it's raining, drizzling, rumbling
today.
lovely, incessant downpours
sloshing off shivapuri hill
behind us.
shaku and i were married
twenty years ago
today.
above the fish ponds
below the stone stalagtite
at sesh narayan mandir.
the rain has
always
kept us from leaving
this valley.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Hymn to the Moving Silence
we did it.
they are doing it.
it's the nature of our lives.
to keep exploring.
we wander the wondrous wall-less world,
the images, people and nature around us.
then, slowly, we move inside.
to where we learn we really live.
where there's plenty of gestalt inside each of us
for a lifetime.
its time again to
observe. concentrate. reflect.
silently. silentl. silent. silen. sile. sil. si.. s...
watching my mind relentlessly create these waves.
floating perpetually within the skies of my mind.
forever attached and unattached.
my children! my sons!!
my Joshua! my Ezra!
both mine and not mine.
so I turn to my breath. in and out. out and in.
in/out. out/in. the rise and fall. the fall and rise.
here and there. nearby and far away.
us and them. me and you.
mother and father. husband and wife.
lover and friend.
father and son, still.
i am all and sometimes none -- or even both...
the halves that make an unseen whole.
the tao. advaita. universal. yaweh. brahma. sunyata.
as my emotions rise and fall
with the weather.
the constants and constraints
of this miraculous life
are its beguiling, yet superficial, inconsistencies,
my deepest, aching, longing feelings.
the rhythm of my life.
so, time again,
to put this emotional kayak back in the turbulent river.
since this metaphor never seems to end.
the source rarely even slows down.
just keeps churning, churning, churning
into the vortex
always alone
yet never alone, again.
this life of
moving silence.
they are doing it.
it's the nature of our lives.
to keep exploring.
we wander the wondrous wall-less world,
the images, people and nature around us.
then, slowly, we move inside.
to where we learn we really live.
where there's plenty of gestalt inside each of us
for a lifetime.
its time again to
observe. concentrate. reflect.
silently. silentl. silent. silen. sile. sil. si.. s...
watching my mind relentlessly create these waves.
floating perpetually within the skies of my mind.
forever attached and unattached.
my children! my sons!!
my Joshua! my Ezra!
both mine and not mine.
so I turn to my breath. in and out. out and in.
in/out. out/in. the rise and fall. the fall and rise.
here and there. nearby and far away.
us and them. me and you.
mother and father. husband and wife.
lover and friend.
father and son, still.
i am all and sometimes none -- or even both...
the halves that make an unseen whole.
the tao. advaita. universal. yaweh. brahma. sunyata.
as my emotions rise and fall
with the weather.
the constants and constraints
of this miraculous life
are its beguiling, yet superficial, inconsistencies,
my deepest, aching, longing feelings.
the rhythm of my life.
so, time again,
to put this emotional kayak back in the turbulent river.
since this metaphor never seems to end.
the source rarely even slows down.
just keeps churning, churning, churning
into the vortex
always alone
yet never alone, again.
this life of
moving silence.
Breaking News: Separation Anxiety Strikes Parents in Kathmandu!!
It seems we're never really quite ready for the most obvious and natural aspects of being alive, are we?
Yesterday, Joshua & Ezra left with their closest Kathmandu friends for a ten day pre-holiday holiday to Thailand. At 17 and 15 (16 on the 28th), this is the first time our sons have gone off for such a long period of time, not to mention another country.
Of course, as Priscilla would say, 'they come by it honestly'. They were born in Bangkok, Samitivej Hospital. They didn't even need a visa to arrive! Since then, they have been in and out of Thailand on annual vacations. BKK and Thailand ares a city and country they are quite familiar with, even though they've never lived there. For a few years now, we've let them meander around BKK on their own whenever we're there. It's a relatively safe and easy city to move around.
Still, there's the separation anxiety just below the surface or bubbling all over the surface -- depending on the hour of the day or night...
Neither Shaku nor I slept well last night, after they left. I was up late for the Germany vs Turkey Euro Cup game, but then couldn't find my night muse, until I ended up in Ezra's empty bed downstairs around 4 am. I think I did the same thing late last summer when Joshua left on his own to go to the States for his first year at NMH in western Massachusetts.
In truth, it's not just the fact that the boys are in Thailand far from parental guidance & support. After all, they have Adhish, Silas, Narayan, Sudip and Norbu -- five relatively mature, tall, handsome, some responsible friends to protect each other. But, underneath yesterday's departure is the knowledge that neither Josh nor Ezi are coming back w/ us at the end of the summer.
Going, going, gone. Anicca. Anicca. Impermanence. Transience. Departures. Good-byes.
After 17 years w/ Josh & Ez intimately in our lives, they are both now stepping out into that vast, seductive, fascinating, attractive and, occasionally, manipulative world around us. They will be in a safe haven in Northfield Mount Hermon come the end of August. But, our hearts are left in the wilderness...
We still have a summer together with them, meandering Northern California, the coast of Oregon, the coast of Maine and Boston... but, both Shaku & I know that, under the surface, a stage of our lives together, joined in one home, is over.
Our home in Kathmandu will be much the lonelier without these two precious souls and sons in our daily lives. There is a sadness for both of us, the proud and pained parents, alas...
Still, it was sweet to get an email from Joshu today. Silence from Ezi.
They are now officially: "CtC" and "DCtC". i.e., as Josh informed us the day before he left, 'Cut the Cord' and 'Don't Cut the Cord', our beloved, remarkable and profoundly adored sons; forever ours; forever (in our minds)
Young...
Yesterday, Joshua & Ezra left with their closest Kathmandu friends for a ten day pre-holiday holiday to Thailand. At 17 and 15 (16 on the 28th), this is the first time our sons have gone off for such a long period of time, not to mention another country.
Of course, as Priscilla would say, 'they come by it honestly'. They were born in Bangkok, Samitivej Hospital. They didn't even need a visa to arrive! Since then, they have been in and out of Thailand on annual vacations. BKK and Thailand ares a city and country they are quite familiar with, even though they've never lived there. For a few years now, we've let them meander around BKK on their own whenever we're there. It's a relatively safe and easy city to move around.
Still, there's the separation anxiety just below the surface or bubbling all over the surface -- depending on the hour of the day or night...
Neither Shaku nor I slept well last night, after they left. I was up late for the Germany vs Turkey Euro Cup game, but then couldn't find my night muse, until I ended up in Ezra's empty bed downstairs around 4 am. I think I did the same thing late last summer when Joshua left on his own to go to the States for his first year at NMH in western Massachusetts.
In truth, it's not just the fact that the boys are in Thailand far from parental guidance & support. After all, they have Adhish, Silas, Narayan, Sudip and Norbu -- five relatively mature, tall, handsome, some responsible friends to protect each other. But, underneath yesterday's departure is the knowledge that neither Josh nor Ezi are coming back w/ us at the end of the summer.
Going, going, gone. Anicca. Anicca. Impermanence. Transience. Departures. Good-byes.
After 17 years w/ Josh & Ez intimately in our lives, they are both now stepping out into that vast, seductive, fascinating, attractive and, occasionally, manipulative world around us. They will be in a safe haven in Northfield Mount Hermon come the end of August. But, our hearts are left in the wilderness...
We still have a summer together with them, meandering Northern California, the coast of Oregon, the coast of Maine and Boston... but, both Shaku & I know that, under the surface, a stage of our lives together, joined in one home, is over.
Our home in Kathmandu will be much the lonelier without these two precious souls and sons in our daily lives. There is a sadness for both of us, the proud and pained parents, alas...
Still, it was sweet to get an email from Joshu today. Silence from Ezi.
They are now officially: "CtC" and "DCtC". i.e., as Josh informed us the day before he left, 'Cut the Cord' and 'Don't Cut the Cord', our beloved, remarkable and profoundly adored sons; forever ours; forever (in our minds)
Young...
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Rilke on Transience and Joy
And if one day all we do and suffer done
should seem suddenly trivial and strange,
as though it were no longer clear
why we should have kicked off our childhood shoes
for such things -- would not this length
of yellowed lace, this densely woven swatch
of linen flowers, be enough to hold us here?
See: this much was accomplished.
A life, perhaps, was made too little of, who knows?
a happiness in hand let slip; yet despite this,
for each loss there appeared in its place
this spun-out thing, not lighter than life,
and yet perfect, and so beautiful that all our so-be-its
are no longer premature, smiled at, and held in abeyance.
Rainer Maria Rilke
1875-1926
should seem suddenly trivial and strange,
as though it were no longer clear
why we should have kicked off our childhood shoes
for such things -- would not this length
of yellowed lace, this densely woven swatch
of linen flowers, be enough to hold us here?
See: this much was accomplished.
A life, perhaps, was made too little of, who knows?
a happiness in hand let slip; yet despite this,
for each loss there appeared in its place
this spun-out thing, not lighter than life,
and yet perfect, and so beautiful that all our so-be-its
are no longer premature, smiled at, and held in abeyance.
Rainer Maria Rilke
1875-1926
Thursday, June 19, 2008
A Wet Patina on a Rock Garden
mid-june and the monsoon has begun, again...
i've just come inside our home after digging by hand and shovel in my expanding rock (boulder) garden in the backyard. i take the soil from around these boulders by wheelbarrow up the small hillside to create our own personal mountain top.
this physical labor is a great balance to the ceaseless chores of life, managing a home, an annual summer vacation and the academic demands of three growing children, as well as the higher structural aspirations that my human rights work entails.
not to mention, of course, i half-expect to find a 7th c. licchavi dynasty stone temple buried under a later landslide while i'm shifting the soil below me.
we're told this budhanilkantha hillside was, centuries upon centuries ago, a profoundly sacred hindu religious pilgrimmage site in the early first millenium.
but, it's as much the child in me who still finds pleasure to dig in the dirt and yank out rocks who spends his extra hours out in the drizzle and sun getting much needed exercise while moulding his himalayan home.
now, inside, my shirt soaking wet, time for a much needed warm shower, i find ezi on his laptop preparing his courses for next year at nmh while leah independently creates her own childhood games. as i was in my backyard mediation, josh was off to silas's to meet his friends on the other side of our neighborhood hill.
as i write, van is on the imac speakers. 'everyday i want to be closer. i want to know how to get the feeling. down in your soul...'
outside the drizzle continues. an airy patina of wet on a lush, verdant background with rain clouds hovering on the 7,000' shivapuri hillside behind us.
i've just come inside our home after digging by hand and shovel in my expanding rock (boulder) garden in the backyard. i take the soil from around these boulders by wheelbarrow up the small hillside to create our own personal mountain top.
this physical labor is a great balance to the ceaseless chores of life, managing a home, an annual summer vacation and the academic demands of three growing children, as well as the higher structural aspirations that my human rights work entails.
not to mention, of course, i half-expect to find a 7th c. licchavi dynasty stone temple buried under a later landslide while i'm shifting the soil below me.
we're told this budhanilkantha hillside was, centuries upon centuries ago, a profoundly sacred hindu religious pilgrimmage site in the early first millenium.
but, it's as much the child in me who still finds pleasure to dig in the dirt and yank out rocks who spends his extra hours out in the drizzle and sun getting much needed exercise while moulding his himalayan home.
now, inside, my shirt soaking wet, time for a much needed warm shower, i find ezi on his laptop preparing his courses for next year at nmh while leah independently creates her own childhood games. as i was in my backyard mediation, josh was off to silas's to meet his friends on the other side of our neighborhood hill.
as i write, van is on the imac speakers. 'everyday i want to be closer. i want to know how to get the feeling. down in your soul...'
outside the drizzle continues. an airy patina of wet on a lush, verdant background with rain clouds hovering on the 7,000' shivapuri hillside behind us.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Questions of Travel
Is it lack of imagination
that makes us come to
imagined places, not just
stay at home?
Or could Pascal have not been
entirely right about just sitting
quietly in one's room?
Continent, city, country, society:
the choice is never wide and
never free.
And here, or there... No.
Should we have stayed at home
Wherever that may be?
'Questions of Travel'
Elizabeth Bishop
that makes us come to
imagined places, not just
stay at home?
Or could Pascal have not been
entirely right about just sitting
quietly in one's room?
Continent, city, country, society:
the choice is never wide and
never free.
And here, or there... No.
Should we have stayed at home
Wherever that may be?
'Questions of Travel'
Elizabeth Bishop
Thursday, June 12, 2008
The Twilight of the Royals in Nepal
And, then, they were gone, completely, finished... the institution, the individuals and the royal state of our once charmed Nepal.
No longer will 'All be fair throughout the Kingdom' on the front page of the 'Rising Nepal'.
No more 'Jai Desh Jai Naresh', no 'Jo hukam, Sarkar' echoing around the palace. The fabled Sri Panch has fallen along the road with the Sri Teens, the Chaubisi Raja and many minor mountain plenipotentiaries before them.
The march of history, the powerful groundswell of democracy and republicanism finally crept up the torpor and isolation of the Himalaya to subsume an historical, albeit lethargic and intimately selfish, monarchy.
Poor Birendra, we knew him well... Seven long years ago, his gentle and unassuming countenance lay murdered in the Narayanhitti palace that is now vacated. Shockingly replaced by his arrogant, aggressive younger brother-in-arms who neither had the common touch nor simplicity of his elder brother. While Birendra appeared content to quietly engage the painful tragedies of his nation, Gyanendra retained the royal authoritarian longing to step heroically above the masses to repress the sweep of deeper, more complex socio-economic movements.
Alas, poor Gyanendra... and his nation... the curtain closes on a long, tedious twilight of the monarchs. He keeps his calm, much too belatedly, as he and former queen Komal step into their black Mercedes limousine and head, under the cloak of darkness, to their suburban retreat in the quiet and isolation of the nearby Nagarjun forest.
History, of course, never quite ends. There are chapters and verses in this lengthy passion play ahead. But, for now, the curtain has closed on the debris of the Shah dynasty.
For those of us fortunate enough to have had orchestra seats on this decade-long denouement, the twilight of the royals, it has been a remarkable, fascinating, painful and, hopefully, finally liberating journey.
Like all good theater, our emotions, hopes and fears have been enthralled as this medieval passion play has evolved, devolved and disintegrated in front of our eyes. The power and the glory, once again humbled.
Ozymandias, Nebuchadnezzer, Augustus, Byzantium, Glorious Louis quatorze and all, royalty and revolutionaries, the great, uber-great and pretenders all...
As our modern Hebraic prophet-poet-minstrel-bard sings:
'how does it feel to be without a home, on your own,
like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone,
with no direction home...'
Finis Operis
No longer will 'All be fair throughout the Kingdom' on the front page of the 'Rising Nepal'.
No more 'Jai Desh Jai Naresh', no 'Jo hukam, Sarkar' echoing around the palace. The fabled Sri Panch has fallen along the road with the Sri Teens, the Chaubisi Raja and many minor mountain plenipotentiaries before them.
The march of history, the powerful groundswell of democracy and republicanism finally crept up the torpor and isolation of the Himalaya to subsume an historical, albeit lethargic and intimately selfish, monarchy.
Poor Birendra, we knew him well... Seven long years ago, his gentle and unassuming countenance lay murdered in the Narayanhitti palace that is now vacated. Shockingly replaced by his arrogant, aggressive younger brother-in-arms who neither had the common touch nor simplicity of his elder brother. While Birendra appeared content to quietly engage the painful tragedies of his nation, Gyanendra retained the royal authoritarian longing to step heroically above the masses to repress the sweep of deeper, more complex socio-economic movements.
Alas, poor Gyanendra... and his nation... the curtain closes on a long, tedious twilight of the monarchs. He keeps his calm, much too belatedly, as he and former queen Komal step into their black Mercedes limousine and head, under the cloak of darkness, to their suburban retreat in the quiet and isolation of the nearby Nagarjun forest.
History, of course, never quite ends. There are chapters and verses in this lengthy passion play ahead. But, for now, the curtain has closed on the debris of the Shah dynasty.
For those of us fortunate enough to have had orchestra seats on this decade-long denouement, the twilight of the royals, it has been a remarkable, fascinating, painful and, hopefully, finally liberating journey.
Like all good theater, our emotions, hopes and fears have been enthralled as this medieval passion play has evolved, devolved and disintegrated in front of our eyes. The power and the glory, once again humbled.
Ozymandias, Nebuchadnezzer, Augustus, Byzantium, Glorious Louis quatorze and all, royalty and revolutionaries, the great, uber-great and pretenders all...
As our modern Hebraic prophet-poet-minstrel-bard sings:
'how does it feel to be without a home, on your own,
like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone,
with no direction home...'
Finis Operis
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Nietzsche on Us & Our Lack of Perspective...
"All philosophers share this common error: they proceed from contemporary man and think they reach their goal through an analysis of this man.
Automatically they think of 'man' as an eternal verity, as something abiding in the whirlpool, as a sure measure of things.
Everything that the philosopher says about man, however, is at bottom no more than a testimony about the man of a very limited period.
Lack of historical sense is the original error of all philosophers..."
Nietzsche
'Human, All-Too-Human'
Automatically they think of 'man' as an eternal verity, as something abiding in the whirlpool, as a sure measure of things.
Everything that the philosopher says about man, however, is at bottom no more than a testimony about the man of a very limited period.
Lack of historical sense is the original error of all philosophers..."
Nietzsche
'Human, All-Too-Human'
Friday, June 6, 2008
Meditation #17 By John Donne (1623): 'G-d, who is our only security'
Nunc Lento Sonitu Dicunt, Morieris
Perchance, he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill, as that he knows not it tolls for him; and perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my state, may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that.
The church is universal, so are all her actions; all that she does belongs to all. When she baptizes a child, that action concerns me. And when she buries a man, that action concerns me: all mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated; God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again for that library where every book shall lie open to one another.
As the bell that rings to a sermon calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come, so this bell calls us all; but how much more me, who am brought so near the door by this sickness.
The bell doth toll for him that thinks it doth; and though it intermit again, yet from that minute that this occasion wrought upon him, he is united to God.
No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.
Neither can we call this a begging of misery, or a borrowing of misery, as though we were not miserable enough of ourselves, but must fetch in more from the next house, in taking upon us the misery of our neighbors. Tribulation is treasure in the nature of it, but it is not current money in the use of it, except we get nearer and nearer our home, heaven, by it.
Another man may be sick too, and sick to death; but this bell, that tells me of his affliction: if by this consideration of another's danger I take mine own into contemplation, and so secure myself, by making my recourse to my God, who is our only security.
Now, this bell tolling softly for another, says to me, Thou must die.
Perchance, he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill, as that he knows not it tolls for him; and perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my state, may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that.
The church is universal, so are all her actions; all that she does belongs to all. When she baptizes a child, that action concerns me. And when she buries a man, that action concerns me: all mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated; God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again for that library where every book shall lie open to one another.
As the bell that rings to a sermon calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come, so this bell calls us all; but how much more me, who am brought so near the door by this sickness.
The bell doth toll for him that thinks it doth; and though it intermit again, yet from that minute that this occasion wrought upon him, he is united to God.
No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.
Neither can we call this a begging of misery, or a borrowing of misery, as though we were not miserable enough of ourselves, but must fetch in more from the next house, in taking upon us the misery of our neighbors. Tribulation is treasure in the nature of it, but it is not current money in the use of it, except we get nearer and nearer our home, heaven, by it.
Another man may be sick too, and sick to death; but this bell, that tells me of his affliction: if by this consideration of another's danger I take mine own into contemplation, and so secure myself, by making my recourse to my God, who is our only security.
Now, this bell tolling softly for another, says to me, Thou must die.
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