It Took Me a Long Time to Get Back on the Train

I arrived in Cambodia about three weeks ago and I haven’t written a lick about it. Yeah, I tidied up a couple pieces during this stretch, but I haven’t created anything new. It’s a bit disappointing, but sometimes its best to ride the natural waves. These days I'm surrounded with more people on my daily and with the increased efforts of reaching into my final month of Action for Life, I feel contented with my absence.

It won't be today, but I'll look forward to writing about Cambodia. It's my second visit to this compelling country and at an interesting time. For one, the country is in the middle of the prosecution of a former Khmer Rouge leader who is being tried for crimes against humanity. There is also an ongoing border clash with Thailand, which is still brimming with political upheaval. And down south at the beaches of Sihanoukville, it's sweltering hot, but rain has already broken through the dry season and climate change is a hot topic .

I'll be here for about 5 weeks in total. So far it's been a nice chance to reconnect with some old friends, play my part in the training program here, enjoy the sunshine at the local National Park and attend a wedding. Aside from that I've been spending a lot of time thinking about air conditioning, global warming and carbon off-setting versus carbon neutral. I'll be sure to pass on more of that in the coming days.

Kites for you.

Religion in China: In Bits and Pieces

China’s religious history is deep and wide. Often this is forgotten in the recent context of communism, but Chinese philosophy includes a thread of spiritual powerhouses long ranging past Confucius and Lao Tzu, cultivating a depth of belief that far surpasses the simplicity of isms. It’s full of remarkable insight and can, when applied appropriately, provide a critical balance to much of the Western philosophical and religious tendencies that often dominate our world view. Chinese philosophy isn’t a full picture of the human religious experience, but it broadens and deepens the experience in distinctive and essential ways. It’s my hope that it will emerge in a more relevant way at the global level in the coming years as it advises well on the issues of environment, morality and relationships.

When I arrived in China, my religious studies curiosities (full of potential energy and latent like Kundalini since my college days) piqued sharply. Chinese philosophy plays an important part in the puzzle of human spirituality and given the recent history of nationalized communism since 1949 and relative liberalization since the late 70’s, what an opportunity to be here to see a country in an interesting patch of it’s philosophical history.

Given my focus in Nanjing and Shanghai, I thought my visit might be relatively unspiritual in nature, as religious activity can often be pushed to the countryside, which often fosters more traditional aspects of life. Somehow, when I conjured up images of modern cities in China, I just didn’t see spirituality playing an integral role socially, architecturally or in any other way.

Much of this supposition was justified. Religion doesn’t smack you in the face the way it would walking around Amsterdam, London, Mumbai or Pune. But that’s what’s curious about China. It’s not a country that works in the obvious.* She can when she wants to do so, but in general, it’s a culture of subtlety. It’s about what’s just underneath the surface.

In many ways, this suits my own personal taste in religion. While I enjoy the loudness of a massive basilica or the thump in a bass drum at church, I often prefer religion in quiet or even silent contemplation. But quiet, alas, is often a hard thing to find – especially in a Chinese city. So I set out on an armchair research project to learn more about what shape religion is taking in these cities. My answers came in a number of snapshots throughout my three weeks.

In the Buddhist temple I mentioned a couple weeks back, what caught me by complete surprise was the fact that it was full of common people praying. Usually religious heritage sites are primarily for tourists and devoid of any lively spiritual action. That’s typically left to the odd monk or priest. Sometimes its even the responsibility of the inanimate sculpture and other religious art in the sacred space. Remarkably, this place had few tourists and was full of earnest believers. At times I even felt out of place entirely, as I was not praying and found myself amidst many people who were devoutly following the rituals of their faith.

To my amazement (and to show just how many people live here), there are 70 million Christians in China (To compare, that’s 10 million more people than in all of Italy). The state sponsors a church, whose priests must submit sermons and reports to party members and bureaucrats for review and passage. Those who wish to practice in other settings are forced “underground”. I met one man from Taiwan who attends one such church for internationals only. Since the congregation includes ex-pats from throughout Asia and Europe, they receive little harassment from the government. But he told me that they still need to shift meeting places (congregation of about 300) frequently and when its particularly hot, they move week to week.

For those native Chinese, this “underground” church becomes increasingly fraught with danger. I heard that most don’t see it as a major risk, but they do operate with careful attention. Home churches in the “underground movement” rarely grow beyond 15 before factioning off again to keep numbers low and mobility high. This often presses highly educated Christians to take on the responsibility of teaching/preaching even without any proper training. Natural leaders in the group often emerge as the spiritual guides of the home churches. This can lead to an increasingly diversified understanding of the message.**

For those who believe (and perhaps rightly so) that the internet has developed its own system of religious idiosyncrasies and rituals, I was caught off guard one day when I went searching on youtube for some old comedy sketches to forward to a friend. To my surprise, the web address didn’t connect to anything. I checked a couple of times and never got through. Quickly, I surfed through a few pages and found out that China had suspended youtube indefinitely. The Dalai Lama’s Tibetan Government in Exile had made a video of last year’s riots in Lhasa (the capital of Tibet). China rejected the video as a farce (a compilation of footage from other events). Because it had been posted on youtube, youtube was therefore banned in China.

I was in Nanjing for tomb-sweeping day. It’s the day when children visit the gravesites of their parents and other ancients to pay their respects. Honoring ancestors is an incredibly important practice in China. Aside from visiting the graves during this annual celebration, ancestors are often remembered by presenting offerings. It’s common to see the ancestral religion in ritual on the street. People will buy fake money and effigies of cars, houses – even laptops and cell phones. When burned they are meant to be passed on to the deceased as they journey on to the next life.

I spoke with a young attorney and young insurance man over a huge Shanghai dinner the other night. Of the many issues we covered, one that surprised me was their perspective on faith. They both mentioned that they wished religion, faith or at least some deeper sense of spirituality would make a come back in China. While not over-zealous or even religious themselves, both felt that there was a need to provide for the spiritual element of the population. In their current view, the spiritual identity was leaving China and it was time for a return to a balance in the culture.

Spiritual life in China exists in the subtleties. It’s not glamorous or obvious. At times it’s hardly even recognizable. But when asked in private, most will respond with an opinion about religion and spirituality and its place in the society. My hope is that elements of Chinese spirituality will continue to emerge (even if only quietly for now) and once again play an important role in the way the people treat themselves, treat one another, treat their enemies and treat the earth.

*One of the most endearing factors of Chinese culture. I once had an artist explain to me the difference between Eastern and Western art, citing a visual example of still art. She proposed that Western art focuses on the point of climax: like the flower at the apex of its bloom or a sunset sky at its deepest saturation. While Eastern art often aims to capture the moment just before the climax or just after: like an apple just about to be ripe or a tree with its leaves jut beginning to weep.

**Curiously, this is quite similar to the development of the early church following the death of Jesus. Although those early churches were more communal in nature, they too shared the difficulties of a suspicious government. Often, this meant that teachings were disseminated by lay people in these smaller group which were often widespread and not always communicative with one another. This led to many different understandings and emphasis in the faith as it developed in the wake of oppression. It took several hundred years for the canon to develop and a more systematized theology to take shape from the original “home church” movement.

What Do We Memorialize?

In my last entry, I wrote about Megumi’s story of apology. I’ve recently been in Nanjing, the sight of the massacre I mentioned in that post. There are a number of memorials around this area, the most prominent of which is the Nanjing Massacre Memorial.

I just returned from the Nanjing Massacre Memorial a few minutes ago. It left an imprint and I wanted to get it out while it was on my mind.

When the Japanese invaded China in the mid-30’s (in what would later become WWII) they laid siege to Korea and NE China before sacking Shanghai in 1937. Following that victory, they proceeded to march on Nanjing, the capital of the Republic of China.

What happened in Nanjing is almost unimaginable in its mass destruction. I’m not sure how to describe this kind of nightmare, but its as terrifying a situation as I can imagine. Mass executions and sporadic murders amounting to 300,000 non-combatants killed over a six-week period (one person every twelve seconds over that time). 80,000 documented cases of rape. Widespread pillaging and looting of personal and public property. Complete physical and psychological assault and annihilation.

After reading endless stories, I can only paraphrase the following from one: For 6 weeks the Japanese soldiers turned into incredible beasts. Their eyes were those of the insane and their souls deprived of humanity. It was one of the darkest hours in human history.

I didn’t know about the severity of the Rape of Nanjing until I arrived in this city. As I wrote earlier, I had heard from my friend Megumi about the invasion of the Japanese. But I hadn’t encountered a vivid image. The image I uncovered knocked so deeply inside that it shook the foundation of my understandings of humanity.

At points I felt physically weak as I walked through the extensive exhibit. The scope of the human suffering seemed incalculable. Just overwhelming. From indiscriminate bombing to burying people alive – chilling and shocking.

But I recently read a book that challenges the mindset that condemns the past so easily armed with the information and conditioning of the present. It’s easy to condemn
(and rightly so) the actions of those who perpetrated these crimes. But as I cast my judgment, a question came into my mind that still bothers me: Given a similar upbringing, a similar conditioning and a similar circumstance, would I have behaved in a similar way?

I couldn’t shake this question out of my mind. I still can’t. I can’t give an unequivocal “no”. As much as I can think of myself now and firmly believe I’d never do these things. What if I was there in their boots? A 19 year old pulled off the family farm, forced into the military service, reared under a brutal command, lead to invade a foreign country, homesick and cold in the heart of winter and pressed to assault and strike incredible fear into innocents. I can be sure of nothing.

What I can grip more closely is today. One hopeful feeling I had when I left the museum was that I firmly believe that we actually have reached a stage in human history where we can reasonably envision a world, not without conflict, but without the kind of horrific violence of the 20th century. We aren’t there today, not by a long way. The violence in Darfur or the jungles of the Congo, the tribal belt of Pakistan and even on the streets of Washington, DC is with us. It’s all around us. And sure, even without physical violence, there is the widespread corruption and greed that insures the continuance of disease, famine, environmental degradation and widespread economic oppression.

But there is also hope. Yes, the challenges are huge, but can we think at a much wider level? Someone recently told me that China has existed in relative peace for the past 20 years. A period it cannot claim in the previous 100. Is it progress? Japan has successfully re-integrated into a community of nations and no longer demonstrates an interest in physical domination of the region. Is it progress? Certainly we are part of systems that work in cycles and perhaps change for the worse will again occur in these countries, but I can reasonably choose to see the glimmering edge of sustainability here.

*As you can imagine the visit had a significant impact on my team. I wanted to share a couple of thoughts that emerged from the conversation.

First: What do we memorialize? And why do we memorialize it? We all questioned whether this memorial ought really to be in Tokyo, where the Japanese can see it and make their own commitment to “never again”. I recently read a story in which a town conspired, as a community, to commit a severe atrocity. Following their act, they are cursed – the price of which is that they must tell all visitors to the town about the gross misdeed of the past, for generations on end. The beauty of the story it is a just punishment. It is the perpetrator who should be in the business of leading the commitment to never seeing the nightmare happen again. Not the victim.

Second: The memorial dripped with an unmistakable sense of nationalism and victimhood. Instead of carefully promoting an understanding of the past with a look to the future, much of the memorial felt vindictive. The common visitor would likely leave the museum with a feeling of developing hatred toward the Japanese or with a confirmed belief that the Japanese were and are the worst of the “foreign devils”. The length of the museum did more than make one feel appropriately uncomfortable. Instead, it felt almost like basking in the anguish of history without making room to move ahead. In following conversations with some Chinese, they had a similar feeling and some expressed a want for the museum to take on a different approach; One more postured towards reconciling the past and forging a real vision for the future.

Megumi’s Story

People often ask what it is I do with Action for Life. Typically, I tell them that it’s a leadership training program and that we work to develop leaders who are highly capable at leading themselves as well leading groups. We spend significant time in the area of self-understanding and development, which is fundamental in terms of leading people. The program also seeks to develop a key skill set that will empower participants to be good communicators, effective team-builders, conflict solvers and project managers. Action for Life accomplishes these tasks in two main ways – classroom training with an international faculty in an international learning community and practical application in traveling teams in a variety of cultures with a focus on partnering with NGOs and people from all parts of society who are working to bring positive change in the world.

At the heart of the program, however, is Gandhiji’s idea: Be the change you want to see in the world. So at the most basic level, we really start by helping people to identify what kind of world they want to see. From there, we are about the business of helping people take the steps of change that will help bring that world into actuality. It’s a simple idea. But it’s one with almost unfathomable depth.

For a number of reasons (our many connections, a general curiosity about who our group is and the fact we have a good message and capacity to teach/connect with people) we are often asked to speak to groups of students and various other community groups, NGOs and politicians about what we do and how we do it. We frequently give workhops. We teach some skills. We give exercises on leadership and self-awareness. But most of all it gives us an opportunity to share with the audience what Gandhiji’s message means to us.

Yesterday we were invited to spend about 3 hours with a volunteer group in Shanghai. We were asked to make an hour presentation and then spend another two hours of more informal interaction time with those present. About 25 people attended.

We decided to go bold and get direct: China is the nation on the world’s mind. The actions of China and individuals in China will have and already are having a huge impact on the rest of the world. You are part of China’s impact. What will be your impact on China?

It was a good message for the day. I really enjoy hitting young people with a good question and giving them some space to wrestle with it. But it wasn’t the question that stuck this time. What did stick was the idea of change, which came out through a personal story about change. And a very simple message.

In the 1930’s, the Japanese invaded China, after overwhelming Korea, They stormed the NE before sacking Shanghai and eventually pillaging Nanjing, the capital of the Republic. In an absolutely devastating assault, an estimated 300,000 non-combatant Chinese perished in the course of 6-weeks in Nanjing. The wounds of Japanese occupation run deep in the Chinese psyche. Even in the group we met yesterday afternoon (70 years removed from the events), one young woman told us that she felt uneasy just knowing that she was in the same room with a Japanese woman.

That Japanese woman was Megumi-san, one of those traveling with our team. Megumi comes from a generation of new hope in Japan. Born in Tokyo in the early 50’s she must have represented new opportunity and possibility for a devastated country passing through the emptiness of war and looking ahead to a new horizon. Like a new day at dawn, she and her contemporaries came fresh and innocent on the edge of a long and troubled night.

Except for her experience and conscience, she might have continued her pursuit of teaching. She might have moved to Italy with her doctor boyfriend. Or maybe continued her study of Hebrew in Israel. Or taken on the mantle of motherhood. But her parents sent her to Switzerland one summer (actually where I’ll be this summer) and she got a vision for the world. When she was challenged with the question of “What kind of world do I want to see?” she had her answer. She wanted to see a world with healed and mutually beneficial relationships between countries. Her offer in the pursuit of that would be her willingness to push pride aside and apologize on behalf of what her country

Whenever she spoke in our sessions, I could feel the energy pulse through the people. Not dramatic, but palpable. Megumi’s story opened up. First, came a story of personal reconciliation with her older sister. This transitioned into a deeper understanding about the nature of forgiveness and its transformative quality. With gentle timing and solemn tone, she then apologized for the transgressions of her people. She apologized to the grandmothers and grandfathers and for all of those touched directly or indirectly by the severe actions of her own ancestors.

When someone speaks without pretense, there is no confusing the authenticity. One could feel the purity and humility of her sentiment cut to the hearts of those encircled. The room breathed deep. Tears fell. Like opening a valve, so many found release in her story, her simplicity, her apology. True and sincere.

Many never expected to hear these words. Some didn’t even recognize the emotions they had bound to this situation. Others hardened, unwilling to let it touch them. Many wavered, wondering what it all meant to them and unable to convey their feeling. Quite a few accepted immediately, deeply moved.

Japan has never formalized an apology to the Chinese people for Nanjing. Without a clear indication of remorse from the Japanese government, Chinese have long choked on the stories of their suffering ancestors. The pain streaming down generations. Megumi’s story altered that tale of suffering dramatically.

One person acting to bring the change they want to see in the world and being willing, courageous and humble enough to act in the space they’ve been given.

**In a later conversation with Megumi over a breakfast of pork buns, coffee and seaweed knots, we developed an armchair, unprofessional and simple model that helped us to better understand the cycle of transformation that comes through forgiveness.

• To start, a perpetrator lives in a state of arrogance, ignorance or denial. Arrogance in feeling that any hurt or damage done was and is justified. The willing ignorance that stays happily unaware of pain/suffering caused. Or denial, which is a rejection of either the occurrence of the event or the consequence of the event to the afflicted party.
• Once this defense breaks (for any number of reasons) there is a feeling of shame. This starts a process of shame. It’s valid and necessary shame. If taken negatively, it will be shame that destroys a person, devastated by their past and unable to move forward. If taken constructively, it will be a long-lasting scar that will instruct the perpetrator in the future.
• When accepted, shame breeds humility. Humility is a space of malleability. It’s a place where transformation occurs. It’s a moment of willingness. It’s the space of vulnerability. It’s incredibly powerful in its capacity to let go of ego and usher in a new spirit of growth and possibility.
• From humility develops the capacity to apologize. This is the step of sharing the transformation with others and inviting the aggrieved party be transformed by forgiveness.
  

Would Megumi’s example ever bring this out in the Japanese at a national level. The spirit of humility that transforms a whole nation in its relationships with her neighbors?

A Religion of Images

After the pagoda, it was the depth of the temple grounds that struck me. Temple after temple. Courtyard after courtyard. Prayer after prayer.

Another level. Incense smoke blows through the cool March morning. Murmurs of monks chanting and patrons praying sweep over a background cars and trains bustling in the city beyond the temple walls.

The builders of constructed the temple to worship Buddha. In terms of religious architecture, I found it inspired. Their design emanated balance, from the size of the individual buildings to their layout on the overall grid of the walled area. No building to large or small, residential long houses on the sides with central temples in a string of courtyards. Each step into the grounds felt like one step closer to God. The final temple brought a sense of completion and even reverence. As if some sort of spiritual journey or purification right had just been completed.

What I didn’t expect, however, was the extravagance. When one studies the central tenets of Buddhism and the hagiography of Gautama Buddha, one would easily suspect that it is a simple religion practiced quietly by Buddha’s devotees (hmmm…on thought of this, my recent reading of the Gospel of Mark reminds me that one might believe that the followers of Jesus would also practice their faith with a simplicity and humility that would belie the excesses of some churches and audacious spectacles of some church services.)*. What I experienced in the temples was both astounding and ambitious.

I’ve been in a lot Buddhist temples, but none matched this one. Aside from the fairly common image of a giant Buddha, this one had many. So many. There are traditionally 18 images of Buddha. Some of those were exalted in the temple to heights of 20 feet. Another temple had human sized images of all 18 times two – for different artists interpretations. The first temple had images of the 4 Gods from the North, South, East and West. Further on I saw a room dedicated to a statue of the Buddha with 1,000 hands of service. Another with the hundred faces of Buddha. And on it seemed to go, with each new room and building a new house of imagery in honor of the Buddha.

In a lovely wrinkle, I went to the Shanghai Museum later in the day. The first turn I took in the massive collection of historical Chinese treasures was into the 1st floor sculpture exhibit. In the display I found sculptures dating back over 2,000 years. A little discombobulated, I took the wrong entrance to the exhibit and started marching back through time. The common media of bronze, stone and ceramic all took shape in a front of me. About halfway through (almost 1,000 years back in time), I started to notice that most of the sculpture was religious in nature. The Buddha and boddhisatvas were the primary subjects of most of the art.

The observation that struck me the most was the incredible resemblance to ancient Indian art. Walking backwards through the chronological exhibit, the connection seemed only to get stronger. By the end, I felt that I may as well have been in an Indian collection. The lines of the sculptures, the clothes, the features on the face. Not identical, but an obvious connection. And why not, the Buddha’s message emerged from India and his devotees brought it to many points North and East, including Tibet, Eastern China, South East Asia and even Japan.

By the end of the exhibit, I got my lesson. Yes, Buddhist devotees had come through China with the message of Buddha. They used images to help explain their ideas to the people they met on the way. In response to this method, Buddhism had a nickname in Chinese for many years as “The Religion of Images”.

Icons and imagery have always been important to religion. Still, I wonder what Buddha would say if he walked into that temple. Or Jesus in Il Basillico di San Pietro.
*On further thought, I wanted to say that I believe firstly in each individual’s ability to experience God as a natural part of being human. The expression of that experience (whether pretentious or audacious – whether I agree with it or like it), I can appreciate as that individual’s understanding of how to express themselves as an individual in relationship with God.

Facing Myself About China

I’ve recently had a chance to meet quite a few Chinese people and I’ve been asked on occasion to share my thoughts with them. Most recently, I spoke briefly to a group of lawyers who have started a volunteer agency in Shanghai.

My experience in Shanghai has reminded me of a fundamental idea a friend told me in India: Trust is a decision. It doesn’t matter how many actions a person takes to show you that he is trustworthy. At the end of the day, you still have to decide whether or not you trust that person.

I’ll be straight with you. China is misunderstood in America. We don’t get very much information about what is happening in your country. And it’s obvious that the information we do get does not give us a complete picture of the reality of present-day China. On one side we see broadcasts about the riots in Tibet and on the other we see the dazzling spectacle of the Beijing Olympics. I read articles that conjure up feelings of fear about China’s world ambitions while a day later I see a magazine cover that reads “Why you shouldn’t be afraid of China.” This demonstrates the vast gulf between the two sides and the derth of balanced information.

The problem with misunderstanding is that it leads directly to mistrust. And there is a lot of mistrust of China in the United States. And I’ll admit it to you. I find it very challenging to trust the Chinese – I’m a person who makes decisions largely based on information and my lack of reliable sources on this subject spurs my suspicion.

But that has started to change. I’ve always wanted to get a closer look at China – to see it for myself. And over the past two weeks, I’ve experienced here what I’ve experienced in many other countries – a common theme worldwide – people are all people.

During my time at Shanghai, I’ve noticed some very specific things that I share in common with Chinese people I’ve met. We like bike-riding and there are times when want to and perhaps need to take unnecessary risks on two wheels. We like sitting around a big table with friends and enjoying good food. We tie knots the same way and need a toothpick after eating spare ribs. We tend to talk more loudly and laugh more easily after we’ve been drinking. We prefer wearing slippers indoors. When spring knocks at the door after a long winter, we wish it would come in more quickly. We love flowers. We feel pain when we hear a friend has lost a loved one. We get hurried and careless when too much is happening around us. We smile at the sight of a friend’s newborn child.

When I remember and recognize that people are people, it slows me down. It gives me a feeling of great connection, despite all the obvious and large barriers like language and culture. And with that weave going on, trust happens at a human level.

So it’s from this personal experience that I think I can bring it back to the big picture. What about America and China? What does it look like if our countries are working diligently to build-trust at all levels of society. What could happen at a global level if China and America actually decided to trust one another and work together. We could be more than business partners. We could develop new models of business that become recession-proof and seek greater equality and opportunity for all. We could be the leaders of an environmental revolution of long-term sustainability. We can make major breakthroughs in medicine and science by joining eastern and western styles. It’s a vision worth having and pursuing.

If we are talking about Gandhi’s idea – my life is my message – then I want to make my message one of trust. I truly believe that with trust, all things are possible. In the same moment, without trust, nothing is possible. So today I will make a commitment to you. I will take my experience in Shanghai back with me to my home. I’ll share about China in a personal way, a way that brings out your voices and stories – the human aspect of your country. A way that challenges any sweeping generalizations I might hear. A way that seeks to build understanding and trust.

In this way I’ll build a sidewalk of trust between our two nations. I’m not Barack Obama, so it won’t be an interstate. It may not even be noticeable to more than a handful of people. But my hope is that if we all build sidewalks and put them next to one another, we’ll eventually build a rock-solid bridge of trust that spans the Pacific Ocean and a Great Wall. That covers the vast void of fear, suspicion and misunderstanding. That connects us despite barriers of language and culture. And if we can do that, as people and as nation – that’s a vision worth the commitment.

A Picture of China

By the side of a lake, I watched the old style. The willow tree weeping into the water. The gentle clap of the waves on the shore. The early spring lavender bursting to life along the banks.

A man holds the long-cut bamboo, waiting for the fish. One can tell the age of the method by the unrefined nature of his craft. A simple string and hook attached to the end of the pole. No reel. No spinners. No tricky casting. Just reach the long twig over the water and drop in wherever the fish might be. It looks old. Must be from many generations past. Passed on from grandfather to grandson over hundreds of years. A peaceful and gracious style. A soothing and organic approach.

The sound of music seemed misplaced in the setting, but when it came, it wasn’t grating. The Chinese melody floated along through the misty, cool air. It wasn’t live music and it lacked the punch of a stereo. It just wandered into the foreground. I tuned in.

But in a splashing flurry it shot out of mind. I snapped my head to check out the happenings and caught a view of a fish writhing on the end of the line; flopping in a last ditch effort to shake the tackle. The angler quickly handled the bamboo and masterfully landed the fish in a couple of moments. Not a monster catch, but enough to keep me interested (and the fisherman) interested.

Yet in the instant that he seemed to secure the line (fish swinging back and forth), he cooly reached into his pocket. The move was unmistakable. As surely as he brought in the fish, he pulled out a cell phone and clicked on. The music stopped.

With one hand on the 10-foot bamboo rod and the other holding the cell phone, I clicked a picture in my mind. Antiquity and modernity in frame.