"The stars about the beautiful moon again hide their radiant shapes,
when she is full and shines at her brightest on all the earth"
Sappho (a long time ago...)
"Shadows cast by the street light
under the stars,
the head is tilted back,
the long shadow of the legs
presumes a world taken for granted
on which the cricket trills"
William Carlos Williams (1883-1963)
Friday, July 6, 2007
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
A Return & New Beginning in America...
we're here in philadelphia at my sister claudia's with my extended leslie clan during this july 4th week after a peaceful retreat up on a lake in the adirondacks.
i still retain a special childhood affection for that great swath of primeval upstate new york forests from my suburban dreams of a romantic, pre-american iroquois confederation ('the lust of the mohicans'...), as well as youthful days spent tracking white tail deer in the glades or gunnel-pumping on the dark, quiet lakes in that wilderness. there is a part of each of us, i assume, that carries these youthful geographic origins in our individual souls like eternal touchstones of innocence & utopia...
that last week of june in the adirondacks basically served as a pastoral respite after our ten days of intensive travel & late nights traveling from amsterdam (what leah now calls 'hamster-dam') to the bucolic idyll of lagrasse, france with uptal, caroline, matthew & his boys --including a swift, rollicking side trip to barcelona to enjoy the spirt of the final football championship of la liga -- then back by ryanair from carcassone to charleroi and the slowest midnight trains to our, of course, delayed airbound path from schipolto the states.
en route from nyc to our cabin on friends lake in the adirondacks, we stopped at northfield mount hermon (nmh) for a day to get a feel of joshua's new school and meet some of the folks who will part of his new life. of course, so close to my old digs at smith & amherst, i couldn't resist showing shakun & the kids scott & my ancient apartments at park annex and next door to helen hills hills chapel, as well as stop for lunch at famous fitzwilly's restaurant, scene of a few late night st. patrick day celebrations during our distant college years...
northfield mount hermon sits a few frisbee throws away from the vermont border overlooking that lush new england green of the connnecticut river valley. there had been two campuses, northfield for women & mount hermon for boys -- but they've united the 600 students at the mount hermon campus now leaving, alas, some absolutely exquisite 19th century buildings across the connecticut river. instead they've started to build some new structures, including a modern arts center on the more open spaces of the mount hermon campus. although, if they could pick up a couple of those magnificent polychrome stone edifices at northfield and transport them to mount hermon, the magnificent architectural lineage of the school would be enhanced for more generations to come.
fortunately, josh really liked his feel of the school, even quiet & empty as it was during the summer vacation, while the folks we met who work there were very warm, kind & open. while on campus, we had an hour w/ one of the nmh soccer coaches. the coach couldn't promise josh anything, as they have a couple of all-americans on the team & some strong players coming from outside the states, but he was sure that josh would find a spot on the j-v team, if not the varsity.
the best part was when, in the middle of the conversation about favorite positions, players & tactics, the young nmh coach looked at ezra and asked him who's better he or his brother. w/o missing a beat, ez said, 'he is.' pointing to josh w/ a sweet, brotherly, understanding smile. we felt, by the end, that the coach would have been happy to recurit ezra there on the spot, as well, but neither we (nor he...) were quite ready to sacrifce both our beloved sons to the alter of american higher education & soccer dreams, at least not yet...
yet these dreams have a habit of becoming reality. appearing first as candle-lit thoughts in the quiet of our minds late at night as mental images float in our free consciousness hovering between day & darkness. then, at some odd moment they are verbalized, often spouting like an oxymoron or non-sequitar in a day-dream or erupting at some moment of anger or frustration, like a seed finally brusquely breaking through the topsoil into the light of existence.
our lives are like that, it seems. images of our futures playing like a taste of the occult in our present realities. inspirations or ambitions lurking in the shadows of the today's seeming substantiality preparing themselves (and ourselves...) for their sudden appearance later in the performance.
we know that these children of ours will grow up and leave us. we prepare, as best we can, for such changes. but, we struggle, as well, letting go of what we so profoundly love.
after all, whose life has not been forever changed by having children? these little creatures whose arrival signifies the end of a certain aspect of our own lingering childhoods while permitting us a re-exploration of what childhood actually means, not to mention, a second chance to recreate the joys & simplicity of those fragile, fragrant years.
then, the orb moves, the years turn -- both sides now, as joni sings -- and one finds oneself one summer on a new england private school campus seeing your son's world open in ways both tremulous & tremendous.
he is beginning anew, separating and pushing out from his protective womb in kathmandu, reaching for the dreams that lie within his deep heart's core.
bless him and protect him.
i still retain a special childhood affection for that great swath of primeval upstate new york forests from my suburban dreams of a romantic, pre-american iroquois confederation ('the lust of the mohicans'...), as well as youthful days spent tracking white tail deer in the glades or gunnel-pumping on the dark, quiet lakes in that wilderness. there is a part of each of us, i assume, that carries these youthful geographic origins in our individual souls like eternal touchstones of innocence & utopia...
that last week of june in the adirondacks basically served as a pastoral respite after our ten days of intensive travel & late nights traveling from amsterdam (what leah now calls 'hamster-dam') to the bucolic idyll of lagrasse, france with uptal, caroline, matthew & his boys --including a swift, rollicking side trip to barcelona to enjoy the spirt of the final football championship of la liga -- then back by ryanair from carcassone to charleroi and the slowest midnight trains to our, of course, delayed airbound path from schipolto the states.
en route from nyc to our cabin on friends lake in the adirondacks, we stopped at northfield mount hermon (nmh) for a day to get a feel of joshua's new school and meet some of the folks who will part of his new life. of course, so close to my old digs at smith & amherst, i couldn't resist showing shakun & the kids scott & my ancient apartments at park annex and next door to helen hills hills chapel, as well as stop for lunch at famous fitzwilly's restaurant, scene of a few late night st. patrick day celebrations during our distant college years...
northfield mount hermon sits a few frisbee throws away from the vermont border overlooking that lush new england green of the connnecticut river valley. there had been two campuses, northfield for women & mount hermon for boys -- but they've united the 600 students at the mount hermon campus now leaving, alas, some absolutely exquisite 19th century buildings across the connecticut river. instead they've started to build some new structures, including a modern arts center on the more open spaces of the mount hermon campus. although, if they could pick up a couple of those magnificent polychrome stone edifices at northfield and transport them to mount hermon, the magnificent architectural lineage of the school would be enhanced for more generations to come.
fortunately, josh really liked his feel of the school, even quiet & empty as it was during the summer vacation, while the folks we met who work there were very warm, kind & open. while on campus, we had an hour w/ one of the nmh soccer coaches. the coach couldn't promise josh anything, as they have a couple of all-americans on the team & some strong players coming from outside the states, but he was sure that josh would find a spot on the j-v team, if not the varsity.
the best part was when, in the middle of the conversation about favorite positions, players & tactics, the young nmh coach looked at ezra and asked him who's better he or his brother. w/o missing a beat, ez said, 'he is.' pointing to josh w/ a sweet, brotherly, understanding smile. we felt, by the end, that the coach would have been happy to recurit ezra there on the spot, as well, but neither we (nor he...) were quite ready to sacrifce both our beloved sons to the alter of american higher education & soccer dreams, at least not yet...
yet these dreams have a habit of becoming reality. appearing first as candle-lit thoughts in the quiet of our minds late at night as mental images float in our free consciousness hovering between day & darkness. then, at some odd moment they are verbalized, often spouting like an oxymoron or non-sequitar in a day-dream or erupting at some moment of anger or frustration, like a seed finally brusquely breaking through the topsoil into the light of existence.
our lives are like that, it seems. images of our futures playing like a taste of the occult in our present realities. inspirations or ambitions lurking in the shadows of the today's seeming substantiality preparing themselves (and ourselves...) for their sudden appearance later in the performance.
we know that these children of ours will grow up and leave us. we prepare, as best we can, for such changes. but, we struggle, as well, letting go of what we so profoundly love.
after all, whose life has not been forever changed by having children? these little creatures whose arrival signifies the end of a certain aspect of our own lingering childhoods while permitting us a re-exploration of what childhood actually means, not to mention, a second chance to recreate the joys & simplicity of those fragile, fragrant years.
then, the orb moves, the years turn -- both sides now, as joni sings -- and one finds oneself one summer on a new england private school campus seeing your son's world open in ways both tremulous & tremendous.
he is beginning anew, separating and pushing out from his protective womb in kathmandu, reaching for the dreams that lie within his deep heart's core.
bless him and protect him.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
A Frog's Reflection of the Truth
Do not seek the truth from others;
Further and further he will retreat from you.
Alone I now go,
And I will come across him wherever I look.
He is no other than myself,
And yet I am not he.
When this is understood,
I am face to face with Tahata (suchness).
Tung-shan 9th century China
The still pond, ah!
A frog jumps in:
The water sound!
Basho 17th century Japan
Further and further he will retreat from you.
Alone I now go,
And I will come across him wherever I look.
He is no other than myself,
And yet I am not he.
When this is understood,
I am face to face with Tahata (suchness).
Tung-shan 9th century China
The still pond, ah!
A frog jumps in:
The water sound!
Basho 17th century Japan
A Week in June With Family & Friends in Lagrasse, France
It's dark in this downstairs living room, with no lights on and quiet, except for the night-time hum & gurgling of the household machines that permeate & support the western world...
Utpal & Caroline are asleep (j'espere...) upstairs where Shakun just took Ms. Leah to bed, as well. Down the alleyways, in Matthew's home, Josh, Ezra, Jeremy & Luke, no doubt, have taken to their beds, as well.
All is silent here in petite Lagrasse, past midnight, somewhere in SW France, up a circuitous country road from the main Narbonne-Toulouse-Montpellier highway. Not even the stones speak. A world quite far away from ours in Kathmandu, much less most of the busy & troubled world in which we live...
Yet, here, in this small stone town, with its medieval monastery (recently reinhabited by Dominican monks) in Corbierre, the foothills of the Pyrenees, where the Carthars once retreated to mountains keeps to protect their independence, there is no echo of footsteps, nor howling of stray dogs, nor steady roar of roadside traffic. Only the steady sound of the church bell that just struck 1 am, as it does every hour with the number of bells matching the number of hours.
We have been fortunate to return to this beautiful vale where Matthew first, then Caroline & Utpal, have created homes. We last past through this way in 2002 to meet Matthew & Laura and their family with Jerry & Monique, when Matthew (my dear brother from Save the Children days...) had just bought a shell of a building in Lagrasse. Then, we went on to see Caroline & Utpal (dear friends from Kathmandu...) at Caroline's mom's home in Alban, a few hours from here. When we mentioned how exquisite this town was, they, too, came and bought a home.
Now, five years later, both families have charming, spacious homes in this town of 600 houses, both nestled here amid the cobblestone alleys of this forgotten world. While, we, travellers still, are fortunate to be able to share their lives for more than a week, slipping easily from one home to the other, with the boys billeted at Matthew's while Shaks, Leah & I are here in C&U's home, the former Christian School of Lagrasse, tastefully redone as a Himalayan retreat far from the maddening crowd.
It's been a calming & soothing week to start our summer journey. I protect these summer weeks as they allow Shakun, Josh, Ezra, Leah et moi this luxury of time together as a family. The days, as always, pass too quickly -- but they, at least, pass together. We have time to share the moments of the days that we almost never have in our busy lives in Nepal. As the boys have gotten bigger (in every way...), our time together shrinks to precious evening moments over dinner, before they rush back to homework (or we miss dinner for some evening engagement w/ friends), or a few hours on the w/end before they head out to play soccer or meet their friends for the night together. And time, in such ways, disappears...
So, these summer adventures are the time for family, for creating this sense of family, for seeing friends together, family reunited and explorations of new places forming memories for all of us to recall & value.
Last night, we came back to Lagrasse at exactly 2 am from a long w/end trip to Espagne. I hadn't been since Scott & I passed this way in March 1978 at the start of the journey that became a lifetime. Now, 29 years later, surrounded by family and following Matthew w/ his in our rental cars, we slipped out of town on Saturday morning w/ no exact plans in place, except to breach the Spanish border and get Shakun to Barcelona while watching the final for the La Liga football championship somewhere among the Catalanian fans.
We proved, at least, that eight people & two cars can stay together, enjoy together, play together and even find parking in Girona and Barcelona on a summer w/end. Lovely, too, to see Josh (16) & Ez (14) bond so easily w/ Jeremy (13) and Luke (11), playing soccer, throwing the American football or tossing the frisbee, eagerly discussing their expatriate kid worlds in Kathmandu & Hanoi, with Ms. Leah (6) eager to be among her big brothers and newfound friends.
After a gently winding route along the beautiful Coasta Brava we reached Girona. This city (I'd never even heard of before) is a minor gem w/ a beautiful cloistered feel about it, a river that rruns through it & the ochre and pastel colors that remind me of a painting that my grandfather, Ben-Henry Rose, had done in the early 60s of a similar vista in a Mediterranean city reflected in the waters of a late afternoon light. We visited the cathedral, strolled the streets, played frisbee in the squares found a 145 euro pensione for all of us, then sat with tapas & cerveza among the kids in Independence Plaza til 11 pm.
Then, yesterday, Sunday, we had a leisurely b'fast in a small square under the sycamore trees with our coffees, fresh orange juice & sandwiches before driving to Barcelona. Ahhh, Barcelona. There is an elegant feel to this historical city proud of its heritage, its culture & refinement. We strolled the main streets and minor lanes, stepping into the Museum of Barcelona where we rode an elevator five meters below the square to see the remains of the original Roman city of Barca with Jewish tomstones built into the walls and the original court of the kings of Aragon above. Then, following the wishes of the four teenage boys, we bought tixs to the Espanya vs Deportiva game, their last game of the season, where we sat in the stadium on one of the hills, beside the regal Museum of Art, overlooking the famous Gaudi cathedral and the city below.
A long walk back to the subway, the large crowds on the streets, the life & stimulus of the urban world all around us, then back in our cars to head home, back to Lagrasse and the sweet hearth of the homes our friends have created for themselves (and their friends...) in special glade in rural France.
Utpal & Caroline are asleep (j'espere...) upstairs where Shakun just took Ms. Leah to bed, as well. Down the alleyways, in Matthew's home, Josh, Ezra, Jeremy & Luke, no doubt, have taken to their beds, as well.
All is silent here in petite Lagrasse, past midnight, somewhere in SW France, up a circuitous country road from the main Narbonne-Toulouse-Montpellier highway. Not even the stones speak. A world quite far away from ours in Kathmandu, much less most of the busy & troubled world in which we live...
Yet, here, in this small stone town, with its medieval monastery (recently reinhabited by Dominican monks) in Corbierre, the foothills of the Pyrenees, where the Carthars once retreated to mountains keeps to protect their independence, there is no echo of footsteps, nor howling of stray dogs, nor steady roar of roadside traffic. Only the steady sound of the church bell that just struck 1 am, as it does every hour with the number of bells matching the number of hours.
We have been fortunate to return to this beautiful vale where Matthew first, then Caroline & Utpal, have created homes. We last past through this way in 2002 to meet Matthew & Laura and their family with Jerry & Monique, when Matthew (my dear brother from Save the Children days...) had just bought a shell of a building in Lagrasse. Then, we went on to see Caroline & Utpal (dear friends from Kathmandu...) at Caroline's mom's home in Alban, a few hours from here. When we mentioned how exquisite this town was, they, too, came and bought a home.
Now, five years later, both families have charming, spacious homes in this town of 600 houses, both nestled here amid the cobblestone alleys of this forgotten world. While, we, travellers still, are fortunate to be able to share their lives for more than a week, slipping easily from one home to the other, with the boys billeted at Matthew's while Shaks, Leah & I are here in C&U's home, the former Christian School of Lagrasse, tastefully redone as a Himalayan retreat far from the maddening crowd.
It's been a calming & soothing week to start our summer journey. I protect these summer weeks as they allow Shakun, Josh, Ezra, Leah et moi this luxury of time together as a family. The days, as always, pass too quickly -- but they, at least, pass together. We have time to share the moments of the days that we almost never have in our busy lives in Nepal. As the boys have gotten bigger (in every way...), our time together shrinks to precious evening moments over dinner, before they rush back to homework (or we miss dinner for some evening engagement w/ friends), or a few hours on the w/end before they head out to play soccer or meet their friends for the night together. And time, in such ways, disappears...
So, these summer adventures are the time for family, for creating this sense of family, for seeing friends together, family reunited and explorations of new places forming memories for all of us to recall & value.
Last night, we came back to Lagrasse at exactly 2 am from a long w/end trip to Espagne. I hadn't been since Scott & I passed this way in March 1978 at the start of the journey that became a lifetime. Now, 29 years later, surrounded by family and following Matthew w/ his in our rental cars, we slipped out of town on Saturday morning w/ no exact plans in place, except to breach the Spanish border and get Shakun to Barcelona while watching the final for the La Liga football championship somewhere among the Catalanian fans.
We proved, at least, that eight people & two cars can stay together, enjoy together, play together and even find parking in Girona and Barcelona on a summer w/end. Lovely, too, to see Josh (16) & Ez (14) bond so easily w/ Jeremy (13) and Luke (11), playing soccer, throwing the American football or tossing the frisbee, eagerly discussing their expatriate kid worlds in Kathmandu & Hanoi, with Ms. Leah (6) eager to be among her big brothers and newfound friends.
After a gently winding route along the beautiful Coasta Brava we reached Girona. This city (I'd never even heard of before) is a minor gem w/ a beautiful cloistered feel about it, a river that rruns through it & the ochre and pastel colors that remind me of a painting that my grandfather, Ben-Henry Rose, had done in the early 60s of a similar vista in a Mediterranean city reflected in the waters of a late afternoon light. We visited the cathedral, strolled the streets, played frisbee in the squares found a 145 euro pensione for all of us, then sat with tapas & cerveza among the kids in Independence Plaza til 11 pm.
Then, yesterday, Sunday, we had a leisurely b'fast in a small square under the sycamore trees with our coffees, fresh orange juice & sandwiches before driving to Barcelona. Ahhh, Barcelona. There is an elegant feel to this historical city proud of its heritage, its culture & refinement. We strolled the main streets and minor lanes, stepping into the Museum of Barcelona where we rode an elevator five meters below the square to see the remains of the original Roman city of Barca with Jewish tomstones built into the walls and the original court of the kings of Aragon above. Then, following the wishes of the four teenage boys, we bought tixs to the Espanya vs Deportiva game, their last game of the season, where we sat in the stadium on one of the hills, beside the regal Museum of Art, overlooking the famous Gaudi cathedral and the city below.
A long walk back to the subway, the large crowds on the streets, the life & stimulus of the urban world all around us, then back in our cars to head home, back to Lagrasse and the sweet hearth of the homes our friends have created for themselves (and their friends...) in special glade in rural France.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Listening to Joni on the iPod in the Rented Car While Driving Back to Lagrasse Through the French Countryside After Visiting the Bambouserie in Anduze
I've looked at love from both sides now
From give and take,
And still somehow
It's loves illusions I recall
I really don't know love at all.
Well something's lost,
But something's gained
In living every day.
I've looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose
And still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all.
I've looked at life from both sides now
From up and down,
And still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all...
Joni Mitchell
Both Sides Now
From give and take,
And still somehow
It's loves illusions I recall
I really don't know love at all.
Well something's lost,
But something's gained
In living every day.
I've looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose
And still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all.
I've looked at life from both sides now
From up and down,
And still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all...
Joni Mitchell
Both Sides Now
Monday, June 11, 2007
Tears for Years: A Brothers' Youthful Departure
Time must have a stop, as Aldous Huxley once wrote...
There are moments that occur which will remain ever etched in our memories. Although Proust may have remembered ALL, we mere mortals must be content with those moments that define the transitions of our lives. These, as the metaphor reminds us, freeze the frame and time appears to slow down, image by image, all around us.
Such, at least, was my experience last week when I found myself in the Lincoln School auditorium for the school's farewell to its departing teachers, students, families and Joshua Shumshere Leslie, my son.
How, I wondered, did we get to this point? How could it be that Joshua at 16 was already leaving Lincoln, leaving our home, departing from my/our life in Kathmandu?
Wasn't I the dad who constantly told Shakun when the boys were toddlers that if she ever wanted to send them to boarding school (having been educated in one herself...) that I, like the obssessive mother in the endearing childrens' book, 'Runaway Bunny', would go teach at that school, too.
Yet there I was with Joshua leaning against the wall of the auditorium, a few hundred fellow students, their teachers, some of their parents, some of my closest friends, while he was openly crying as he faced the moment of his departure from Lincoln.
The school band was playing, the kids singing, the boistrous mood that Lincoln creates for such events was in full swing -- while I had my arm around my son who was unashamedly weeping, then laughing, then sobbing in front of the elementary school kids who were looking up and asking each other, "Why is Josh crying?" I could see friends and teachers around the auditorium looking towards us asking me in their own caring & concerned non-verbal way, 'is Josh ok?"
Luke Davis, one of Josh's earliest Big Brothers when he first joined LS in 3rd grade, ten years & a few lifetimes ago, son of some of our closest friends, Chris & Dale, and now a teacher himself at LS, as well as Josh & Ez's football coach & friend, came by and rubbed Josh's shoulder in affection & support. Suzi Burns, LS' own earth mother incarnate, long-term Kathmandu resident, mentor to the fringe & lonely kids at LS, as well as dispenser of kleenex on such emotional occasions, came by twice to make sure that Josh was well-stocked w/ those soft pieces of paper in which we store, then free ourselves of, some of our most private & painful emotions.
By the time Josh's name was called up, after the beautiful songs ('Stand by Me' by Europ & Ryan Shrestha), a solo by Laureen Purnell, and scenes from the middle school's 'Mid-Summer's Night's Dream', he was more composed. His 6'4" frame standing taller, his face looking past these fleeting moments ahead to the consequences of the decision that he'd made to attend Northfield Mount Hermon to redo his 11th grade, then 12th before starting college in the United States.
Much to our surpise, Josh decided in January that he wanted a new challenge, a new environment, away from the political uncertainty of Kathmandu and, possibly, to start on his journey toward his larger life beyond the world of Nepal that Shakun and I had offered him since his birth in Bangkok in October 1990. As I've said to others, I'm the American father who couldn't offer his son America. After 24 years in Nepal, it's getting harder, possibly impossible, to make that journey home myself...
Maybe in some deeper way, Josh has known that he needs/wants to grow beyond the Nepali world that we've created for him. He knows he's between cultures in a way that doesn't allow him to be wholly at home in either the Nepali or American worlds. He knows, as well, that he can communicate b/n them & empathize with them in ways that other kids who are not from such blended stock don't know.
But he also knows the alone-ness of this world. Along w/ the larger challenges & opportunities in the world outside, I think he understands that he must step toward this future on his own, that no one, not even his loving parents or affectionate brother or friends, can do this for him. His alone-ness has a birthright, like a Biblical character. Like his namesake, Joshua, or those larger than life quasi-historical Biblical figures who embody the stories by which generations of western culture have drawn inspiration and questions about the purpose and meaning of our lives...
Or, after scores of times lying with his brother, Ezra, and friends upstairs on the floor of the family room watching "Lord of the Rings", the noble quest that Frodo embodies has penetrated the deeper consciousness of Joshua. He carries a different ring -- but a ring we each carry through our lives. Each ring has its own power and risk. In his always thoughtful, deliberate way, Josh understands that he, too, must leave the Shire and find his way on his own journey, supported by those who love him, but who cannot free him of his quest.
"Joshua Leslie", his name is called by one of the teachers and slowly with steady, deliberat movement Josh leaves his niche along the wall and steps out toward the stage and his future passage. After all of the names of families that had been called, there is a strange, independent ring to the sound of only one name in the air. Again, that a-lone-ness that Josh is inhabiting on this immense journey from his home in Kathmandu to a boarding school in western Massachusetts. Yet, there is a dignity in our son, an adolescent grandeur (if I may say so...), in his walking up by himself to accept the puffy cloth heart amulet that the school has made for each of their departing friends, students & teachers. (LS, once again, at its best in its nurturing environment...)
Leah, our six year old, by this time, has come to stand with Josh & me along the wall. But when we come behind the stage to stand by Josh, he shakes his head with a pained smile, wanting -- knowing? -- that he must do this by himself. So, Ms. Leah & I stand behind the curtain, where, it appears, all parents must reside, and watch the last moments of this gracious & loving rite of high school passage.
Then Leah & I sit on a folding chair in the shadows as Leah hugs me and cries, "I don't want Joshua to go!!", wailing this time & again, until Josh comes back and with his huge frame leans over to hug us both, tears flowing freely for each of us, Leah's pained voice echoing in the darkness behind the public stage. Ms. Aruna, LS's art teacher and Shakun's cousin, comes by, looks hurt for us and gives a hug, as well, to this family tableau of separation and departure. The fabric is being pulled, wrenched, in new directions and the strength of the love is the emotion that binds as the immediate reality dissolves.
As every moment must end, we stand up as a first step on a larger voyage of individual lives. Josh goes back on to the stage to hug many high school friends who are all together understanding that this year of Lincoln is over and that the next iteration will not include everyone with whom they have shared this past year. I take Leah back to Ms. Nicole,her loving teacher and our friend, beside her kindergarten class with Maya asking, "Is Josh going forever?" while Leah's tear continue to spread, a bit more calmly, as she joins the children she knows best.
I walk to the back of the auditorium to watch the final scenes of the school year on the stage. Proud of Josh's affection for so many and theirs for Joshua. There are short queues of friends and long hugs with many. The affection is real and touching. Then, there is the boys line, after the girls. Josh's friends Narayan, Sudip, Silash & Adish, then Ezra's friends Daniel and Lyle. Then, Ezra, his 14 year old brother, friend, companion, football mate and, in the ironic way of brotherhood, spiritual guide.
The two young men hug with a hard, firm embrace, arms wrapped around each others shoulders. The 6'4" and the 6'1" teenagers holding tight to this moment, realizing that they will never share this stage of life again. That the early morning wake-ups for the 6:10 band bus will be solitary from now on. That the football practices and SAISA competititons will no longer be for both the Leslie brothers. That the excitement of the Liverpool and Man Utd games will be communicated on Face Book and through the internet, not watching on TV in the same home late at night. That the love that they have created will have to bridge much greater distances after the summer. That the stories of their lives won't be shared on the long bus rides home from school in the evenings through the strikes & bandhs & constant political uncertainties that have constituted their unique school lives in Kathmandu over the past decade.
So I watch, tears in my eyes, as well. Who are these boys? These young men? Are they really of my body & soul? Did Shakun & I really create this new life that will carry beyond us, carry us beyond, who appear to have already offered so much to so many other lives beyond ours?
They don't stop hugging. They must be holding each other for five, maybe seven, minutes. I can only observe. This is their moment. They have known this intimate world of Lincoln School for these ten years together. I am the father, a distant presence in this young school world. As Yeats said of a different place and different time, "That is no world for old men, the young in each other's arms..."
Coleen, the sylvan presence of academic promise & potential, a creature of Colorado's nature and American idealism, one of the most impressive souls during the boys' lives at Lincoln, comes up the steps, looks me keenly in the eyes and says, "I tried to come up quietly, gracefully to give you a hug." I say, "You did as well as Audrey Hepburn would. I'm just standing here watching my boys in wonder.", "I know," she says, "that's why I've come...". This wondrous human instinct for empathy, affection and understanding.
My tears are moist, the world seems beautiful, the pain so real. Josh & Ez let go of each other, slowly, carefully, looking at each other deeply. They keep their arms around each other as they walk up, almost shyly, up toward me, lead by emotional gravitational force, the still center pole of the family life they have known, until this moment, all their lives.
Josh is shy, tears reflecting the light & shadows of the room, his head tilted down. Ez, his eyes dancing, laughing and crying in equal measure. Full of love, sympathy, ache and joy. Brothers, we are, he knows. Brothers, we will always be.
The bodies disperse. The school busses begin to move. The year ends.
While the spirit of these departing souls linger in all of our minds for, no doubt, as long as we continue to remember. For love is a form of memory... And memory is a form of love...
There are moments that occur which will remain ever etched in our memories. Although Proust may have remembered ALL, we mere mortals must be content with those moments that define the transitions of our lives. These, as the metaphor reminds us, freeze the frame and time appears to slow down, image by image, all around us.
Such, at least, was my experience last week when I found myself in the Lincoln School auditorium for the school's farewell to its departing teachers, students, families and Joshua Shumshere Leslie, my son.
How, I wondered, did we get to this point? How could it be that Joshua at 16 was already leaving Lincoln, leaving our home, departing from my/our life in Kathmandu?
Wasn't I the dad who constantly told Shakun when the boys were toddlers that if she ever wanted to send them to boarding school (having been educated in one herself...) that I, like the obssessive mother in the endearing childrens' book, 'Runaway Bunny', would go teach at that school, too.
Yet there I was with Joshua leaning against the wall of the auditorium, a few hundred fellow students, their teachers, some of their parents, some of my closest friends, while he was openly crying as he faced the moment of his departure from Lincoln.
The school band was playing, the kids singing, the boistrous mood that Lincoln creates for such events was in full swing -- while I had my arm around my son who was unashamedly weeping, then laughing, then sobbing in front of the elementary school kids who were looking up and asking each other, "Why is Josh crying?" I could see friends and teachers around the auditorium looking towards us asking me in their own caring & concerned non-verbal way, 'is Josh ok?"
Luke Davis, one of Josh's earliest Big Brothers when he first joined LS in 3rd grade, ten years & a few lifetimes ago, son of some of our closest friends, Chris & Dale, and now a teacher himself at LS, as well as Josh & Ez's football coach & friend, came by and rubbed Josh's shoulder in affection & support. Suzi Burns, LS' own earth mother incarnate, long-term Kathmandu resident, mentor to the fringe & lonely kids at LS, as well as dispenser of kleenex on such emotional occasions, came by twice to make sure that Josh was well-stocked w/ those soft pieces of paper in which we store, then free ourselves of, some of our most private & painful emotions.
By the time Josh's name was called up, after the beautiful songs ('Stand by Me' by Europ & Ryan Shrestha), a solo by Laureen Purnell, and scenes from the middle school's 'Mid-Summer's Night's Dream', he was more composed. His 6'4" frame standing taller, his face looking past these fleeting moments ahead to the consequences of the decision that he'd made to attend Northfield Mount Hermon to redo his 11th grade, then 12th before starting college in the United States.
Much to our surpise, Josh decided in January that he wanted a new challenge, a new environment, away from the political uncertainty of Kathmandu and, possibly, to start on his journey toward his larger life beyond the world of Nepal that Shakun and I had offered him since his birth in Bangkok in October 1990. As I've said to others, I'm the American father who couldn't offer his son America. After 24 years in Nepal, it's getting harder, possibly impossible, to make that journey home myself...
Maybe in some deeper way, Josh has known that he needs/wants to grow beyond the Nepali world that we've created for him. He knows he's between cultures in a way that doesn't allow him to be wholly at home in either the Nepali or American worlds. He knows, as well, that he can communicate b/n them & empathize with them in ways that other kids who are not from such blended stock don't know.
But he also knows the alone-ness of this world. Along w/ the larger challenges & opportunities in the world outside, I think he understands that he must step toward this future on his own, that no one, not even his loving parents or affectionate brother or friends, can do this for him. His alone-ness has a birthright, like a Biblical character. Like his namesake, Joshua, or those larger than life quasi-historical Biblical figures who embody the stories by which generations of western culture have drawn inspiration and questions about the purpose and meaning of our lives...
Or, after scores of times lying with his brother, Ezra, and friends upstairs on the floor of the family room watching "Lord of the Rings", the noble quest that Frodo embodies has penetrated the deeper consciousness of Joshua. He carries a different ring -- but a ring we each carry through our lives. Each ring has its own power and risk. In his always thoughtful, deliberate way, Josh understands that he, too, must leave the Shire and find his way on his own journey, supported by those who love him, but who cannot free him of his quest.
"Joshua Leslie", his name is called by one of the teachers and slowly with steady, deliberat movement Josh leaves his niche along the wall and steps out toward the stage and his future passage. After all of the names of families that had been called, there is a strange, independent ring to the sound of only one name in the air. Again, that a-lone-ness that Josh is inhabiting on this immense journey from his home in Kathmandu to a boarding school in western Massachusetts. Yet, there is a dignity in our son, an adolescent grandeur (if I may say so...), in his walking up by himself to accept the puffy cloth heart amulet that the school has made for each of their departing friends, students & teachers. (LS, once again, at its best in its nurturing environment...)
Leah, our six year old, by this time, has come to stand with Josh & me along the wall. But when we come behind the stage to stand by Josh, he shakes his head with a pained smile, wanting -- knowing? -- that he must do this by himself. So, Ms. Leah & I stand behind the curtain, where, it appears, all parents must reside, and watch the last moments of this gracious & loving rite of high school passage.
Then Leah & I sit on a folding chair in the shadows as Leah hugs me and cries, "I don't want Joshua to go!!", wailing this time & again, until Josh comes back and with his huge frame leans over to hug us both, tears flowing freely for each of us, Leah's pained voice echoing in the darkness behind the public stage. Ms. Aruna, LS's art teacher and Shakun's cousin, comes by, looks hurt for us and gives a hug, as well, to this family tableau of separation and departure. The fabric is being pulled, wrenched, in new directions and the strength of the love is the emotion that binds as the immediate reality dissolves.
As every moment must end, we stand up as a first step on a larger voyage of individual lives. Josh goes back on to the stage to hug many high school friends who are all together understanding that this year of Lincoln is over and that the next iteration will not include everyone with whom they have shared this past year. I take Leah back to Ms. Nicole,her loving teacher and our friend, beside her kindergarten class with Maya asking, "Is Josh going forever?" while Leah's tear continue to spread, a bit more calmly, as she joins the children she knows best.
I walk to the back of the auditorium to watch the final scenes of the school year on the stage. Proud of Josh's affection for so many and theirs for Joshua. There are short queues of friends and long hugs with many. The affection is real and touching. Then, there is the boys line, after the girls. Josh's friends Narayan, Sudip, Silash & Adish, then Ezra's friends Daniel and Lyle. Then, Ezra, his 14 year old brother, friend, companion, football mate and, in the ironic way of brotherhood, spiritual guide.
The two young men hug with a hard, firm embrace, arms wrapped around each others shoulders. The 6'4" and the 6'1" teenagers holding tight to this moment, realizing that they will never share this stage of life again. That the early morning wake-ups for the 6:10 band bus will be solitary from now on. That the football practices and SAISA competititons will no longer be for both the Leslie brothers. That the excitement of the Liverpool and Man Utd games will be communicated on Face Book and through the internet, not watching on TV in the same home late at night. That the love that they have created will have to bridge much greater distances after the summer. That the stories of their lives won't be shared on the long bus rides home from school in the evenings through the strikes & bandhs & constant political uncertainties that have constituted their unique school lives in Kathmandu over the past decade.
So I watch, tears in my eyes, as well. Who are these boys? These young men? Are they really of my body & soul? Did Shakun & I really create this new life that will carry beyond us, carry us beyond, who appear to have already offered so much to so many other lives beyond ours?
They don't stop hugging. They must be holding each other for five, maybe seven, minutes. I can only observe. This is their moment. They have known this intimate world of Lincoln School for these ten years together. I am the father, a distant presence in this young school world. As Yeats said of a different place and different time, "That is no world for old men, the young in each other's arms..."
Coleen, the sylvan presence of academic promise & potential, a creature of Colorado's nature and American idealism, one of the most impressive souls during the boys' lives at Lincoln, comes up the steps, looks me keenly in the eyes and says, "I tried to come up quietly, gracefully to give you a hug." I say, "You did as well as Audrey Hepburn would. I'm just standing here watching my boys in wonder.", "I know," she says, "that's why I've come...". This wondrous human instinct for empathy, affection and understanding.
My tears are moist, the world seems beautiful, the pain so real. Josh & Ez let go of each other, slowly, carefully, looking at each other deeply. They keep their arms around each other as they walk up, almost shyly, up toward me, lead by emotional gravitational force, the still center pole of the family life they have known, until this moment, all their lives.
Josh is shy, tears reflecting the light & shadows of the room, his head tilted down. Ez, his eyes dancing, laughing and crying in equal measure. Full of love, sympathy, ache and joy. Brothers, we are, he knows. Brothers, we will always be.
The bodies disperse. The school busses begin to move. The year ends.
While the spirit of these departing souls linger in all of our minds for, no doubt, as long as we continue to remember. For love is a form of memory... And memory is a form of love...
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
On Reading the Names of High School Friends Who Have Died...
such a strange feeling seeing the names of those we knew who have died already at the bottom of a list sent today by a high school friend...
i must be one of my jamesville-dewitt high school class who has been most distant from our 'community' having lived now in nepal since 1983 and out of the states since 1978.
still, it's such a painful feeling seeing the names of one's childhood's friends and acquaintances on a list of the deceased with years next to their names. the quantification of finality. each name full of a distant vitality. now deceased.
deceased... such a peculiar word. ceased. to have ceased. to be without breath. breathless in eternity. eased. eased into another reality. erased. erased from our current world. without form or consciousness. transformed. gone beyond. simply gone... without substance. beyond our familiar categories of either time or space. vanished. whoosh! the sound of the wind fluttering the prayer flags. the soundless sound. om.
even if i haven't seen or known the presence of these names in my life for over three decades, there's a momentary pause in reading their names, reciting the kaddish, offering an image in incense, swirling the memory of their faces around in my mind while recalling foggy, youthful impressions of our energetic lives together as willful teenagers in the oft-forgetten suburbs of dewitt, new york. i see some of them smile, or laugh or hurt w/ the innocence of high school love.
i think of the clarity by which death distinguishes our living presence from the memory of who we once were. a narrow, threatening, distrubing passage revealing a light filled empty joy that we will all join some day on the other side. a seeming final journey to the larger life from where we all came and shall almost effortlessly return.
but, in this human realm, close to the breath of life, the joys of parenthood & the blessings of the natural world around us, it seems a monastery of non-feeling, a winter chill on the warmth of life, a dark, mysterious cloud disturbing the sun.
i see these names, again, then remember our class photos with those awkward prepubescent smiles, slicked back hair and buttoned up shirts. not for the first time, i think that life is a tangled blue stream of super-8 film recording our joys and struggles, leaving us with the anchor of memory to honor the worlds we have all left behind.
behind. beyond. before. beneath. be true.
beguiling us with the pace at which the past becomes the present in our minds. how else to bring our childhood back to our adulthood?
sing the song of those who were once with us and have fled already to the skies in search of their spiritual abode above this world of dreams & shadow. shadow and dreams.
shanti shalom om!!!
i must be one of my jamesville-dewitt high school class who has been most distant from our 'community' having lived now in nepal since 1983 and out of the states since 1978.
still, it's such a painful feeling seeing the names of one's childhood's friends and acquaintances on a list of the deceased with years next to their names. the quantification of finality. each name full of a distant vitality. now deceased.
deceased... such a peculiar word. ceased. to have ceased. to be without breath. breathless in eternity. eased. eased into another reality. erased. erased from our current world. without form or consciousness. transformed. gone beyond. simply gone... without substance. beyond our familiar categories of either time or space. vanished. whoosh! the sound of the wind fluttering the prayer flags. the soundless sound. om.
even if i haven't seen or known the presence of these names in my life for over three decades, there's a momentary pause in reading their names, reciting the kaddish, offering an image in incense, swirling the memory of their faces around in my mind while recalling foggy, youthful impressions of our energetic lives together as willful teenagers in the oft-forgetten suburbs of dewitt, new york. i see some of them smile, or laugh or hurt w/ the innocence of high school love.
i think of the clarity by which death distinguishes our living presence from the memory of who we once were. a narrow, threatening, distrubing passage revealing a light filled empty joy that we will all join some day on the other side. a seeming final journey to the larger life from where we all came and shall almost effortlessly return.
but, in this human realm, close to the breath of life, the joys of parenthood & the blessings of the natural world around us, it seems a monastery of non-feeling, a winter chill on the warmth of life, a dark, mysterious cloud disturbing the sun.
i see these names, again, then remember our class photos with those awkward prepubescent smiles, slicked back hair and buttoned up shirts. not for the first time, i think that life is a tangled blue stream of super-8 film recording our joys and struggles, leaving us with the anchor of memory to honor the worlds we have all left behind.
behind. beyond. before. beneath. be true.
beguiling us with the pace at which the past becomes the present in our minds. how else to bring our childhood back to our adulthood?
sing the song of those who were once with us and have fled already to the skies in search of their spiritual abode above this world of dreams & shadow. shadow and dreams.
shanti shalom om!!!
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