Feminism…activism… plain humanity…and everything in between... and its expression

As a kid, I help (on my mom’s behest) our cleaning lady’s kids with their studies. My mother sighs and notes the daughter is smarter, but our cleaning lady wants to focus mostly on her son’s education. It’s always so, my mother tells me. I decide to focus on the daughter. The boy is not very interested anyhow.

In college, a friend calls me to tell me she is getting married. In ten days. An arranged match, she’s met the guy only a couple of times. She sounds quiet and serious and very grown-up. She is 20. I am 18. I am completely rattled. I picture her being forced into marriage against her wishes. I must do something. I know a women’s activist from the newspaper office where I work. I contact her. But first I must collect facts.

I drag my best friend – I need a partner in crime after all, and we decide to go see our friend and find out what is going on. We circle a part of town we’ve somehow never been in. Dusty streets and unclear directions, notwithstanding, we find her house. She is wearing a sari and a subdued air. Members of her joint family eye us with curiosity. I continue to make up stories in my head.

Until she tells us she’s really really happy. I am not convinced. I look for problems. She tells us she really really likes the guy. Not what I was expecting. But I suppose I am relieved. I have no idea what our plan was had she not been a willing bride. Hmm… never got that far. Happy to say she’s been happily married ever since. 

Some days ago, my daughter and I make signs for the Women’s March. My kid is uncertain and wants more information. She is not thrilled as she is packed tight like a sardine on the Max train.  

She is not thrilled that it is wet and cold, but she doesn’t complain. We wave our signs. She has a lot of questions. About other signs. Signs that talk about body parts and such. “That’s weird. What does that even mean?”

I tell her about objectification of the woman body and how women like to be considered more than just their bodies. I never thought I was a feminist. Simply because I never thought about it. But again, isn’t every woman a feminist? Wouldn’t every woman want to be treated an equal. And really, isn’t that the same for other groups of individuals who are put in a category, any category, and denied rights, simply for belonging to a category.

 

These are all random stories that crop up in my mind for no particular reason. There are others. I notice that I don’t know if my actions/ intentions ever made a difference. Clearly, my friend didn’t need our meddling (and thankfully so).

I suppose it is hard to say if we make a difference. But then, is that reason to stop caring? For wouldn’t that only allow a sense of apathy or helplessness or defeat to set in.

I suppose there are times when even if we don’t know how far the impact of our expression will be, we must. For the sake of participation in democracy, for believing in what we believe in, for faith in what we believe in and what we believe the right thing to be.

Expression may be all we have in certain times. For at the heart of it, we all know right from wrong and good from evil, and we are all born with an inherent sense of what is equal and fair for one, is for the other. The courage to express and hold our own for what we believe in, may matter more in certain times than others.

Creating joy… cupcake by cupcake…

Last night, a writer friend says, given the way things are, she really feels the need to create joy. Her words are simple and heartfelt and resonate deeply.

This morning her words keep ringing in my ears. And unlike the occasional ringing in the ear, I encounter, her words are inspiring. By afternoon, I find myself elbow deep in flour, butter, sugar and eggs. I’m baking. I’m creating joy… cupcake by cupcake…by cupcake…by cupcake. Did I mention I can’t seem to stop?

Sure, a certain calm spreads, as do pleasant aromas all over the kitchen. I’m concocting a lavender cupcake recipe (whew… successfully) and lemon cupcakes. I look at the counter – a hundred and twenty cupcakes stare back at me.

“And you’re the one who has problems with the standard American diet?” their words drip in sarcasm.  

“But you’re here to help me create joy,” I remind them. “See how light and fluffy you are, and how good you smell, and how happy you’ll make a child”. Ahem… even to myself, I sound like the witch in Hansel and Gretel.

By now, my entire kitchen is judging me, “Surely you can find healthier ways to create joy. When was the last time you saw the insides of that health club?”

I shoo away all the critical voices in and around my head. And even if I shake my head as I stare at the counter filled with cupcakes, I think of all the folks I will give them to. Surely there’s joy in that.  

Long story short. A lot of things in the world may seem unfair and unsavory and just plain awful. But the world itself, is really not awful. And yes, one bite into my lavender cupcake will convince you of that. The world remains. We remain. And along with it, remains our ability and desire to create joy (in healthful ways or not). And once we've created joy, we can believe good will win.

And listen to lovely friends who voice it, as  mine did last night, and whose words ring in our ear.  And before you know it, you’ve created joy. Or at least, had the desire to. One cupcake at a time…

Novelty…wonder… routine…boredom…

Tokyo
My kid and I mix into the crowd at the Tokyo metro station. It’s the only thing to do. Over thirteen million people in the city. Over thirty seven million people in the greater Tokyo area. We join in. Thirty seven million and one, thirty seven million and two.

At least a third of them must be at a metro station, in rush hour. Even if a thousandth of that population were to be on our train… And yes, that’s your math workout for today.

Even if you choose not to do the math (slacker), you know well, it accounts for busy trains and metro stations. Despite the rush, there seems to be a lack of excessive scrambling. Despite the crowds, there seems to be a lack of excessive noise. I think of similar train stations in New York and DC and Mumbai. How can it be so quiet? And then there is the business of: “Sumimasen” (Excuse me/ pardon), the officials say, as the shove folks onto trains, with the help of a stick held horizontally.  

Nobody minds. Everyone minds their own business, does their own thing – as during a commute in any metropolitan city.

But we are tourists. I glance at folks around me. The elderly ladies smile at me. I notice the teenagers, take in the culture, fashions and trends, the overall politeness, a sense of grace and courtesy, the lack of noise…

We look at the map and travel book. We figure out what train to take next. We read about places. Yes, we’re tourists. We have the time and inclination to look around.

Unlike the woman sitting in front of me, who is probably thinking about dinner or the work she needs to finish, I have nothing much going on in my head. I am on vacation.

Yes, being on vacation is an interesting state of being. We give ourselves permission to not occupy our mind with the multitude of (inconsequential?) things we lay so much emphasis on.

We are in a new environment. Our curiosity and state of wonder gets activated. Sometimes, I feel, it even releases a certain self-awareness. I notice things about myself that I find hard to believe I never knew (ahem… not to say that is always a pleasant or happy thing).

Yes, there is a certain heightened awareness. An awareness that wants to take things in. An awareness that processes the experiences.

What happens then, when we come back to our mundane?

Is it completely unrealistic to keep up with that sense of spirit and awareness and wonder? What if, for the rest of today, I go about experiencing whatever it is that I see with a sense of wonder, or at least, a teeny tiny bit of enthusiasm? Is that even possible given that I have been down that same grocery aisle a zillion times before? So unless they have a monstrously giant chocolate truffle in that aisle, it sounds pretty exhausting.

Certainly, there is comfort in knowing and security in sameness.

But what about those parts of the brain that wake up and fire up when provided with fodder of wonder and new experiences?

Portland
The snow comes down in fat flurries, converting the world into a soft magical white marshmallow land. It is delicious. I marvel at the soft-footed calm that spreads, despite sledding kids. The same trees and houses and streets encased in this white wintery magic are completely different beings.  

And then there are the snowy white nights. When it never really turns completely dark. A certain light exudes from the ground, the world… the skies seem to reflect it. I remember my friend mentioning emails I exchanged years ago, describing my first experience of fall colors and falling snow and snow-filled nighttime light. I wonder what I may have said. I don’t have those emails or that email account or that frame of mind anymore.

Yes. My world, my street, my house is the same. Yet completely transformed. All I can do is to stand and look. And marvel. And take in the wonder. And a week later, swear beneath my breath… ahem, just saying…

It appears there is a certain continuum. Novelty…wonder… routine…boredom…

Unlike, like the woman on the Tokyo train in front of me, who probably gets on the same train, at the same spot, at the same time, and sits in the same spot even, day in and day out, I am hungrily taking it all in. Marveling at everything. And more. My life. My world (her world actually) is so very interesting in that moment. My moment.

So what I’m wondering is if we close our minds to some degree in our day to day. What would be novel, becomes an annoyance, or something ‘extra’.  Do we need to close our mind to some degree for efficiency? To be able to get things done? To maintain the peace and ease of a routine?

Is there some way to maintain the peace from a routine, and yet, keep our minds open?   

Force of nature

Thud!! My kid and I look at the window in alarm. Our discussion has revolved around the bird flying in the snow in the yard.

“We really need to put a bird feeder out there for times like these”

“They should have migrated further south, this year”

“That silly bird!! Can’t it see the window??”

We hear it crash against the window.

She runs and draws up the blinds. Thankfully, no hapless bird on the ground, buried in snow. The snow beneath the window is smooth and intact. Whew… We are impressed by the bird’s comeback skills.

Then we see it again. Perched on top of a neglected, lonely, last apple on an otherwise naked, snow-covered tree. It pecks away at the frozen fruit. We admire its tenacity. Okay, I do. My kid is mostly rooting for it to get enough apple.

Look carefully, and closely -- very closely -- you will see a bird perched ON a long neglected, single apple! An easy hour was spent admiring its tenacity in pecking away at the frozen fruit. So happy it found food -- right after it hit our window!

“Look a piece of the peel”, “It would be easier if it didn’t actually sit on the apple”… we stand there for over half an hour.

Refusing to give up, it keeps at it – pecking away, changing angle. It is biting cold outside. The bird has however found food and it simply won’t give up. The whole world seems to have disappeared from its view. All it can focus on, all it must focus on, is the fruit.

Tenacity at its best, purely for survival.  

Nature comes with force and grace and beauty and cruelty, but with never any apologies, never any guilt, never any remorse. It knows its thing. It does its thing.

I wonder what it would be like to be that way. We are after all, a part of nature.

It cannot pause to consider the effect it may have, to be careful, or cautious. It cannot pause to view the havoc it has created. It cannot pause to see how magnificent it is. It cannot pause. It never pauses. It knows its thing. It does its thing.

Just so, the bird must do it thing. For it knows a thing or two about survival.

We notice another bird on the arbor, close by.

“Ooh it’s waiting its turn”

“The one on the apple is really strong and tough” We speculate pecking orders. In a little bit, the other bird takes over – pecking just as furiously on the frozen fruit.  

Before we know it, it’s been over an hour and we have important things to do: sledding and snow cones, mostly.

Our favorite snow cones -- with a topping of maple syrup and lemon juice -- such delicious snow! 

And even if that is mostly what we focus on, a snow day is really all about snow, and slowing down and taking a minute to notice and admire and respect and be humbled even, by nature, and perhaps, figuring out, what our role in it may be. 

Let 2017 be a walk through the Belly of the Buddha

2016 came and went. With it, came and went - good, bad, wondrous, ugly. So much to be thankful for, so much to put in that amnesia bin.

2017 is here. I stand at its entrance, in curiosity and resolve, in optimism and trepidation. Uncertain almost, if I want to take charge, and steer the course ahead with resolve; or allow things to happen as they will.

Suddenly, I am reminded of a recent Fall day at the Kiyomizu-dera shrine in Kyoto, Japan.

The Japanese maples, resplendent in their fall colors, hang gracefully against the shrine. Decorating the ancient buildings with hues of green, orange, red and golden, glistening in the crisp autumn sun.  

The little alley, leading to the shrine, filled with stores is in a busy bustle. Yet there is something peaceful about the shrine ahead. It seems to stand (and has stood for years) with a certain wisdom and steadfastness that doesn’t get distracted by technology, or life’s changing, quickening pace.

Standing at the brink of 2017, reminds me of the Belly of the Buddha or tour through the womb of Zuigu-Bosatsu, at Kiyomizu-dera shrine.

We stand at its entrance in hesitation. It looks like a dark cave/alley ahead. We enter and darkness descends. Pitch black darkness.

“Mom, I can’t see a thing,” shouts a voice behind me.

Our eyes don’t adjust to the darkness. They never do. The entire time that we are in there.

“There’s a railing to the left. Hold on to it,” mom instructs.

The wooden railing is in the shape of beads. Metaphoric? I wonder. Meditation beads? A symbol of faith? Hmm…Should have read that handout before entering.  

We hold on tightly to the railing. It seems to turn and take a course. All we can do is follow the course. In surrender. A lesson in the Buddhist philosophy of surrender.

I awaken to the uneasiness and wonder of it all.

“Mom! Is this thing going to go down? What if it goes down?” questions the voice behind me.

“Just hold on the railing. We’ll be okay,” mom answers, her voice masking all uncertainty.

That is all we can do. That is all we can ever do. In that pitch black, I can’t tell where the walls end – only a foot away, or continue in the infinite. I can’t tell what is out there - in the black. All I can do is hold on to the railing, even when the path turns, perhaps, more tightly so, in a state of suspended surrender.

“Mom, that was the coolest thing ever!!!” exclaims the voice behind me, as we exit.

It was. And now, I draw inspiration from it, to walk through 2017.

Yes, 2017 is here. I stand at its entrance, uncertain almost, if I want to take charge, and steer its course ahead with resolve; or allow things to happen as they will.

Maybe it could be a bit of both – just as in the Belly of the Buddha. Where I have no idea of what will happen next, and surrender to the unknown. Yet, hold on to a railing. Firmly. A railing which stands for strength and optimism and love, and belief there is good, and wonder and kindness, and everything else that matters, and only that which matters.  

Bring it on, 2017. I am willing to surrender in your infinite unknown - in your dark crevices and your brilliant joyousness. For my railing, will be there to take me through. Even if at times, it may feel like a skinny, tired railing, it will continue to be there, so long as I can hold my faith in it, and my belief in the good in it.

No matter how dark or treacherous a corner, I hope I will always remember it is there and remember to hold on to it. Railings, instead of resolutions, this New Year.

Happy 2017!!

Kiyomizu-dera shrine images