Book: Watching the Tree

I recently finished a little book by Adeline Yen Mah called Watching the Tree: A Chinese Daughter Reflects on Happiness, Tradition, and Spiritual Wisdom. I enjoyed this book of reflections very much. The chapters are separated into digestible chunks, eleven in all. What I really appreciate about this book is that Mah provides a glimpse into the Chinese culture from a personal perspective and weaves in insights that allow me to see into her world.

The chapter that I am going to share parts from is titled, “Hidden Logic Within the Shape of Words.”

Since Keiko has heightened my awareness of language, I have become more tuned, more fascinated. I’ve always had an interest in language and culture, but now with Keiko’s help, I am able to find new ways to learn about it that work for my learning style. I lose interest with books that are too dry and that’s why, although this little chapter is not about language from the point of pure linguistics, that this is Mah’s language, what she shares teaches me so much—provides another layer. There is much to be absorbed from this wonderful little book of reflections on Chinese wisdom.

One thing I found extremely fascinating was when Mah tells about how when her grandfather was a boy in the 1880s, numbers were still being written in Chinese characters with a brush. She says, “Besides being cumbersome and time-consuming, the traditional Chinese method of recording numbers lacked two vital components: positional value and the symbol zero” (p. 176). She also discusses the use of the abacus and how zero and positional value were taken into account. She refers to zero as a hero and shares a story about her son and a song he used to recite about zero when he was learning numbers. She reminds and reaffirms: “The symbol zero, invented in India in the ninth century and adopted as part of the Hindu-Arabic number system, is indeed very much a hero” (p. 177).

Mah attributes the lack of zero and positional value to the sluggishness that China demonstrated in keeping up and excelling in math and science. She says, “But like the Roman numerals, the three words yi qian yi possess neither place value nor the symbol for zero. This meant that Chinese mathematicians were unable to transpose numbers on to paper quickly and easily for accurate calculation. Mathematical thought lacked an adequate alphabet for expression, progression or development. As a result, calculus was never invented, the development of science was hindered and China fell behind the West in technology” (p. 183). I have never been very “math” minded, but Mah makes me not only appreciate the numbers that I use every day and take for granted, but how cultures adapt and get by and then need to find and adopt new ways from other cultures.

**
In the next section of the chapter, Mah talks about the Chinese language. I am only going to bullet point certain statements she makes that I found quite fascinating (there are so many).

Mah’s words:

-There are said to be over 50,000 Chinese characters (compared to over 600,000 English words).

-Most Chinese words cannot be classified as nouns, adjectives, verbs or adverbs. The majority are “root words” and can move from one category to another with the greatest flexibility.

-Chinese is a non-inflectional language and its grammar is unique for its lack of rules. There are no tenses, plurals, genders or forms, cases or endings. There are also no prefixes or suffixes in Chinese.

-The Chinese language relies almost entirely on word order (the position of a word in a sentence) and the use of auxiliary words to convey meaning.

-Word inflection in English categorizes each word in a sentence into singular or plural noun; past, present or future verb; quality of a thing or an action. But in Chinese words are uninflected and their meaning cannot be deduced except in relation to other words.

-Chinese sentences do not need to have a verb. “Big house” is a complete sentence in Chinese. In western thought, subject and attribute are separate. But a sentence such as “To be or not to be” is impossible to say in Chinese (I have seen it translated as “Let me live or let me die”).

-In the west, existence is thought of as an independent attribute that can be added to or subtracted from a separate form. The Chinese language does not separate the two. A simple English sentence such as “There is a dog” would be translated into Chinese as “Has dog.”

**

There is so much more of interest in this insightful chapter on language and culture, and this is only a portion of this compact book. Each time I would pick the book up, I felt as though I was entering a quiet meditative space, taking in the book, slowly, like sipping warm tea. I have to return the book to the library; I’ve exceeded my renewal limit. But I think that I’ll eventually buy a copy to write in because I enjoyed the way Mah weaved her own story with that of her ancestors, bringing it to the surface in a way that I could understand and appreciate.

Movie: Memoirs of a Geisha

I recently watched Memoirs of a Geisha, based on the novel by Arthur Golden. Having read the book some years ago, I was looking forward to the film, but only now got around to viewing it. I remember that this was one of the few books that held me. I read from morning until night, devouring the beautiful prose. And that Golden wrote convincingly as the women in this story is impressive.

A line that stood out for me in the movie is in the following clip where Mameha tells Chiyo that “ the very word Geisha means artist and to be a Geisha means to be judged as a moving work of art.” I find this line to be so beautiful and the movie is itself just that.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wYzqz3dMBCo

One more very short clip that shows two dance sequences is this one:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q1NL2RzugVE&feature=related

The movie is also very sad at times. I won't say too much more, just in case. I don't know if the movie is accurate in its portrayal of the Geisha, but it is definitely a work of art that makes me realize the many perfected arts and beauty that seem to be a part of the Japanese culture.

Two Short Videos ~ On Language

Here are Two videos by Red Room author, Mylene Dressler. I thought you might find them interesting, if you haven’t already seen them. In the second short video clip, she speaks a bit about language half-way through.

Dance with Language


Flood Makers and Why I Write

I think I successfully added a link. Thank you Vincent!

Ice Skating Bliss

Being “present” in the moment is not always an easy task for me. Even when I am out walking, as I breathe in the crisp air, my mind wanders, thinking, turning ideas or worries around, until I realize that I’m passing by the pretty flowers and blue skies. They at least pull me back to the moment for a time, and I try to watch my breathing, in, out, but then it happens again, I’m zipped away into my thoughts.

The first time in along time that I have experienced being fully present was when I went for my first ice skating coaching session last week. I mustered up the courage to meet with a coach for a lesson. I explained to her on the phone that I had previously skated long ago, and that I was interested in taking adult skating classes, but first wanted to see where I was. We set the date and I woke up early that morning, left the house at 6:45 a.m. It felt good to be out of the house early for something other than work.

I arrived early, rented skates, laced up, and sat and watched until it was time for my session. I felt like my mother, as I watched the young skaters out there. I observed that of the handful of girls on the ice, all of them were Asian, except for one Caucasian girl. They were clearly at different levels, some were quite graceful. One girl seemed a little bit heavier than I normally see, short, and her arms were not out straight. She was trying an advanced turn, but she didn’t strike me as graceful, and her coach didn’t seem to correct her flailing arms. I felt so odd, sitting, and in some way critiquing. Who was I to judge? I couldn’t help it, but it would also make me aware of my own body movements.

8:00 a.m. came and I met the coach, we exchanged pleasantries. I got onto the ice and skated along and she watched and we went to the other half of the rink in a corner away from the other skaters. We started back to basics, with the most elementary of strokes. Still quite wobbly, I returned to the starting position until I had at least completed a move without completely losing my balance. She kept encouraging me, “good job, that’s it.” And she said that I was picking it up quickly. As I pushed off, I had to learn to allow my body to wait, and let my shoulders do the turning. And then when I would turn and the coach saw me lose my balance, she kept reminding me, “bring your tummy in, watch that front arm.” Ah, is that why I was so slender in childhood, all this tummy tightening. It was amazing, though, how I had forgotten how important my center is, something I take for granted. So I had to be mindful of my center being pulled in, my shoulders back, which is a chore for me, since I actually have developed somewhat bad posture over the years.

At small points throughout the session, I let go, the movements became familiar, my strokes were smooth, I was one with the ice, the skates, my body. I only realized this later when I drove away, realizing that I was truly in the present, no thoughts tried to intrude my mind while I was on the ice, instead focus was on every little thing the coach said, correcting, redoing, learning, skating. It was bliss.

My mind was completely focused on learning these rudimentary moves—moves that I do not even recall learning as a child. It was so long ago, that my body remembered most of it and began picking it up quite quickly, but my mind had no recollection of any of it. My mind only remembered a small fragment of my past ice skating experience, while my body seemed to remember all that I needed to know. At the end of the session, the coach said that she didn’t think the adult class would be good for me, not challenging enough. She thought I did quite well and that if I wanted to continue, I could test and move on, but I would need to get my own skates because the rentals are so horrible and never the same, and of course I would need to practice.

I asked if many adults skate and she said yes. She even had a 50 year old man she coached who started from scratch and had been practicing and taking lessons for two years. Wow! to learn to skate at 50—that is incredible. It gave me the little extra hope that I needed to hear. She recommended someone for me to get fitted for skates, so I made the trek and did that and am now eagerly awaiting the moment I put on my very own skates and take another coaching session and start practicing on my own. Going back to basics has been both rewarding, revealing, and quite humbling.

Images from Today – Drive to Ice Land

Globe opens, spills light into
shatters, fine splinters blow in the horn,
rumbling.
deep resonance felt in
every membrane.

Today I decided to take myself to go ice skating. Well, actually, when I was flipping through the TV, I happened upon ice skating and got lured in. Memories, I suppose, of when I used to skate and compete as a young one. The irony is that I sometimes dreaded it: Getting up early morning, tired, and my coaches. One in particular; a man, somewhat grouchy, pushed me—pushed and pushed the fun right out of it, and I didn’t get a thrill out of performing in front of so many strangers and my mother. The irony is that now this deep part of me wants to do it again, wants to compete, wants the coach to push me hard, and wants to perform in front of strangers—as for my mom, she will be there in her own way. The irony is I don’t think I really liked ice skating then, but now I have this odd desire to return. I must say, the desire has been there on and off, but now it seems to be tugging stronger. But in reality, it could only be for fun, for I am way past prime in the world of ice skating.

This is only the second time I’ve taken myself ice skating since I first did so about two years ago. The funny thing is it’s not exactly like learning to ride a bicycle. With so much time having lapsed in between, at least 27 years, the body memory is there, but it’s awkward, wobbly, not immediate. There’s also a certain fear of falling or looking foolish. This time I was less wobbly, but I couldn’t just glide right out there or I’d lose my balance.

I feel a giddiness as I tie up my laces and walk with the heavy skates on my feet. I hold the rail as I walk onto the ice. Then I push off slowly, get the feel for my skates on the ice. I begin to pick up speed, but then I have to slow down because there are so many people on the rink, but at least my body can remember how to stop without falling. As I circle the rink several times, I get more confidence and turn to skate backward ever so briefly, and then I try one simple jump—I can’t even remember the name. It feels good and, I wish I had the rink all to myself, so I could push myself and try all that I remember, and just skate and skate and skate.

When I think of Peace

When I think of Peace, I think of inner harmony. I think of how one effects the many. How thoughts, words, art—are all powerful.

I try to imagine a peaceful world. What would it be like to live in peace, without war, without violence, without hate? What would the world look like if conflicts and differences could be sorted out, talked out, rather than escalating to—? I think that in a way we need the other side of peace in order to know and get closer to peace.

I agree that peace starts with us, but I respect that each individual will find and come to know peace on their own terms. I suppose though that in order for peace to be a reality for some individuals, basic needs need to be met first, families need to be cohesive. If people live in survival mode, unable to put food on their tables, clothes on their backs, how can we spread peace around to EVERYONE?

It seems to come back to me doing what I can to cultivate my own inner peace and also doing what I can in my own little quiet ways. And knowing that there are many individuals and groups and people in power or who have the means to make a larger impact.

**

Why not?
By Rebbecca Hill

History’s shadow lies hidden from
the owl’s eyes, swept into the weeds, only to grow back stronger,
tangled, thorny.

What if humankind was like a bamboo reed aiming high,
adapting to the stormy curves of the wind,
standing firm, knowing when to bend. And what if
man was also like a great oak: rugged skin, judicious
branches extending upward; no ideology to cling to, nor
only one to proclaim.

Why not a world of acceptance, respect of all views, with
no need to uncap destruction in the forest, no limbs unnecessarily
exploding into crimson ground.

Couldn’t we have a world with a spectrum of colors, ideas, warmth,
shelter, food, home, love, that everyone could fit into their pockets and
hold?

Death Visits

Before I wrote this, I took pens, pencils, and paper and just let go. Here is what came out.




We are left behind to invent a life no longer with us.
Death sparks our creative resources.
Death teaches us to live.

From Death: An Anthology of Ancient Texts, Songs, Prayers, and Stories edited by David Meltzer

I feel as though my own writing has taken a break. This is my attempt to get past it. I’ve been very quiet inside, conversing with my significant other in writing and in speaking to him aloud, sometimes asking for his advice, talking about the day with him, keeping him updated on what’s going on—knowing that in some way he hears me and can only respond through small signs or by just my feeling and sensing his presence. He has crossed into the other realm. It has been a bit over a month now since his passing.

Some books say that I should get used to saying that he is dead, so that I can face the reality of it. What rings most true for me is what Vietnamese Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hanh says in his book, “No Death, No Fear: Comforting Wisdom for Life.” He says:

The Buddha said that when conditions are sufficient you manifest yourself. When conditions are no longer sufficient, you stop the manifestation in order to manifest in other forms, with other conditions. (72).

Death is one of those words that doesn’t really make a lot of sense. Most people don’t like to talk about it until it happens, and even when it does happen, it can cause a lot of confusion. Everyone handles the grieving process in their own personal way. Death can leave one feeling lost for a time, left to make sense of, to let go of, to rebuild from—to continue living.

Nature has taken on a new level of meaning for me because now, not only do I have my usual connection to nature and sense my grandmothers’ presence and other family members, but now I look to nature to communicate with my dearly beloved. I also feel deeply that he lives on in me, through me and that is also quite comforting.

Nature is usually my first guide, but when I face a life changing experience such as this one, I try to look to as many sources as possible to help me view my experience in the widest breath—to reach a wide variety of ways of dealing with life, with death. I had my Tarot cards read a few weeks back and also revisited my astrological chart with a counseling astrologer to revisit my chart and see if anything in particular stood out for the coming year. The last time I met with her was April 2004.

I know that nothing in life is permanent and I have tried to keep this at the forefront of my mind for many years, as well as trying to practice non-attachment, but when death visits, it really puts one to the test. The emotional void takes hold, balance eventually regained.

I’m not writing this to be a sad blog, rather one where I can reflect and speak, without speaking too much about the personal out of respect for my significant other. I’m using this space as a way of bringing my reality to the page. He had such a wonderful and unique sense of humor that it keeps me light at times when I imagine how he would have tried to make me laugh even when I didn’t want to. Of course I’ve had plenty of crying, other emotions, and going in circles. I know that the myriad emotional ups and downs will subside.

The impact of death leaves a person changed for life. With self-care and nurture; processing, grieving, talking, reaching out, being with family, friends—and other ways that work for each individual—the way becomes more clear and life begins anew.

Thank goodness for memories and pictures.

**

Afterthought: I’ve always been curious about death because it always seemed near. My first experience was with my pet cat, Cicero, followed by my dog Kyo, and then other pets. And then my mother, father, uncles, grandfather, grandmother. My grandmother was open about it and she told me when she knew hers was nearing. I felt grateful that she sensed it and was able to tell me.

**

I know there is so much literature out there on death and grieving. Two books that I found very helpful were:

The Courage to Grieve: Creative Living, Recovery, & Growth through Grief ~ Judy Tatelbaum

Grieving: A Beginner’s Guide ~ Jerusha Hull McCormack