biutiful. and living the questions.

this weekend, i saw the newest inarritu movie 'biutiful' starring javier bardem. it is an incredible movie. i don't know much about film theory or production, so i'll refrain from a true review. all i can describe is how it made me feel. at least i can attempt to do so. and i must say, for me, it was nothing short of heartbreaking. it was painful. but yet, it truly was beautiful. the story of not just one person, but many, and how they are truly connected in not only their joy and love, but in their pain and suffering as well.

i came across this picture tonight, and it reminded me of one of the scenes in the film that i found most visually striking. the main character's estranged wife was kissing him, but simultaneously almost falling the ground. it was so strange and unnatural, and it seemed to communicate so much about love and pain and connection. at least to me it did. and this sculpture reminded of me of that scene quite a bit.



as i found myself completely overwhelmed emotionally, during and after watching the film, i began to think about my upcoming travels. one thing i love most about traveling, although it tends to be quite a personal challenge, is the confrontation with things in and about the world that i may not know or may choose to ignore. when pushed out into a completely new place with new people and customs and culture and expressions, it's damn-near impossible to ignore the beauty of how we are all connected.

and as tends to happen these days, this has propelled me back to reading some rilke to find some peace. the first thing i re-read was a piece that includes the following lines, reminding me that the horrors in the world ARE the world.

We are set down in life as in the element to which we best
correspond, and over and above this we have through thousands of
years of accommodation become so like this life, that when we
hold still we are, through a happy mimicry, scarcely to be
distinguished from all that surrounds us. We have no reason to
mistrust our world, for it is not against us. Has it terrors,
they are our terrors; has it abysses, those abysses belong to us;
are dangers at hand, we must try to love them.



this poem, especially the last line, broke my heart tonight in a beautiful way:

It seems
our own impermanence is concealed from us.
The trees stand firm, the houses we live in
are still there. We alone
flow past it all, an exchange of air.

Everything conspires to silence us,
partly with shame,
partly with unspeakable hope.


and as i continued my search, i found this poem again, which i absolutely love. i love thinking about my widening circle.

I live my life in widening circles
that reach out across the world.
I may not complete this last one
but I give myself to it.

I circle around God, around the primordial tower.
I've been circling for thousands of years
and I still don't know: am I a falcon,
a storm, or a great song?


and finally, this incredible paragraph from one of rilke's letters. what a perfect reminder that life is not about solving problems, but about having them. it's not about getting through life to arrive at paradise, but finding the paradise in every day life.

I want to ask you, as clearly as I can, to bear with patience all that is unresolved in your heart, and try to love the questions themselves, as if they were rooms yet to enter or books written in a foreign language. Don't dig for answers that can't be given you yet: you live them now. For everything must be lived. Live the questions now, perhaps then, someday, you will gradually, without noticing, live into the answer.

Worpswede, July 16, 1903
Letters to a Young Poet



thank you, friends, family, and 'strangers.' thank you for being part of my widening circle, for letting me be part of yours, and for helping me see that they are one and the same. thank you for being god and allowing me to be so as well.
peace to you.

((and if you're digging the rilke and buddhism themes, you might want to check out this podcast. it's pretty amazing.))

wonderful

neuroscientist jill bolte taylor on how a stroke brought her to find nirvana. really incredible.

lately, a lot of people have been asking me how i'm feeling about the upcoming move to japan. i love these people. they love me, and want to know how i'm doing and feeling. but as i'm actively trying not to think too much about my life in japan, it's been somewhat difficult. instead, i've been thinking more about the next month in chicago and iowa, and getting to spend it with the wonderful people i have in my life.

i have, however, been thinking about the topic of saying goodbye. and this (like most things, to be honest) brings me back to sri lanka quite a bit. yesterday, i found myself pretty overwhelmed, thinking about the day i left batticaloa. it was an experience i have never, ever felt before, and can't imagine ever feeling again. and in thinking about that, i've been thinking more about why my time there had such an effect on me. as i spoke to my best friend there, sampath, last night, i was obviously reminded. but, i've also been reading through some of the things i wrote while i was there. the piece below is something i wrote after attending a funeral service with the boys and girls i worked with. i think i never posted it before (as far as i can remember) because i was a little uncomfortable due to security reasons. but, i don't see that as an issue now. and i think it portrays a bit of why my time there was so completely life-altering for me. and why i love to experience other cultures/realities...and realize that it is all the same one. (if i've already posted this, forgive me.)


23 july 2010

i can honestly say i never thought i’d find myself (interesting phrase) trying to write about what it was like to go to a funeral with a group of former child soldiers. but the experience today weighed on me so heavily—in an almost literal sense—that i will try to put it into words (another interesting phrase).

the deceased was the brother of father paul, the director of the organization here that runs the children’s home. he had just celebrated his 80th birthday and, i believe, died at home with his family. when i heard about his passing, my first thought was what he must have seen in his 80 years. with my cultural lens, i might think of WWII, the moon landing, the cold war, or amazing technological advances. i wonder how many of these things and events he was honestly even aware of. instead, he saw his country’s independence from colonizers. he saw the rise of ethnic strife as the country attempted to form their democracy. he saw this fail miserably, and the 30 years of civil war that ensued. and he saw this civil war declared over, knowing full well it was not over, as his people, whom he’s known and been and been with for 80 years, continue to be oppressed and abused. i wonder if he died at peace with his country, or if he was worried about the violence that’s bound to continue, to affect his children, grand children, and great grand children (those that are still living after the war and tsunami that have killed a significant portion of the population).

when the huge bus carrying myself, a few staff people, and the 50ish former CS pulled up to the house—which may have been a funeral house, or simply someone’s home, i’m not sure—i had very little idea of what i would be doing or seeing. i had gone to an ‘8th day memorial service’ about three weeks before, but since this man had just passed a couple days ago, i knew this would not be the same. we filed off the bus and in through the iron gate, above which hung a banner with the man’s picture, dates of birth and death (almost 80 years to the day), and a few other words in tamil script that i couldn’t read. we entered the yard area, and slipped off our shoes in the sand by the door, and then proceeded through an aisle of plastic chairs towards the actual house. i was about the 10th person to enter the house, after the female staff woman and a few of the girls. the man was laying on what looked somewhat like the inside of a casket would, but much wider and with no lid. it was quite startling, actually, as i wasn’t prepared to actually see the body. he was indescribably frail, to the point that i was wondering (and continue to wonder) if maybe only his head was actually his, and his body was below a
baggy suit that had been poorly stuffed to look like it contained a body. the feet literally looked more like long rocks than feet, which was what most made me question that it was his real body. a sheer white veil lay over his face, and his hands were covered with white gloves, both creating a strong contrast with the dark suit, which literally looked almost empty. the fabric of the bed was also white and satiny, in a very casket-like way. i looked briefly at him, to take this all in, and then moved as far back as possible to make room for all the kids. as i moved back, i ended up in the only other doorway, which opened to another small room where a man was sleeping (or seeming to, anyways) on a plastic mat on the cement floor. i’m not sure if he was part of the family or perhaps a worker to oversee the visitations, but he was extremely gaunt and dirty. in fact, as i saw him lying there, i couldn’t help but think that he almost emitted a feeling of death more than the corpse in the other room.

back in the main room, there were about four to five feet of space from the outside of the bed to the walls of the room, making it nearly impossible to fit almost 60 people in any type of respectable way. i gladly moved towards the back to allow more of the kids to enter. once the majority were at least to the doorway, the auntie (female staff) took out her bible to lead a few prayers. she then passed the bible to one of the older girls, who led a couple songs that the other catholic kids sang along with. as we stood in silence, and then they prayed and sang, i gazed around the room with such curiosity that i hope my face didn’t show it. what were these kids thinking? (‘kids’ is really a misnomer, since they are anywhere from 13-25.) what is death to them? do they see it at all similarly to me? what were their eyes actually seeing? some of these young men and women—maybe even most of them—have killed people. some have killed children, or old men like this one. most have watched someone be killed, or experienced the death of a loved one. all know of violent deaths. a couple of them were crying, although none had ever met this man before. was it because of this overwhelming presence of death in their young lives? were they thinking of the things they’ve seen and done? or were they not thinking of these things at all? were they thinking of the fact that this man was able to live 80 long years—that he survived this life that they’ve worked so hard to make it through so far?

after a few short minutes in the house, we again went out to the yard area and sat huddled together in a mass of plastic chairs. after a couple minutes, a young man came around to give everyone a bottle of coke with a straw. as we sat and sipped, some chatting quietly, some of the same kids that had been crying in the room were now smiling or giggling (not disrespectfully), talking about something unrelated. was this an active attempt to forget what they had just seen and occupy themselves with something easier, happier? or was it just the way their minds functioned, easily moving from tragedy to recovery, being the only way they could have possibly survived for this long? and if so, what does that mean? about them and the reality they know? about me and the reality i know?

on the bus on the way home i sat next to one of the younger girls who tends to hang on me consistently when i am at the children’s home. on a normal basis, it has gotten somewhat annoying, as she quite literally uses me as climbing toy. but as we were bouncing along the partly-paved road, i found myself gripping her hand as if she was trying to get away. holding it as if she was slowly drifting away. grasping it as though it was the only thing that could save me from some unknown threat. as if letting go would have some type of horrific consequence. she recognized my somewhat rare return of affection and put her head on my shoulder. i bit my lip and looked out the window to keep from crying. i held her hand stronger to keep from screaming. i held on the entire way home, hoping that it might provide some answers, some peace.

the adventure continues

as many of you already know, about two weeks ago, i accepted a position with the ymca of japan, in a city called saitama, just outside of tokyo. i will be teaching in a full-time international preschool program in the y. i have tried to call as many people as possible to tell them firsthand, but if this is the first you're reading about this, i'm sorry. anyone who would take the time to read this is important to me, and i'd love to see you and hang out before i go!

FAQ:

- when do i leave? mid-march. no official date yet, and i'm not positive of my schedule for the next month before i go. i'll keep everyone up to date.

- how long will i be there? at least a year. they would like me to stay longer, and i would like to as well. as long as everyone is happy after a year, i imagine i'll stay for longer.

- do i speak japanese? no. none. but i didn't speak tamil, either, when i went to sri lanka. this is the joy of traveling! what an awesome challenge. i'll figure it out eventually...

- do i know anyone there? no. but the woman i'm working with/for seems AWESOME, according to our skype conversation. and i've already had a lot of people put me in contact with friends/family members there. so, i will have some people i "know" when i arrive.

- do i know how much i'm going to stick out when i'm there? (seriously, a LOT of people say this to me.) yes. i'm a white woman, almost 6 feet tall, with bright red hair. i stick out in chicago. i stuck out in sri lanka, where some people had never seen a white person before. i think i can handle it... (and i'd be lying if i didn't admit i kind of like it.)

- can you come visit me there? of course! it's fun to be going to a place where people actually want to visit! ha. once i'm there and established, we'll start making plans! i plan on climbing mt fuji at least once, so let me know if you want in!

- have i started preparing? no. not really. it's too far away for me. i've started working on my visa application, and i've started mentally organizing my things to sell/give away/store, but that's about it. i've also watched 'the cove,' 'lost in translation,' and a documentary about hiroshima. interesting choices, i know...



this is a strange time for me. as many of you know, i try to actively live life very "present-ly". so, i don't do well with impending transition. but, i'm pretty happy with my decision to not really think too much about japan yet. the reality is, i have no idea what my life will be like there. so, setting expectations will only be setting myself up for disappointment. i will make the necessary preparations, but i'm not going to start imagining what my life might be like. i did the same with sri lanka, and i found a life there in which i was happier than i had ever been before. ever. i'm not expecting that with japan. i'm not expecting anything.

in fact, the truth is that i am not promised a thing, including tomorrow. so, i may not even make it to japan. who knows? something may happen. the world is a big, crazy, messy, beautiful thing. trying to predict what will happen is just as crazy. all we have is right now, this moment. so, i will continue to sip my coffee, warm my toes by the heater, and listen to 'the national', and then get ready for work.

all that being said (and this is why this is a somewhat difficult time for me), i am aware that if all does go through with the move, then i would like to spend time with all the wonderful people in my life as much as possible in the next month. i try to value every moment with people, but it's a bit more obvious now, i guess.

so, call me! let's hang out! or talk! or dance!

thank you for reading, and caring, and loving, and dancing.