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Sunday, September 30, 2012

Angkor

Hundreds crowded the stoned ruins of Angkor
Every temple we cycled to,
packed with tourists and more tourists and more tourists still

grasping for a glimpse of some sacred history of Empire
a lost era
a faraway, distant... distant , lost memory...

A religious Empire slave-built,
Stone.

The Khmer Empire
Buddhist-Hindu, not quite one nor the other, nor did it really pretend to be, for it was and must have been, many many different things...



Someone European wanted to take a picture of me.

A Buddhist-Muslim prelude


The West imagines Islam.
Islam imagines the West.
We all live in the ghosts
of this delusional dream of
who we all are.

The West imagines Buddhism.
Buddhism imagines liberation from dualism.
We all live as ghosts
of what we have learned
from the soup of perspectives we swim in
And our mouths sing similar dreams.

How, as a Buddhist, do I imagine Islam?
How do Muslims imagine Buddhists?

Are these even meaningful questions outside of the context of what our languages tell us to perceive as the "Buddhist" and what "Islam" they are imagining, or as the "Muslim" and what "Buddhism" he or she is imagining?

To what extent are these perspectives that I am swimming in --> Islam = backward, violent, 'evil,' hate-filled
--> Buddhism = peaceful, non-violent, 'good,' meditative

actually limiting my ability to fully embrace
the true, lived reality of Muslims, Buddhists, and everyone else alike?


There is a weird 'privilege,' a sort of model-minority pressure, which comes from being perceived as 'safe' because I present myself as Buddhist in Melbourne. One of my best friends, who is Muslim, experiences a different pressure here: To downplay his Muslim background in the context of mainstream society for fear of subtle persecution...

I wonder of this, because we share in common humanity, both of us, in my humble perspective, fundamentally the same, because of our wish to end our common suffering, and to be of service to others.

Creative Impulse


I want to identify with the creative impulse
that lurks underneath our stubborn skins.
That swims
as cells through bloodied tunnels
engendering life
and living,
ongoing Living.

Some call this God,
some the pinnacle scientific moment,
some unifying principle,
some metaphysical constant,
some Highest-of-the-High,
some bitter theme made universal,
some Truth among Truths,
some in some Pantheon of Facets of the Ultimate...

Some say nothing at all.

Role Model

Role Model


When I grow up,
I want to be just like you, Role Model.
My fair friend, my older sibling.
My wiser self,
Me at my Best.
You are that version of Me,
you are that Role I could play,
that I am already playing, as You.


You have been delegated this Responsibility to Role Model my own higher potential, reflect what is possible for me, TO me.

When I grow up,
I already am You, already always Was You, already fullest, already fully on my way, already where I need to be, already fully that I am here,
here I am.

Already "having been" for some and
"may well become" for another.

Rape


Rape is the way the vulnerable are punished.
Rape is the way we are punished for being vulnerable.
Rape is the way we punish the vulnerable.
Rape is the way we are punishing of vulnerability.

We are scared of it,
so we try, violently, to destroy or take advantage of it
when we see it
in others.

Or in ourselves:
We punish ourselves,
this unbearabile, lonely fragility of Me,
I will outdo myself this time.

"We must be the change we want to see in the world."






How To Stop Raping the World

Don't do it.
Work through it.
Elicit help through practising restraint with others.
Do not press the button "Yes" to launch our bomb.
Take the finger off the trigger.
Put down the gun.
Take three deep breaths.
Loosen the jaw.
Take three more deep breaths.
Hold our chest with our arms.
Leak one, foolhardy tear.
Take more deep breaths.
Declare we will sleep on it.
Sleep on it.
Ask for forgiveness.

Repeat.

Maintain practice with lots of deep breathing.

'Role Pathologies' of Desire

'Role-Pathologies' of Desire...



...of Excess Desire

Pervert-Creep
constructed in 'masculine' form, 'overly' aggressive

Slut
constructed in 'feminine' form, 'overly' aggressive



...of Thwarted Desire

Loser

constructed in 'masculine' form, 'under-'aggressive

Prude
constructed in 'feminine' form, 'under'-aggressive




Just some thoughts...



Note:
I write of these not because I think that these roles (and their connotated behaviors) are pathological, but rather that the words themselves have often negative connotations in our culture, and so are in their normative construction pathological.What I'm interested is the shadow aspect in here around all these, for me, and the, I suppose 'libidinal' stuff I want to reclaim in my relationship to vulnerability and my work-in-the-world.

Poem for Today


A young woman was raped and murdered in my next-door neighbourhood.

I am reminded of my own mortality
and wondering how I might go about my life
not to further the conditions in which this is still plausible?

and to further more favourable conditions
that no more people are hurt, nor hurt nor harm one another


In me: This harmless hippie,
and also another, worried warrior.

A third, then: a coward, overwrought with fear
and then a fourth: a wandering mystic
looking for love
then slowly I am
the Beloved, who is always already loved
and then the Lover, graceful and faithful


I am a loner among extroverts
and a leader among few,
yet I have known my own power to hold a heart and break it
known in my own body my power to captivate a room and then steer it
a fever in me that leaks out sometimes in music
or rashes


I am a fish in a frigid ocean
frozen among dead gods and reptiles
I give birth to Me,
first mammal and
first-Held
eyes closed, dreaming justice
heart open, allowing truth


Who will I become?
Who will we all be?

What is my role in all this?

What is our role in all this?

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Are you Chinese?

Sometimes I’m resentful not because people are disrespecting my culture, but because I’m bitter about what I don’t know. This face and this name give rise to assumptions about access to culture I haven’t always had. At other times, I stubbornly refused to learn: speaking Chinese is only cool or impressive when you’re not Chinese. As a child I was dismissive – why bother when I already have the name and the face?
http://overland.org.au/previous-issues/issue-208/feature-juliana-qian/
On Saturday, a postal worker, on seeing my face as I opened the door for him, started speaking to me in a Chinese dialect that I did not recognize. Maybe it was Hakka. He was an older man.
My confusion registered. He switched to English and asked "Are you Chinese?"
I paused, then said "Yes." I thought, oh god now he's going to try to figure out where I'm from.
He switched to Mandarin and asked "Do you speak Mandarin (Pu Tong Hua)?"
I paused, longer this time. Then said yes in Mandarin. I could feel my dread and shame building, anticipating a conversation happening in which my lack of fluency in Mandarin would be exposed, to my discredit. This lack of fluency would confirm me as Westernized, not to be trusted, not truly a Chinese ally in this predominantly white and black neighborhood. A Complete Disappointment.
We proceeded to have a conversation about my family name, and what Chinese character was represented by the Romanized version he saw on the mail addressed to me. My Mandarin was halting, but good enough for him to understand. I understood everything he said in Mandarin, but it took me a few moments every time he finished speaking to process what he had said and to compose my response in my head.
Eventually he realized that small talk was going to be difficult for me in Mandarin. We made our awkward goodbyes. He had me sign for a package, but I think he forgot to give me the rest of my mail. I didn't know how to ask for it in Mandarin, so I didn't say anything.