Walking Meditation

I spent the day in Luxun Park in North Shanghai. It was a once or twice a year kind of day. Spring emerging, cheating winter out of a day. And I’m free to enjoy it. Crisp and fresh and fragrant. Warm in the sun. Cool in the shade.

For those of you lucky enough to live near a big city park, you know well the social masterpiece that takes place on this carefully crafted and maintained stage. On a day for quiet, I walked. Breathing deep the joy of life around me.

Old couples dancing in coordinated step to old Chinese classics

A kite stuck in a tree

Practicing calligraphy with water on black pavement. Liquid blends dirt and rock. Getting darker.

An old woman in a wool coat and trousers – using green metal fencing to stretch our her legs

Men huddled around the Xingqi board. Women crowd the card table.

The wedding couple walks by. Photographer in tow. Photographer helper in tow’s tow.

Football stadium pokes out through the spring blossoms. Massive Nike ads of Ronaldo and Torres wave in the wind.

The odd business man practicing Tai Chi. Alone. His suit stands out in the crowd of passer-bys.

Women singing a duet as the wood block keeps semi-steady rhythm and the violin swims in the background. The wheelchairs circle round.

Bamboo scaffolding. New building.

Men’s gossip corner. An audience for anyone. An ever-eavesdropping ear.

Another casual observer.

A fuchsia overcoat. You just don’t see those around.

Two kinds of magnolia.

String, sticks and a spinning top. He’s learning. This one’s caught the rhythm. He has gloves; the master on stage.

Clap front. Clap back. Clap front. Clap back. Clap front. Clap back.

Studies a three-page foldout in the weekly news magazine.

Walk backward. Walk forward.
Walk alone. Walk arm in arm. Walk arm with bag. Arm with baby.
Walk with a gaping goofy smile.

On the move. A huge blue and white construction truck. Heading for bamboo scaffolding.

Yellow forsythia. Brighter than yellow ever imagined. Struck across tender willow greens.

Jeans that say “jeans” accompanied by frazzle-dried, red-dyed hair. A mischievous smile. “Should I push him in? Could I?”

Two-year old playing ball. Can’t let it fall in the water. Grandpa chases successfully. The sidelines watch and enjoy and help when necessary. The game must go on. Lilo and Stitch must stay dry.

A silent study of flowers with camera.

Ground shakes. Train underneath.

Up the stairs. At the top, a victorious yelp. Down again. Repeat. Many times. Many yelps.

Exquisite rock landscaping brings life and layers to the garden. Someone put the right person on the job.

Cigarette #9. 11:23am.

Two men in camouflage walk easily with their pruning shears. There smiles shouting. “It’s a perfect day to work in the garden.”

A saxophone warms up on the hill.

Blossoms. Soft. Pink. Yellow. White. Green.

A disfigured face. Purple and yellow. Swollen. Not self-conscious.

Attracting a crowd. The boys surround and stare. Seconds pass. Will they speak? “Hello. What are you doing?”

Memory welcomes back a day in Rome. Losing my way outside the Aventino. Panini and a Peroni.

Snipping badminton shuttlecocks. They will fly faster now. Two cigarettes of work. No sweat. Back to the court.

Marching with vigorous arm sways. Middle-aged women exercise.

Saxophone still warming up. Another Yelp.

Lunchtime.

Enter the Dragon

The Eastern China Airlines flight touched down early in the afternoon and I passed through the non-descript Pudong airport without a second thought. It felt more like a terminal in Milwaukee than one of the major ports of entry for the most populated country on the planet. An interesting signal. A lot can be learned about a city by the feel of its airport.

Clearing customs and loading up, we quickly arrived downtown. Chae Nam and I settled into our new digs at the “fashion-savvy” Rhea Hotel. Compared with the resourcefulness of our Chinese hosts (buying subway cards, getting haircuts, etc.) we spent the hour and a half doing relatively nothing (Fortunately, someone told me long ago a cardinal rule of travel. Don’t compare. Appreciate.). We made coffee and weighed ourselves on the scale (haven’t seen one in months, other than at the airport) – that was about it. When I travel in hotels, I relish the first hour of a new room. It’s feels clean and I unpack at a relaxed pace.

In a surprise break from the normally cold weather of March, we arrived on a day that leaned towards springtime. Despite the heavy and humid air, we enjoyed a subtly warm evening, cruising downtown to see the skyline at the Bund. We passed through the commercial hub of Shanghai on the way, decked to the hilt with lights. It didn’t match the obsession of Hong Kong and I was glad for that. It seemed a bit looser and dirtier. Delightful.

After some dumplings for dinner, we ended up on the river, looking at the increasingly well-known Shanghai skyline. It’s a good one. Not overwhelming, but still the Pearl Tower stands. There is an absolutely compelling LCD display on the side of one building. It projects motion pictures over 40 or 50 stories. It’s modern China and its stunning sharp.

Walking the promenade, I soaked it in alone. I’ve spent a lot of time with my team these past five weeks. I enjoyed taking the space to relax amidst the people. People covered the walkway. Shanghai, they say: “People mountains People sea”. Still, I feel alone. It’s easier amidst so many people than with two or three.

As I walked down, I made friends with a couple of young guys from Hunan Province. They were on holiday and in Shanghai to see the sights and take in China’s #1 metropolis. We chatted for 15 minutes (their English was good enough and they were kind to enjoy what little I know in Mandarin). A pair of old friends from the neighborhood. One helps his Dad run the family mop factory. The other is a liberal arts student at university. I couldn’t help but be warmed by their spirit. I had to admit my own prejudgment: that the Chinese people might be a bit colder on the mainland than they were in Taiwan or Hong Kong. On this occasion, I was happy to feel so wrong and thus, so welcomed.

The guys made me smile. It’s not necessary to go out of one’s way to make a friend or even to say hello to a stranger. If anyone, I’m naturally happy to keep to myself. I rarely extend a warm hand to a random walking down the street. Still, it made all the difference to me tonight. I told them that they were true ambassadors; Not only for China, but for all people and the human-quality of friendliness.

It didn’t take long for me to get home at night though the trains were still buzzing after 9. The whole way home I couldn’t shake off the smile I received from my new friends, nor my disbelief that damn! I’m in China! Enter the Dragon.

Helmut Lang or Homespun?

I’ve never seen a city like this before. Far from the romantic images of an East-West port city in transition through the 20th century, 21st century Hong Kong smacks of globalization.

Visually, it is something to behold. Hong Kong is unlike anywhere I’ve ever been. Framed by volcano-shaped mountains, the city consumes a few islands and over 6,000 glass-metal-concrete spires shoot skyward in a sea of skyscrapers. Pitched against the March mountains and the blue-green harbor, it’s a combination of human and natural engineering that left me inspired with mouth agape for days on end.

I’ve enjoyed my time here, welcomed by a number of generous hosts and even catching up with an old friend on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon.

But there is a certain heaviness here. In so many ways, there is no question that the city sparkles. But what’s underneath her clothes? A heavy and haunted history. Born from that, one sees/feels/hears the emptiness underneath the glamorous designer wares and latest plastic sheen.

The other day I sat out lounging on the deck outside the International Financial Centre, cooling over an ice tea. After walking past what seemed like the 18th Salvatore Ferragamo store I’ve seen since I arrived in town, I sat and watched the other patrons. A perfect deck, elevated and harbor-viewed and my friend and I even scored some classic fully-pillowed couch. Perfect day. Choice spot.

But as I sat there, I started to feel as if I was on a see-saw – pitched in the middle of two swaying sides. The seemingly opposed sides became crystal in my minds eyes.

On one, I could feel the spirit of materialism that has raised me up since I was a child. Whether its a couple hundred thousand commercials or my senses that developed to understand smells, sights and sounds, I’ve learned all about material things. I’ve learned to appreciate all kinds of things too: a new baseball glove, cheap wine, fine cigars, GI Joes, fresh basil, a well-cut shirt. I’ve learned to appreciate giving and getting. Things that are free and things that you pay for. And here I was sitting on a nice deck, sipping an over-priced drink with an old friend and feeling that life was just about as perfect as it could be at that moment.

I took all that in. The fact is that we are material beings. We rely on the things of the earth to provide us not only with entertainment or a good feeling, but much more practically giving us the nourishment, shelter and safety we need to live. At the same time, I’m more than well aware that material goods do not provide lasting happiness or security. They serve a purpose, but that purpose isn’t fulfillment. We can be satisfied with a meal, but we will be hungry again. We can enjoy a cigarette, but we will nic again. We can be happy with new pair of Italian leather shoes, but unhappy when we step in dog shit walking down the Roman street. (This first became clear to me studying the Buddha though many sages recognize the suffering that arises from desire for things – which naturally arises as a product of a overly-materialistic society).

But thinking of Buddha got me thinking of Gandhi’s autobiography. I was so compelled by his will to let go of much in order to strengthen his focus on truth and nonviolence. These two things, far from things you can “have” were worth more to him than accumulating anything other than a pair of chappals, some clothes he made by himself* and wearing a hairstyle that he cut by himself** (though as a British-trained barrister, he could have lived posh as). Surely his high thinking and practice served a remarkable purpose for India and the world. Would it have been possible if he had been distracted by recurring desires to purchase the latest iProduct?

But can you live alone on the truth? Can you live alone on a good hug?

The truth with seesaws is that they show us two sides in comparison to each other. We ultimately see which one weighs more (or to which one we assign greater or lesser value). Between materialism and non-attachment there must be balance. We are material beings, yet we have a degree of conscience unparalleled on earth.

So how to balance? In Hong Kong, the seesaw tilts one way more than the other. How about your seesaw? How does it balance?***

*Reminded me of a shirt my friend Ngan wears. It says: “The best things aren’t things”. Of course, it’s a on a shirt, probably costing more because it of what it says Perhaps its also of more attachment for her because it’s a clever and perhaps “good” shirt.

** In a somewhat poignant side note. Gandhi’s watch, glasses and chappals recently went up for auction in New York. The proceedings caused such a stir that the items were eventually removed form the auction block. Seems they couldn’t decide who should “have” them. I can almost hear Gandhiji sigh heavily and patiently.

***As it goes sometimes, I read some supremely incisive words during my time on the seesaw. This came from the Gospel of Mark. “Listen carefully to what I am saying – be wary of the shrewd advice that tells you how to get ahead in the world on your own. Giving, not getting, is the way. Generosity begets generosity. Stinginess impoverishes.” (4:24-25)

A Solid Start But a Lasting Aftershock

10 years ago, a major earthquake devastated central Taiwan. As a topographic gem, the island displays a spine of sharp mountains around 10,000 feet that shoot up from the surrounding lowlands. It makes the scenery absolutely stunning, but it’s the surface level beauty of the shifting plates underneath. Earthquakes are imminent here. But none had rattled the people like the 1999 incident. In September of that year, a major seismic event shook the Nantou area. The aftershocks destroyed major infrastructure and claimed about 9,000 lives.

Like New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina, Nantou became a rallying cry for the human spirit. Volunteers and resources flocked to the region from throughout the island. The group I work with had a volunteer team in Taipei that flew into action. After mistakenly arriving in a small village outside of the main town, the team’s leaders connected with the village leaders and a lasting relationship started. Every other weekend for six years, a team of volunteers took the 4-hour bus ride from Taipei City to work on reconstructing the village.

Over time the village put brick on brick and eventually the old farming community began to look more modern. The team had to keep lively, quickly switching their role from house builders to community bridge-builders. In the fall-out of the event, families and old friends bickered over the new direction of the village. The volunteers used the skills and heart of a long tradition of trust-building work to bring the estranged parties together. Together, their efforts have built a new village.

We met some of the original group that helped with the recovery; a strong team of volunteers and villagers. I enjoyed hearing the stories of how people respond to moments of crisis. Fortunately, these weren’t only the heartwarming tales of service and selflessness, but the real stories of power-struggles and politics that arose when the money started showing up.

I heard a couple stories that emerged from the rubble.

First, the story of how one family welcomed my friend Oufang without a second thought. When she showed up in their village by mistake, their was good reason to raise suspicion. But instead of going through a strenuous and suspicious trust-building process, they saw purity in her spirit. They immediately opened up their house to her and she spent many days working out of their spare bedroom to organize community efforts and volunteer work. Frequently, they cooked meals for her and her entire volunteer team. 10 years later, she still gets invited back as family.

Second, the story of how crisis presents a great opportunity for change. While the village underwent a physical change, we met a young man who transformed at a personal and spiritual level. Just 14 when the earthquake occurred, he had already created a reputation for himself as the chief rabble-rouser in the village. His parents had reached wits end with him. But in the aftermath of the catastrophe, a new spirit emerged. He told me that the need became so obvious that he realized he could use his misguided energy to provide new direction for his village. Now Chang Zheng is an important community organizer, an already successful businessman and an emerging photographer. He’s coordinating a 10-year memorial that will be celebrated in the September.

Today, new struggles face the community. In the shade of the sprawling betel nut plantations, times are good for the farmers economically. The natural stimulant in the betel nuts provides them with ample income, even as these plantation make the soil increasingly vulnerable to mudslide should the earth shake again. But now the scourge isn’t the disrepair of the buildings, but alcoholism. Our afternoon meeting with one man felt quite different when we met him in the evening after his daily drink. Oufang told me alcoholism would continue to afflict the village until villagers sensed a renewed sense of purpose. Another struggle is the loss of young people. With fewer jobs in the countryside and increasing migration to city, the youth, with bolder professional dreams than their parents, continue to ship off to Taichung and Taipei (and even abroad) to pursue their hearts’ desire.

These aren’t the kind of problems that attract the aid and attention of a natural disaster, but perhaps they are as destructive and as important to address. But who will work with them – now that the crisis is complete but a steady aftershock continues?