "Your okay". It makes us feel as though there is something wrong with us for feeling this way because we aren't doing a dance everyday that we are here. Something happens when you move to a foreign country: Life. You encounter the same routines as home. Go to work everyday, go shopping, cook dinner, clean your house, have drinks with friends.... You don't just wake up in the morning and start doing Calligraphy or Ken do. (Well, I suppose some people do...) And those are the differences... If everyday you are climbing Mount Fuji, learning calligraphy, and practicing Ken do, your probably on vacation, and you will going home in a short time. It seems though, that to truly immerse in another culture, you must move through the doldrums just like anyone else, and just like home, you take vacation to climb Mount Fuji, sign up for a calligraphy class on Thursdays after work, and compete in Ken do matches on the weekend. The only difference for us is proximity, and yeah, I know, make the most of it while I can. Well, I have to say, it is not that easy, especially, if like some of my friends here, you are placed in the middle of nowhere in a house all alone with no hot water. Taking classes and climbing mountains takes connections, knowing where and when those things are available, if at all to foreigners, and money, a car, gas, the ability to understand where the hell you are going. Its real life.
But one thing is true; it is exciting. It is challenging. These are reasons that everyone who moves abroad share. And perhaps, for someone like me, those are the reasons that make me quietly excited to be here, grateful for this opportunity, and blessed that I can climb Mount Fuji just a few hours away.
But please, understand that people like my friend and myself are thankful for our position, we want to make the most out of this opportunity, and always handle our feelings in an optimistic way. Just because we miss our families, just because we haven't climbed Mount Fuji yet, or just because we may wake up in tears some mornings, doesn't mean that there is something wrong with us.
For friends and family back home: The solid foundation of love that you have given us, and continue to give us, is the greatest source of strength.
For new friends: Just your presence and kindness is enough to help us through any of our bad days.
I am sure that in the near future we will have tantalizing stories of how we traveled through foreign lands or ate cod sperm, but for now, we are just learning how to live in our own way.
In the first two weeks or so that I was here, everyone (well, mostly everyone) was very understanding and supportive of my transition. I heard kind words such as "Its normal that you miss home", "This sounds very difficult", or "It can be painful."
After a while though, people expect you to just...adjust. What if you never "adjust"?
Then the conversations begins to turn another way.
"You'll stop missing home", "Really? You are still feeling sad?", or "It will be great".
And those are the polite comments. You may also get: "What is the matter with you, you're in frickin Japan!" or "Why did you bother going then". And these comments come from all social facets; family, friends, fellow people living abroad...
I think what I have found, and what I had written about in a previous entry, is that many people move abroad because "home" was not "home". Some come because they are running away from feelings or are seeking out something greater. Some are a combination of those things. The source of your journey is relative to where you are personally in life, and so that dictates the level of adjustment you feel. Clearly, not everyone is the same.
What begins to happen is, some of the people who have adapted and integrated Japan as a part of "home", cant really understand why it is so difficult for you not to. Some of the people that you spent months back home boasting to about moving to Japan, cant understand why you aren't climbing Mount Fuji and eating weird things everyday. And some of your family and friends just don't know what to say because they miss you too.
It becomes so difficult to explain how you feel. It becomes so hard to get anyone to understand. And the truth is, no one really will. They are not you.
But I think for me, when reading my friends blog, it was the first person that was connecting to the same words in my heart and head. It is not that we are not happy or excited to be here. Yes, it will get better, Yes, we will do cool things, Yes, we are grateful for this experience, But also, Yes, we are excited to return home to our loving families and friends, and Yes, we will never fully adjust to living here, not because it is so culturally different, but because this isn't our home. We already made one in the hearts of our loved ones, and for us, they are not in Japan. It can be hurtful to hear condescending remarks like "Oh, it will be great, just relax, I know" or patronizing ones like "Your okay". It makes us feel as though there is something wrong with us for feeling this way because we aren't doing a dance everyday that we are here. Something happens when you move to a foreign country: Life. You encounter the same routines as home. Go to work everyday, go shopping, cook dinner, clean your house, have drinks with friends.... You don't just wake up in the morning and start doing Calligraphy or Ken do. (Well, I suppose some people do...) And those are the differences... If everyday you are climbing Mount Fuji, learning calligraphy, and practicing Ken do, your probably on vacation, and you will going home in a short time. It seems though, that to truly immerse in another culture, you must move through the doldrums just like anyone else, and just like home, you take vacation to climb Mount Fuji, sign up for a calligraphy class on Thursdays after work, and compete in Ken do matches on the weekend. The only difference for us is proximity, and yeah, I know, make the most of it while I can. Well, I have to say, it is not that easy, especially, if like some of my friends here, you are placed in the middle of nowhere in a house all alone with no hot water. Taking classes and climbing mountains takes connections, knowing where and when those things are available, if at all to foreigners, and money, a car, gas, the ability to understand where the hell you are going. Its real life.
But one thing is true; it is exciting. It is challenging. These are reasons that everyone who moves abroad share. And perhaps, for someone like me, those are the reasons that make me quietly excited to be here, grateful for this opportunity, and blessed that I can climb Mount Fuji just a few hours away.
But please, understand that people like my friend and myself are thankful for our position, we want to make the most out of this opportunity, and always handle our feelings in an optimistic way. Just because we miss our families, just because we haven't climbed Mount Fuji yet, or just because we may wake up in tears some mornings, doesn't mean that there is something wrong with us.
For friends and family back home: The solid foundation of love that you have given us, and continue to give us, is the greatest source of strength.
For new friends: Just your presence and kindness is enough to help us through any of our bad days.
I am sure that in the near future we will have tantalizing stories of how we traveled through foreign lands or ate cod sperm, but for now, we are just learning how to live in our own way.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Im not ok, youre not ok...
Is this the beginning stages of culture shock? Now don't answer that. I'm gonna figure this one out on my own...
What has been occurring to me lately, is the recognition of the uncanny ability that we humans have, when dealing with that big, bad word: Flexibility. Sure, sure, some of us are extremely adaptable, I for one, pride myself on roughly twenty-four moves in my life time (whoops, make that twenty-five!). But here is what has begun to haunt me, linger in my thoughts and makes me question my idea of comfort.
I consider myself to be a Lady. What do I mean by that? At the risk of sounding geeky, when I hear the term lady or gentleman, I always think of a quote from the movie Blast from the past with Brendan Frasier (Hey, a good quote is a good quote no matter where the source). In the movie, Dave Foley is explaining why Bredan Fraiser is so affable and polite. He points out the characters definition of a gentleman or lady as "...someone who always tries to make sure the people around him or her are as comfortable as possible."
Bingo.
In total agreement, I believe that we, as human beings, should be dedicated to the idea that we are all diplomats, perhaps not of a cause outside of our own, but a diplomat of self. We should all consider at the very least the level of comfort other people feel in our presence and act accordingly, within healthy self-preservational limits, of course. I believe that we share some small amount of moral responsibility to one another, and particularly in our own communities and families, we should at times be willing to "bend", in order to aid in someone else's comfort.
So does the rest of Japan.
When I first arrived I found that most everyone was willing to help me. There were people that, I didn't have a clue who they were, and here they are, moving a 60 lb. box of sweaters up three floors. Office staff were connecting my utilities, calling banks, hooking up a cell phone, without ever being able to talk about their hobbies with me, show me pictures of their kids, or find some common ground to like me on. It was quite nice. Not the feeling of being helpless, no that I didn't enjoy, but the feeling of other people going on good faith to increase my level of comfort. Real ladies and gentleman.
What this generosity actually is, is a nationally breed Good Samaritan tradition. Everyone here is raised to invest in the greater good. To share and share alike. To bend until you break if it means you are making someone else comfortable. And this goes across the board in homes, offices, schools, konbini (convenient stores)... Seriously, the Japanese have a wonderful way of making you feel like the Queen of England just for buying a pack of smokes and a hot dog.
But having said all of this, and after two weeks of kindness, someone such as myself, a lady of course, begins to feel like a burden instead of a new guest. I find that part of the eagerness to be accommodating for the Japanese is part of their job. It is expected of them to go out of their way, and through centuries of tradition, doing this is supposed to be a great honor. I respect that. But what I do not believe is that deep down inside the guy who carried my ridiculously heavy box up the stairs isn't cursing me out. I refuse to buy that it was a pleasurable experience for him, and for all of the coddling that newbies like me need in a foreign country, at some point people have to say "THIS SUCKS".
Have we got to the culture shock yet, No, but here it comes...
So all of this I can respect; the running around, holding my hand, renegotiating, carrying heavy things...but what I don't understand is the retroversion of this ideal. When I am successful at handling daily life, I am able to accomplish small tasks on my own, then I feel that it should be my turn to make things comfortable for others, by not having people go out of their way. If this shoe were on the other foot, I would be thankful when someone who I have been helping can finally handle things and ceases to inconvenience me any longer. So I am having a hard time comprehending why when I suggest an alternative to an issue in which I would be able to be self-sufficient, it is basically rude. Huh? I feel like I am being polite and respectful. And apparently, for all of you who want to comment on and answer this entry, I know; that is how it is in Japan.
I suppose that a portion of this necessity to continue doing everything against personal comfort is also a formality. Everything in Japan has a formality; paperwork, pre-arranged pre- arrangements, notifying every last person of an intention or decision... So to some extent it must be a bigger pain in the ass to change what has already been decided. Wheres the flexibility?
In the very least, we can be mutually uncomfortable in trying to make each other comfortable.
What?
At the risk of sounding like someone who is entering stage 2 of culture shock; it frustrates me.
Culture shock is drilled into your brain here...
Culture shock is inevitable.
Culture shock is experienced in 4 steps.
Blech. Basically, step 1 is the honeymoon stage, step 2 is the "I hate this frickin place", step 3 is depression, and step 4 is the equilibrium. I never really experienced or will probably find step 1. Im not the overly elated type. I really don't think I will hit stage 2 either, only because I anticipated the backward bullshit of daily life, and hell, there is plenty of things that I hate, I don't need to discriminate. As for step 3, I don't want to talk about it. But what I am thinking is that the idea of culture shock, which I thought was going to be something I just ricocheted around, could be happening to me right now, I just don't even know it . Or, is it just my random perception of things? Regardless, it amazes me just how many ways there are to feel uncomfortable. People, no matter how easy going you are, all have a delicate and distinct mix of multidimensional events that make them feel totally at ease.
The civility game that is being played between myself and Japan is touching on one of the peculiar and precise components that attributes to my comfort. Culture shock? I guess you can call it whatever you want.
What has been occurring to me lately, is the recognition of the uncanny ability that we humans have, when dealing with that big, bad word: Flexibility. Sure, sure, some of us are extremely adaptable, I for one, pride myself on roughly twenty-four moves in my life time (whoops, make that twenty-five!). But here is what has begun to haunt me, linger in my thoughts and makes me question my idea of comfort.
I consider myself to be a Lady. What do I mean by that? At the risk of sounding geeky, when I hear the term lady or gentleman, I always think of a quote from the movie Blast from the past with Brendan Frasier (Hey, a good quote is a good quote no matter where the source). In the movie, Dave Foley is explaining why Bredan Fraiser is so affable and polite. He points out the characters definition of a gentleman or lady as "...someone who always tries to make sure the people around him or her are as comfortable as possible."
Bingo.
In total agreement, I believe that we, as human beings, should be dedicated to the idea that we are all diplomats, perhaps not of a cause outside of our own, but a diplomat of self. We should all consider at the very least the level of comfort other people feel in our presence and act accordingly, within healthy self-preservational limits, of course. I believe that we share some small amount of moral responsibility to one another, and particularly in our own communities and families, we should at times be willing to "bend", in order to aid in someone else's comfort.
So does the rest of Japan.
When I first arrived I found that most everyone was willing to help me. There were people that, I didn't have a clue who they were, and here they are, moving a 60 lb. box of sweaters up three floors. Office staff were connecting my utilities, calling banks, hooking up a cell phone, without ever being able to talk about their hobbies with me, show me pictures of their kids, or find some common ground to like me on. It was quite nice. Not the feeling of being helpless, no that I didn't enjoy, but the feeling of other people going on good faith to increase my level of comfort. Real ladies and gentleman.
What this generosity actually is, is a nationally breed Good Samaritan tradition. Everyone here is raised to invest in the greater good. To share and share alike. To bend until you break if it means you are making someone else comfortable. And this goes across the board in homes, offices, schools, konbini (convenient stores)... Seriously, the Japanese have a wonderful way of making you feel like the Queen of England just for buying a pack of smokes and a hot dog.
But having said all of this, and after two weeks of kindness, someone such as myself, a lady of course, begins to feel like a burden instead of a new guest. I find that part of the eagerness to be accommodating for the Japanese is part of their job. It is expected of them to go out of their way, and through centuries of tradition, doing this is supposed to be a great honor. I respect that. But what I do not believe is that deep down inside the guy who carried my ridiculously heavy box up the stairs isn't cursing me out. I refuse to buy that it was a pleasurable experience for him, and for all of the coddling that newbies like me need in a foreign country, at some point people have to say "THIS SUCKS".
Have we got to the culture shock yet, No, but here it comes...
So all of this I can respect; the running around, holding my hand, renegotiating, carrying heavy things...but what I don't understand is the retroversion of this ideal. When I am successful at handling daily life, I am able to accomplish small tasks on my own, then I feel that it should be my turn to make things comfortable for others, by not having people go out of their way. If this shoe were on the other foot, I would be thankful when someone who I have been helping can finally handle things and ceases to inconvenience me any longer. So I am having a hard time comprehending why when I suggest an alternative to an issue in which I would be able to be self-sufficient, it is basically rude. Huh? I feel like I am being polite and respectful. And apparently, for all of you who want to comment on and answer this entry, I know; that is how it is in Japan.
I suppose that a portion of this necessity to continue doing everything against personal comfort is also a formality. Everything in Japan has a formality; paperwork, pre-arranged pre- arrangements, notifying every last person of an intention or decision... So to some extent it must be a bigger pain in the ass to change what has already been decided. Wheres the flexibility?
In the very least, we can be mutually uncomfortable in trying to make each other comfortable.
What?
At the risk of sounding like someone who is entering stage 2 of culture shock; it frustrates me.
Culture shock is drilled into your brain here...
Culture shock is inevitable.
Culture shock is experienced in 4 steps.
Blech. Basically, step 1 is the honeymoon stage, step 2 is the "I hate this frickin place", step 3 is depression, and step 4 is the equilibrium. I never really experienced or will probably find step 1. Im not the overly elated type. I really don't think I will hit stage 2 either, only because I anticipated the backward bullshit of daily life, and hell, there is plenty of things that I hate, I don't need to discriminate. As for step 3, I don't want to talk about it. But what I am thinking is that the idea of culture shock, which I thought was going to be something I just ricocheted around, could be happening to me right now, I just don't even know it . Or, is it just my random perception of things? Regardless, it amazes me just how many ways there are to feel uncomfortable. People, no matter how easy going you are, all have a delicate and distinct mix of multidimensional events that make them feel totally at ease.
The civility game that is being played between myself and Japan is touching on one of the peculiar and precise components that attributes to my comfort. Culture shock? I guess you can call it whatever you want.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Reflections on the soul...
I have been asking myself lately one of those existential questions that many people ask at some point in their lives:
"Why am I here?".
Now, I have asked this question many times before in different fashions. Questions like; "Why am I in Japan?" , "Why am I a teacher?", or "Why am I with this idiot?". But today I have been asking with the depth of mind that would lead me to understand what my purpose is in this life. I suppose that we, as people, are all searching for those answers or at the very least are searching for something that validates who we are. The real quandary then becomes what am I searching for? When looked at this way, we all have been suffering from existential crisis since birth. As life advances, and experience sets in, so does the search, and the complexity of self with it. It becomes a "medieval mess" as Merlin would say, and can seem virtually impossible to figure out. I have always believed that the answers lie within us all, and that as we grow, the path is illuminated by an innate sense of direction.
I have come to find that people will go to great lengths to either discover or avoid the answer. And that some, unknowingly, simply navigate life by their own personal compass, and stumble upon the answers. The wonderful thing about displacing yourself is the people that you meet. Sometimes, in order to hear someone else's message you must absolve your own haven to let others in. When you leave that cozy and secure place, you have a better chance of encountering the like. When you are surrounded by others who have also left in search of those answers, whether blindly or by personal conviction, you may find something synonymous in spirit.
I have begun to question the question. "What are we searching for and why?" and "How do we find it?". I think of my own situation. If I had come to Japan 10 years ago I would have stayed to make a life here. Why? Because 10 years ago I was running from something: Myself. I was searching for that answer diligently, lost in my own translation. I had been transient for most of my life; running, moving, aspiring to be a better me. My entire life had led up to now: being here in Japan. This was supposed to be my ultimate escape. It wasn't until this Houdini pulled the rabbit out of the hat that I became conscious of the trick. I wasn't running anymore. When did I stop running? It was in this revelation that I discovered the answer.
Sitting in the courtyard of one of the favorite watering holes in Aomori, one will see an interesting conglomerate. Lots of Japanese people and a decent size group of gajin (foreigners). What I love most about this is that each person in this group has been cast into a league of players without a coherent script. Totally random people from all over the world, all with different beliefs and motives, who would probably never know each other otherwise. And so naturally, what do you think I ask? "Why are we all here?". As I was talking with a new friend, I proposed my question. He explained how he loved it here, he had intentions of visiting other countries, some he had, but here, in Aomori, he had a home. His native land was not his home; it was here in Japan. As we continued on in our discussion, he concluded that it wasn't so much the country or the culture that made Japan a home, but what he had found here in his heart.
Ah yes, it's true Dorothy, there really is no place like home...
And then it hit me. In his case, like many others, he was running from something too. He had visited many other countries, seeking, searching for home. The entire time uncovering a little bit more of self. In this exploration we call life, there are pieces of our soul, that although we are born with in entirety, fragment into the ether. It is our purpose to put them back together again. I liken this to J.K. Rowling and the tale of Harry Potter. In the books, Harry's nemesis Voldemort, places seven parts of his soul into seven horcruxes. Each horcrux is an object that is linked to Voldemort; a locket, a diary... but one horcrux is reflected in Harry's soul. To destroy Voldemort, Harry must destroy each part of Volsemort's soul. Now clearly, the idea is for good to overcome evil here, but what I see is, in order for Voldemort to become a whole man again, he must replace all seven parts of his soul. I believe it is the same for us. I am not suggesting that we are all inherently evil, to the contrary. I believe that we are all inherently good, and that is why we have the power to ask ourselves "Why are we here?" and the ability to go out and find it. We place fragments of our soul in horcruxes as well. For me, and my friends that are sharing this journey, I believe that we have all placed a horcrux in Japan. There is a piece of our soul waiting to be rediscovered and reintegrated into our being. What that piece represents can only be answered by us. I also believe that we have placed fragments of our souls elsewhere; be it other countries, or other people. My friend so happened to find a horcrux here in Japan in others, and that has made this home. I, on the other hand, had placed a horcrux in America, not the country, but the love I have found there in others. We are all in search of the horcrux that represents home, and some of us have placed it off in distant lands, while others never let it get that far away, but either way, when seeking it out, we all must have a sense of adventure. Home, is where the heart is.
I ran all the way to Japan to discover that I wasn't running anymore. I stopped running when I found my horcrux a long time ago, and my quest for the next one reminded me of it.
"Why am I here?".
Now, I have asked this question many times before in different fashions. Questions like; "Why am I in Japan?" , "Why am I a teacher?", or "Why am I with this idiot?". But today I have been asking with the depth of mind that would lead me to understand what my purpose is in this life. I suppose that we, as people, are all searching for those answers or at the very least are searching for something that validates who we are. The real quandary then becomes what am I searching for? When looked at this way, we all have been suffering from existential crisis since birth. As life advances, and experience sets in, so does the search, and the complexity of self with it. It becomes a "medieval mess" as Merlin would say, and can seem virtually impossible to figure out. I have always believed that the answers lie within us all, and that as we grow, the path is illuminated by an innate sense of direction.
I have come to find that people will go to great lengths to either discover or avoid the answer. And that some, unknowingly, simply navigate life by their own personal compass, and stumble upon the answers. The wonderful thing about displacing yourself is the people that you meet. Sometimes, in order to hear someone else's message you must absolve your own haven to let others in. When you leave that cozy and secure place, you have a better chance of encountering the like. When you are surrounded by others who have also left in search of those answers, whether blindly or by personal conviction, you may find something synonymous in spirit.
I have begun to question the question. "What are we searching for and why?" and "How do we find it?". I think of my own situation. If I had come to Japan 10 years ago I would have stayed to make a life here. Why? Because 10 years ago I was running from something: Myself. I was searching for that answer diligently, lost in my own translation. I had been transient for most of my life; running, moving, aspiring to be a better me. My entire life had led up to now: being here in Japan. This was supposed to be my ultimate escape. It wasn't until this Houdini pulled the rabbit out of the hat that I became conscious of the trick. I wasn't running anymore. When did I stop running? It was in this revelation that I discovered the answer.
Sitting in the courtyard of one of the favorite watering holes in Aomori, one will see an interesting conglomerate. Lots of Japanese people and a decent size group of gajin (foreigners). What I love most about this is that each person in this group has been cast into a league of players without a coherent script. Totally random people from all over the world, all with different beliefs and motives, who would probably never know each other otherwise. And so naturally, what do you think I ask? "Why are we all here?". As I was talking with a new friend, I proposed my question. He explained how he loved it here, he had intentions of visiting other countries, some he had, but here, in Aomori, he had a home. His native land was not his home; it was here in Japan. As we continued on in our discussion, he concluded that it wasn't so much the country or the culture that made Japan a home, but what he had found here in his heart.
Ah yes, it's true Dorothy, there really is no place like home...
And then it hit me. In his case, like many others, he was running from something too. He had visited many other countries, seeking, searching for home. The entire time uncovering a little bit more of self. In this exploration we call life, there are pieces of our soul, that although we are born with in entirety, fragment into the ether. It is our purpose to put them back together again. I liken this to J.K. Rowling and the tale of Harry Potter. In the books, Harry's nemesis Voldemort, places seven parts of his soul into seven horcruxes. Each horcrux is an object that is linked to Voldemort; a locket, a diary... but one horcrux is reflected in Harry's soul. To destroy Voldemort, Harry must destroy each part of Volsemort's soul. Now clearly, the idea is for good to overcome evil here, but what I see is, in order for Voldemort to become a whole man again, he must replace all seven parts of his soul. I believe it is the same for us. I am not suggesting that we are all inherently evil, to the contrary. I believe that we are all inherently good, and that is why we have the power to ask ourselves "Why are we here?" and the ability to go out and find it. We place fragments of our soul in horcruxes as well. For me, and my friends that are sharing this journey, I believe that we have all placed a horcrux in Japan. There is a piece of our soul waiting to be rediscovered and reintegrated into our being. What that piece represents can only be answered by us. I also believe that we have placed fragments of our souls elsewhere; be it other countries, or other people. My friend so happened to find a horcrux here in Japan in others, and that has made this home. I, on the other hand, had placed a horcrux in America, not the country, but the love I have found there in others. We are all in search of the horcrux that represents home, and some of us have placed it off in distant lands, while others never let it get that far away, but either way, when seeking it out, we all must have a sense of adventure. Home, is where the heart is.
I ran all the way to Japan to discover that I wasn't running anymore. I stopped running when I found my horcrux a long time ago, and my quest for the next one reminded me of it.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
"Her scary flu" and other mild heart palpitations...
Today's entry is unavoidable. I suppose I had pretended long enough that the language barrier really didn't exist. Of course, in my artsy fartsy bohemian creative mind, I just figured I could pictionary and charades my ass straight through to comprehensible conversation.
Shame on me.
Now don't get me wrong. For everyone that is gasping "Who the hell moves to Japan and doesn't study the language!", I studied before I left! I tried at the very least to self educate through a variety of programs; Rosetta Stone, crash courses, channel 10. But the lack of immersion and/or well organized and tedious semester long courses only left me with the ability to introduce myself and ask what and where things are. Which has been helpful. Except I don't understand anyone when they actually answer me. (bearnt)
So what I am about to discuss here should come as no surprise. Clearly, if not sooner or later, I was to meet my doom. That happened to be today, when I finally met my Kyoto-Sensei (vice-principal) , in one of those socially awkward moments by the water cooler that can make or break you.
This week almost all of the teachers are absent for the Obon Holiday. Obon, just to brief, is a holiday in which the Japanese gather with their families to welcome back their dead ancestors. As a result, many people travel back to their hometowns for a week or so. This includes my supervisor and all 10 of the English teachers. Who are the only people that speak English. See where this is going?
I walked into school this morning at 9am sharp as always, put on my indoor shoes from my locker, and greeted the office staff. ( I pride myself on my accurately gleeful good mornings to the staff: "Ohayo Gozaimasu!", its the best thing I got going for me).
Sure there weren't many cars in the parking lot, but I knew some of the teachers were going to be out, that's cool, I still got my supervisor, and we are gonna see about the Internet today, and Oh, maybe he will let me go home early since not many people are here, and...wait a second. As I make my way down the hall to his office and turn the corner, his desk is still nice and neat. I ask the reference librarian next to his desk "Maejima sensei doko wa desuka?".
He replies.
Okay, what the hell does that mean.
Let me try this again, and in my mind, the fact that I asked in decent Japanese and couldn't understand the answer must be remedied by asking in a mixture of broken English and Japanese. Surely, he will answer me in words I can understand. (Hey, some people just talk really loud). "Maejima sensei, kare wa here today or no?". This poor guy. I can see now I am just stressing him out, either he is gonna cry or get up and run. However, he mutters out "Vacation". HEY!! I know that word. Okay. Phew! I didn't know he was leaving yet, but hey, dodged that bullet... so off to my office.
Perhaps the elation of getting an accurate answer distracted me initially when I arrived at my desk. I sat down happy with my conquest when I realized that the only two people in the entire office was me, (gulp) and the Kyoto-sensei. Now, for those who dont know, Kyoto-sensei is very important. He basically runs the show here, calls all the shots, and my supervisor answers to him. I had met him before, but always with a buffer of an English translator.
Wait a second. Stop here. There is also a side note that should be known.
This morning, I intentionally did not pack a lunch, with the hopes that since the cafeteria was locked for summer break, and many teachers were out, I could pull the old "I have no lunch" bit, and be told I could just go home earlier. hehe. Its worked before. Can you say "Karma".
So, yes, here I am in the Clint Eastwood lock down between my desk and his. (Just picture the whistling). Now I realize that I could avoid him at all costs today, and just say two words I know well, "Ohayo Gozaimasu" and "Sayonara". Alright. Crisis averted.
My desk is right next to the drink and goodies area.
Surely this guy is a camel.
Immediately I start busting out all of my Japanese texts; Dictionaries, grammar books, notes, handbooks, hello kitty stickers...
Safe.
DO YOU REALIZE how difficult it is to look up words while someone is talking at a normal speed?!
Okay, Okay, well I think we all know what happens next. Here I am sitting at my desk, minding my own business, when he mossies on over for a drink.
The break through: "Kohii? somethin, somethin, in Japanese"
Me: "Oh, coffee, Hai".
What in the world! I cant have any caffeine! Caffeine gives me frickin heart palpitations! Sure, hai, give me some, because even though I know how to say no, I don't know how to explain why, and being that you are the most important guy in the school, I don't want to look like a dick, although I'm headin down that road already.
He pours the coffee in my cup, but as he is doing so, I realize it is not only coffee, but iced espresso, and he is just goin to town.
Me: "Ah, Ah, arigato, thank you, that's good, yeah, that's good. GOOD!"
Now I have 3/4 of a coffee mug filled with espresso, and this guy wants to Kampai. (cheers and drink together).
And since I am instantaneously hopped up on liquid crack, he wants to chat.
Him: "Something, something in Japanese: Influenza"
Me: "Oh, yes, swine flu"
Him: "Something, something, two students"
Me: "Oh, --I-- he-ard-- there-- were-- stu-de-nts-- from-- this-- sc-hool-- who-- have-- the-- flu"
Him: "Hai, something, something, something, something, something: Two (with fingers).
Me: "Are--they--o-k?" (two fingers)
Him: "Something, something, something, something. Something?"
Me: "That--must--be,--how--do--you--say,--Kowai."
(And this is one of those words where you say it one way and it means the opposite thing, I did it once and vowed to never do it again, so I was confident in my choice. I once told a woman that her toddler was Kowai= scary, instead of Kawaii= cute. The look on her face was like I farted in church.
Him: "Kowai?"
Me: (Two fingers, then pause, sip more coffee)
Him: "Something, something, Amerika, wear... (gestures to his face)
Me: "Oh, masks! Iie, no, we don't wear masks in Amerika, we (start rubbing my hands together like a chipmunk eating a acorn)
Him: (rubs his hands like a chipmunk eating an acorn, and now we are doing this in unison like a wild pack of acorn eaters)
(Awkward silence)
Me: "Ahhhhh.."
Him: "Ahhhhh..."
Phone rings and he goes to answer it. Phewwww....
Lets just say I won't be going home early today. I should have brought my frickin lunch. That might have taken the edge off the jitters.
Shame on me.
Now don't get me wrong. For everyone that is gasping "Who the hell moves to Japan and doesn't study the language!", I studied before I left! I tried at the very least to self educate through a variety of programs; Rosetta Stone, crash courses, channel 10. But the lack of immersion and/or well organized and tedious semester long courses only left me with the ability to introduce myself and ask what and where things are. Which has been helpful. Except I don't understand anyone when they actually answer me. (bearnt)
So what I am about to discuss here should come as no surprise. Clearly, if not sooner or later, I was to meet my doom. That happened to be today, when I finally met my Kyoto-Sensei (vice-principal) , in one of those socially awkward moments by the water cooler that can make or break you.
This week almost all of the teachers are absent for the Obon Holiday. Obon, just to brief, is a holiday in which the Japanese gather with their families to welcome back their dead ancestors. As a result, many people travel back to their hometowns for a week or so. This includes my supervisor and all 10 of the English teachers. Who are the only people that speak English. See where this is going?
I walked into school this morning at 9am sharp as always, put on my indoor shoes from my locker, and greeted the office staff. ( I pride myself on my accurately gleeful good mornings to the staff: "Ohayo Gozaimasu!", its the best thing I got going for me).
Sure there weren't many cars in the parking lot, but I knew some of the teachers were going to be out, that's cool, I still got my supervisor, and we are gonna see about the Internet today, and Oh, maybe he will let me go home early since not many people are here, and...wait a second. As I make my way down the hall to his office and turn the corner, his desk is still nice and neat. I ask the reference librarian next to his desk "Maejima sensei doko wa desuka?".
He replies.
Okay, what the hell does that mean.
Let me try this again, and in my mind, the fact that I asked in decent Japanese and couldn't understand the answer must be remedied by asking in a mixture of broken English and Japanese. Surely, he will answer me in words I can understand. (Hey, some people just talk really loud). "Maejima sensei, kare wa here today or no?". This poor guy. I can see now I am just stressing him out, either he is gonna cry or get up and run. However, he mutters out "Vacation". HEY!! I know that word. Okay. Phew! I didn't know he was leaving yet, but hey, dodged that bullet... so off to my office.
Perhaps the elation of getting an accurate answer distracted me initially when I arrived at my desk. I sat down happy with my conquest when I realized that the only two people in the entire office was me, (gulp) and the Kyoto-sensei. Now, for those who dont know, Kyoto-sensei is very important. He basically runs the show here, calls all the shots, and my supervisor answers to him. I had met him before, but always with a buffer of an English translator.
Wait a second. Stop here. There is also a side note that should be known.
This morning, I intentionally did not pack a lunch, with the hopes that since the cafeteria was locked for summer break, and many teachers were out, I could pull the old "I have no lunch" bit, and be told I could just go home earlier. hehe. Its worked before. Can you say "Karma".
So, yes, here I am in the Clint Eastwood lock down between my desk and his. (Just picture the whistling). Now I realize that I could avoid him at all costs today, and just say two words I know well, "Ohayo Gozaimasu" and "Sayonara". Alright. Crisis averted.
My desk is right next to the drink and goodies area.
Surely this guy is a camel.
Immediately I start busting out all of my Japanese texts; Dictionaries, grammar books, notes, handbooks, hello kitty stickers...
Safe.
DO YOU REALIZE how difficult it is to look up words while someone is talking at a normal speed?!
Okay, Okay, well I think we all know what happens next. Here I am sitting at my desk, minding my own business, when he mossies on over for a drink.
The break through: "Kohii? somethin, somethin, in Japanese"
Me: "Oh, coffee, Hai".
What in the world! I cant have any caffeine! Caffeine gives me frickin heart palpitations! Sure, hai, give me some, because even though I know how to say no, I don't know how to explain why, and being that you are the most important guy in the school, I don't want to look like a dick, although I'm headin down that road already.
He pours the coffee in my cup, but as he is doing so, I realize it is not only coffee, but iced espresso, and he is just goin to town.
Me: "Ah, Ah, arigato, thank you, that's good, yeah, that's good. GOOD!"
Now I have 3/4 of a coffee mug filled with espresso, and this guy wants to Kampai. (cheers and drink together).
And since I am instantaneously hopped up on liquid crack, he wants to chat.
Him: "Something, something in Japanese: Influenza"
Me: "Oh, yes, swine flu"
Him: "Something, something, two students"
Me: "Oh, --I-- he-ard-- there-- were-- stu-de-nts-- from-- this-- sc-hool-- who-- have-- the-- flu"
Him: "Hai, something, something, something, something, something: Two (with fingers).
Me: "Are--they--o-k?" (two fingers)
Him: "Something, something, something, something. Something?"
Me: "That--must--be,--how--do--you--say,--Kowai."
(And this is one of those words where you say it one way and it means the opposite thing, I did it once and vowed to never do it again, so I was confident in my choice. I once told a woman that her toddler was Kowai= scary, instead of Kawaii= cute. The look on her face was like I farted in church.
Him: "Kowai?"
Me: (Two fingers, then pause, sip more coffee)
Him: "Something, something, Amerika, wear... (gestures to his face)
Me: "Oh, masks! Iie, no, we don't wear masks in Amerika, we (start rubbing my hands together like a chipmunk eating a acorn)
Him: (rubs his hands like a chipmunk eating an acorn, and now we are doing this in unison like a wild pack of acorn eaters)
(Awkward silence)
Me: "Ahhhhh.."
Him: "Ahhhhh..."
Phone rings and he goes to answer it. Phewwww....
Lets just say I won't be going home early today. I should have brought my frickin lunch. That might have taken the edge off the jitters.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
The search is on...
So after the hard revelation of my last emotional kick in the ass I had resigned myself to a little soul searching. Having acknowledged my feelings of self-worth, there was nothing much left to do but recall why I had come to Japan. Where did all that excitement go? (frankly, I never did back flips, although that isn't in my nature, except for the little things, like when Phil got to see really big boobs). I spent the next few days, after my apex of emotional disarray in which I was crying hysterically while cleaning my shower, forcing myself to do things that replenished my sense of self sufficiency. Luckily for me, being the head strong "Me do it" that I am, I often found myself biking or walking home alone when I felt an iota of boredom in the crowd. This was the magic. In these bikes and walks, I had found quiet within myself; something
necessary when asking yourself questions like "Why am I really here?". And this is where a person like me is quietly amused by the charm of Japan: like a little girl who has just indulged in her first lick of a cherry flavored lollipop. I realized in the stillness of the night, with street lights shone against the trusses and roof tops of simplistic architecture, that a duality was shaping.
The first aspect was the solemn comfort of being alone. The opportunity to reflect on myself, not just with feelings or thoughts, but to let the energy of these buildings, people, and landscapes reflect unto me as well. The second, was the chance at a real exploration into ideas and beliefs that grant me great interest. This was not a book checked out from my local library, no discovery channel here, and certainly more than just the photography and advice I received from previous visitors. This was my Japan, a place seen with my own eyes and felt with my own heart.
I have been taking that notion and letting it lead me, and slowly, a new dimension has reveled itself. This is why I came to Japan. I have been seeking out the sacred and peaceful. Now don't get me wrong, I could write a list of things that are far from sacred and peaceful here, for real, some shit is just ass backwards; to me. But I didn't come here to let the daily frustrations of life eat at me. I didn't come here to tickle culture shocks fancy. I came to seek balance in the sacred and profane, and so that is what I have set out to do.
I rode my bike yesterday to a place called Gappo Park here in the city. I sat down over a cigarette after work and mapped out my course. Letting the fear of getting lost go to the wayside, I hopped on my bike and leisurely rode. The park is lined with windy paths, Japanese buildings, small gardens of various flowers, and tall beech trees. At the edge of the tree line is a beach that runs along the Mutsu Bay. I ambled along the paths until I reached the beach, parked my bike, and rolled up my pant legs. When I emerged onto the sand the view captivated me. To the right of me was a gorgeous mountain line with precipitous slopes and hues of blue and green. I was so enthralled by the majesty of these peaks, (hey, peaks, synonymous with boobs), and realized how peaceful I felt. It was easy to see how belief systems like Shinto evolved here.
I spent some more time strolling around the park, watching young boys catch massive cray fish from one of the ponds, trying to talk to them about it and embarrassed by my lack of coherent Japanese. I took some pictures of the pergola's and bamboo structures, and then I headed back home, this time confident in my path.
I can recall now why I came to Japan for a year. I remember my axiom that the universe will provide.
Tonight I am heading out to the Shinto shrine in the city. On my bike. Maybe the universe has the next clue hidden there.
necessary when asking yourself questions like "Why am I really here?". And this is where a person like me is quietly amused by the charm of Japan: like a little girl who has just indulged in her first lick of a cherry flavored lollipop. I realized in the stillness of the night, with street lights shone against the trusses and roof tops of simplistic architecture, that a duality was shaping.
The first aspect was the solemn comfort of being alone. The opportunity to reflect on myself, not just with feelings or thoughts, but to let the energy of these buildings, people, and landscapes reflect unto me as well. The second, was the chance at a real exploration into ideas and beliefs that grant me great interest. This was not a book checked out from my local library, no discovery channel here, and certainly more than just the photography and advice I received from previous visitors. This was my Japan, a place seen with my own eyes and felt with my own heart.
I have been taking that notion and letting it lead me, and slowly, a new dimension has reveled itself. This is why I came to Japan. I have been seeking out the sacred and peaceful. Now don't get me wrong, I could write a list of things that are far from sacred and peaceful here, for real, some shit is just ass backwards; to me. But I didn't come here to let the daily frustrations of life eat at me. I didn't come here to tickle culture shocks fancy. I came to seek balance in the sacred and profane, and so that is what I have set out to do.
I rode my bike yesterday to a place called Gappo Park here in the city. I sat down over a cigarette after work and mapped out my course. Letting the fear of getting lost go to the wayside, I hopped on my bike and leisurely rode. The park is lined with windy paths, Japanese buildings, small gardens of various flowers, and tall beech trees. At the edge of the tree line is a beach that runs along the Mutsu Bay. I ambled along the paths until I reached the beach, parked my bike, and rolled up my pant legs. When I emerged onto the sand the view captivated me. To the right of me was a gorgeous mountain line with precipitous slopes and hues of blue and green. I was so enthralled by the majesty of these peaks, (hey, peaks, synonymous with boobs), and realized how peaceful I felt. It was easy to see how belief systems like Shinto evolved here.
I spent some more time strolling around the park, watching young boys catch massive cray fish from one of the ponds, trying to talk to them about it and embarrassed by my lack of coherent Japanese. I took some pictures of the pergola's and bamboo structures, and then I headed back home, this time confident in my path.
I can recall now why I came to Japan for a year. I remember my axiom that the universe will provide.
Tonight I am heading out to the Shinto shrine in the city. On my bike. Maybe the universe has the next clue hidden there.
Monday, August 10, 2009
How it really feels to be in Japan...
The whole year before I left for Aomori I felt more prepared than ever.
I had spent my whole life in a self-sufficient upbringing. Coming from a broken home, I experienced wander lust very early on. I had managed to raise myself, live like a rock star, drop out of high school, put myself through a bachelors and masters program, become a successful teacher, and experience many unorthodox relationships by time I was 30. What got me there? Self love, Self preservation, Support, Spirit. So, when I found that I had an opportunity to come to Japan and teach (one of my top five on my bucket list) I was ready.
Ok.
Maybe.
I didn't record my feelings the first few days I was here. It was too painful to purge just then. When I look back in retrospect and ask "Was I truly ready?", the answer is "Yes". But nothing in life completely prepares you for moving half way around the world to a foreign country alone. NOTHING. I thought my experience was in the bag. To reiterate; Broken Family = Weaker familial bond, emotional isolation, lack of support. I figured this was a piece of cake. I have spent most of my life feeling like I was on the outside. I would share experiences with my surrogate families and still leave feeling that I didn't really belong, I wasn't really blood, and if push came to shove I would always be overlooked for the real members of the family. No matter what others said or did I couldn't get rid of the feelings of alienation.
Then I came to Japan.
When I came here I expected things like culture shock. I knew things would be different. Different food, language, customs, traffic formats... the list goes on, but what I didn't expect was the pain of feeling so cut off from love. Me, the usually aloof spouse, allusive friend, and cold daughter, was feeling the weight of not being able to simply linger in an embrace. The pain was immense. Now, wait, wait, wait a minute. Don't get me wrong, those who do know me well know that I have a deep capacity to love, the problem here is that I didn't have a deep capacity to be loved. I have spent much of my life taking care of others, even with a broken family I still would never alienate them; their well being was as equally important as my own self preservation. But despite my ability to love deeply, I never felt that I was worth much to be loved. And so funny thing. Here I am miss self-help, miss spiritual the universe will provide blah blah, thinking the whole time that I got this, and boom, it hits me like a ton of bricks. Here I am in a foreign country, away from everyone I love, and why am I crying? I am crying because I have cut off the physical capability to be loved. Am I crying because I cant show these people how much I love them? Am I crying because I am not there to take care of their needs? Nope. I am crying because they are not here to love me. And so, is this the true desire to be loved deeply, and the reaction the ability to accept?
So here is another round of questions. Do I feel that these people love me deeply while I am here? Did this arrant experience begin a healing process in self worth? I suppose so, in the very least it has certainly made me appreciate the wonderful people in my life. It has made me realize that the only alienation being served was coming from my own menu. It has also reinforced something I already knew through other experiences and karma: Love is everything. It is all, the only thing that really matters. It is not to be taken for granted, judged, or mistreated. Your opinion of love should be based on yourself not others. And that has so many meanings.
But back to the issue of my self worth. Yes, this move has sparked a new process of learning and healing in my self worth. And I know this because of how painful it has been. Do I feel deeply loved by these people? Yes, I think I do. I still struggle with some things. But people have lives and life goes on without me. It is not wise to put your worth in the hands of others, and feel that their response and interest in you is a reflection of how they feel.
So, no matter how prepared one thinks they are, a move like this will certainly incite some sort of internal quest. Was I prepared? In retrospect, yes. I had a great set of coping skills and self preservation to hold my sadness back from self destructing. I am able to accept and embrace these feelings so that I can enjoy this next year and work on other lessons. I suppose though, that a lesson in the ability to be loved was not one I anticipated. But then again those are the most valuable.
I had spent my whole life in a self-sufficient upbringing. Coming from a broken home, I experienced wander lust very early on. I had managed to raise myself, live like a rock star, drop out of high school, put myself through a bachelors and masters program, become a successful teacher, and experience many unorthodox relationships by time I was 30. What got me there? Self love, Self preservation, Support, Spirit. So, when I found that I had an opportunity to come to Japan and teach (one of my top five on my bucket list) I was ready.
Ok.
Maybe.
I didn't record my feelings the first few days I was here. It was too painful to purge just then. When I look back in retrospect and ask "Was I truly ready?", the answer is "Yes". But nothing in life completely prepares you for moving half way around the world to a foreign country alone. NOTHING. I thought my experience was in the bag. To reiterate; Broken Family = Weaker familial bond, emotional isolation, lack of support. I figured this was a piece of cake. I have spent most of my life feeling like I was on the outside. I would share experiences with my surrogate families and still leave feeling that I didn't really belong, I wasn't really blood, and if push came to shove I would always be overlooked for the real members of the family. No matter what others said or did I couldn't get rid of the feelings of alienation.
Then I came to Japan.
When I came here I expected things like culture shock. I knew things would be different. Different food, language, customs, traffic formats... the list goes on, but what I didn't expect was the pain of feeling so cut off from love. Me, the usually aloof spouse, allusive friend, and cold daughter, was feeling the weight of not being able to simply linger in an embrace. The pain was immense. Now, wait, wait, wait a minute. Don't get me wrong, those who do know me well know that I have a deep capacity to love, the problem here is that I didn't have a deep capacity to be loved. I have spent much of my life taking care of others, even with a broken family I still would never alienate them; their well being was as equally important as my own self preservation. But despite my ability to love deeply, I never felt that I was worth much to be loved. And so funny thing. Here I am miss self-help, miss spiritual the universe will provide blah blah, thinking the whole time that I got this, and boom, it hits me like a ton of bricks. Here I am in a foreign country, away from everyone I love, and why am I crying? I am crying because I have cut off the physical capability to be loved. Am I crying because I cant show these people how much I love them? Am I crying because I am not there to take care of their needs? Nope. I am crying because they are not here to love me. And so, is this the true desire to be loved deeply, and the reaction the ability to accept?
So here is another round of questions. Do I feel that these people love me deeply while I am here? Did this arrant experience begin a healing process in self worth? I suppose so, in the very least it has certainly made me appreciate the wonderful people in my life. It has made me realize that the only alienation being served was coming from my own menu. It has also reinforced something I already knew through other experiences and karma: Love is everything. It is all, the only thing that really matters. It is not to be taken for granted, judged, or mistreated. Your opinion of love should be based on yourself not others. And that has so many meanings.
But back to the issue of my self worth. Yes, this move has sparked a new process of learning and healing in my self worth. And I know this because of how painful it has been. Do I feel deeply loved by these people? Yes, I think I do. I still struggle with some things. But people have lives and life goes on without me. It is not wise to put your worth in the hands of others, and feel that their response and interest in you is a reflection of how they feel.
So, no matter how prepared one thinks they are, a move like this will certainly incite some sort of internal quest. Was I prepared? In retrospect, yes. I had a great set of coping skills and self preservation to hold my sadness back from self destructing. I am able to accept and embrace these feelings so that I can enjoy this next year and work on other lessons. I suppose though, that a lesson in the ability to be loved was not one I anticipated. But then again those are the most valuable.
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