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It's About Love And Tea Parties

I often say that Viri has the greatest quotes in the universe. I work with a lot of children, and all of them are awesome. I really love the kids in my care, so much so that it makes it difficult to deal with how the parents handle certain issues. I feel a responsibility to the children, because some small part of their lives intertwine with mine. They all have their unique perspectives, and fun takes on the world. But at the end of the day, I love that my son is such a Jaime junior, and that he lives in my world. There is Godzilla and baseball, trucks and motorcycles, and that is just great.

When another kid does come out with a great quote, I'm taken aback. Today one of the kids was comforting another when a game of "sing and dance" made her upset for some reason. She gave the best little speech: "Performance is about friends. We share our microphones. It's about sharing and love. It's about having fun and tea parties."

I was shocked. You're... right, kid. It is about love and sharing and tea parties! I can't believe we all forgot that! It was such a great little speech, and so Viri-esque. I told him about it when we got home, because I thought he'd appreciate the sentiment. "Yeah, that's right. Good," he said. It got the Viri stamp of approval, which is the standard for classic kid speeches. I want to set up a presidential phone call style thing for him, where he calls and congratulates people for these statements. "Yeah, that's right. Good. Bye!"

Today was a long day without him and his sense of humor. I tried. I told one girl that I didn't have soymilk, but milk from our goat in the sandbox. She didn't believe me. "There's no goat!" she said. "Oh no, our goat escaped!" It didn't work at all. They just ignored me and went back to playing sewing. When kids are playing "sew" rather than joke with you, you are officially boring.

At least I was reminded of the true purpose of life. The greatest thing about working with kids is the ability to provide a context. They aren't bogged down by the worries we have, and it's liberating. The next time I get down about money or work, I'm going to remind myself it's about having fun and tea parties. And we share the microphone in this world, mister!

Sufi Poems: Six

No greater wings are there
than Love.
And all of my beauty comes
from a mirror you always
hold before me.

Hafez differs from Rumi in many ways, but for me the biggest contrast comes from his approach to the subject of the Divine. Rumi speaks in parables, stories to inform. Hafez goes straight for the heart, and tries to stir the heart to act. Our master speaks a lot of chivalry, and for our order the darvish acts without thought of himself, always for others. Both Rumi and Hafez encourage this, of course, but Hafez speaks only to this. He is the darvish's darvish.

This verse is one of my favorites for exactly this reason. He is giving us the same criticism of ego that we hear in other poems, but phrased in such a personal and heart-wrenching way. He is reminding us of our own impermanence, and the need to seek the truth. There is beauty in the world, but don't lose sight of the real meaning of this meditation and remembrance.

Appropriately, this post is my 99th of this blog. In Sufi tradition, there are ninety-nine special names of God. The one hundredth name is unknowable, save for union with the divine. The one hundredth name is often given as a kind of koan, a meditation on the limitations of the intellect. A darvish attempting to become a Sufi is given a name or names as a remembrance, to meditate upon constantly. This is called a zekr, pronounced "zek." I started writing these posts, especially the Sufi ones, to try and get out some of my intellectual wanderings in order to focus on my zekr. I don't know if that was a good idea. It does seem to help, but Lord knows if I'm fooling myself. (A darvish reminded me of the master's comment when anyone started some new project or obsession: "This means they're crazy!")

But, all of that be as it may, I enjoy it. I like writing about my Sufi meditation, my kids, my little hobbies. So, I'm going to keep doing it. Lord willing and the creek don't rise, as a good WV darvish would say.

The Bodyguard: Good, Whitney-less Version

Continuing our Kurosawa month, we watched Yojimbo at the Grand Illusion last night. Usually not translated, the title means a kind of bodyguard. The main character, the man with no name, is a masterless samurai, just wandering the countryside, pretending at points to be a bodyguard for hire. He really isn't all that into protecting anyone. It's definitely a classic, and a really enjoyable film. As I mentioned with Hidden Fortress, I tend to forget how well these work on the big screen. The atmosphere was good, aside from the annoying little performance piece in the place of a movie introduction. But, on the plus side, thanks for reminding me why I hate college kids' art!

Yojimbo is really familiar, since it was remade into the western A Fistful of Dollars. Both are great movies, and I enjoy each one a lot. Yojimbo is Kurosawa at his jidaigeki, or period drama, best. It's Kurosawa taking timeless themes like how power corrupts and the world isn't what it used to be and placing it in a place and time that is essential Japan. One great piece of this is the appearance of a pistol in the middle of the film. The man with no name just shakes his head. This is what happens, the scene says, the world is going to hell.

I had forgotten how dark the film is. The man with no name has lost almost all hope. Even when he gives in and chooses to help a pathetic couple, you get the sense it is from his past values more than his present. He's willing to live with the dishonor of his life, taking money for killing. But he remembers having honor. This is something Kurosawa loved to play with in his films, the sense of a changing world, of fitting values into a modern society.

In the film, the characters clap when exchanging money. The clapping is to drive away the bad spirits, to make the money in some way an offering. In traditional Japan, like in many cultures, money is a pretty dirty thing. Merchants were below farmers in a social system based on Confucius, and the rich were banned from true high society. The rulers levied harsh taxes to maintain the kingdom, but mostly they got power through conquest and marriage. Samurai never worked for pay; in fact when the Meiji reformers started mocking samurai, one of the things they'd say is that now they work for pay, or sell their swords to pay their debts. Mifune's character is a hired assassin, as far from a samurai as can be. But he isn't so far gone that he doesn't remember being a person of honor, who served his lord.

The translation was pretty good, though I did have a few of the usual quibbles. They translate "Suman" repeatedly as "Thank you." It's really more of an "excuse me" kind of phrase. In the movie it stood out as sounding both modern and a little humorous. Saying "Suman" when asking for a gun is either ironic or silly. You can say a sincere thank you, that has some weight. Another translation was "naruhodo" as "I see." I have actually argued about this even with Japanese people. Translation is a strange science, and it's hard to do unless you're really culturally and linguistically versed in both nations. There are almost no people for whom this is the case. That being said, I think the expression has an element of agreement that doesn't translate into the English "I see." The English sounds detached, unaffected by the outcome. The Japanese is often used in this way, but there is a tension to it that I don't hear in "I see." I would vote for "okay," because there is that element of tentative agreement in "okay" that gets that same tension across.

So, another great one from Kurosawa, another reason to get to the theater. I am really becoming enamored of the big screen these days. If I could get rid of all the college arty types, I would never leave.

A Taste Of Spring

"I like my sun friend," Viri said. He was into the nice weather today. It was nice, too. The temperature climbed into the 50s, the sun was out, mostly. We went off to Woodland Park for a good time in the revamped playground.

They keep changing these play areas. Now, they've gotten rid of all the sand, and replaced it with cedar chips. I'm not sure why. Some kids eat sand, maybe? Animals use it for toilets? Those animals, they ruin everything. My kids don't mind, either way. Arkaedi Sue can toddle through anything. Actually, she is getting to be tough to handle at the park; she climbs like a spider monkey. I had to grab her today when she climbed a ladder, and by the time I got to her she was at eye level. Viri was always a little more cautious. She doesn't care. She'll scale a giant structure then sing a song about it.

That song'll be BA BA BA, and it'll be screamed.

We had a nice day today. Everyone was in a good mood, because of the weather and the gradual recovery from our illness. Nobody feels a hundred percent, but we're all doing okay, which is better than the past week. Viri was running and jumping and swinging like his normal self.

Arkaedi is difficult to handle at the daycare, now, too. She's started this game where she slaps me, then kisses me. Now, I'm not a total stranger to this from women, as anyone who knew me in college can attest. In fact, I frequently didn't get to the kiss, and just made do with the slap. But coming from Pretty, it's a bit disconcerting. She finds it hilarious, though, so it's hard for me to argue. I've already learned that there is nothing I can deny this girl. I'm going to be in trouble. Viri is my son, and the eldest; I can shoulder him with burdens and expectations. But my little girl? The baby and the only daughter? We're both just lucky she has J. Today she had a little baby huddle to discuss her options. She decided they were best served by smacking me and then kissing me, then asking for food.

Her signs now include 'more' and 'finished,' though she rarely uses finished. She can pack away the food. She is truly my daughter. Today she ate a ton of food then sang along to my new bluegrass/country mix. She is into exactly the music I like. (Viri: "Can we listen to Ali Ali [Pakistani Sufi music] please, Papa?" You're... different, son.)

On an unrelated note, today is the square root of the year! 3/3/9! I absolutely love stuff like that.

Observational Humor!

This is pretty well done, I have to say. I found it funny.

It'll be something to cycle back to during the summer when you can't stand another baseball related post.

Sufi Poems: Five

"You've done well," she said, "but listen to me.
All this is the decor of love, the branches
and leaves and blossoms. You must live
at the root to be a true lover."
"Where is that!"
Tell me!"
"You've done the outward acts,
but you haven't died. You must die."

I haven't done a post about Sufi poetry in a while, and I was inspired to write this earlier in the week when I came across some anti-Islam, and in general anti-religion stuff online. I typically avoid reading this, since it is usually bored jerks trying to start a fight. Oh, bad things have been done in the name of religion, wow, you don't say? As if that has never been pointed out. As if evil people wouldn't use any excuse or label necessary to create conflict. The Nazis called themselves socialist, because it sounded nice. Then they executed everyone to the left of Mussolini. The argument from history doesn't hold much weight with me; people do what they do, for their own reasons. Religion has been a useful tool for manipulation for the past few thousand years, of course it's been used. We're seeing now how science is being used for questionable purposes, too. People trapped in their own heads seeking power will grab what they can. What faith they profess is irrelevant, whether Christian, Atheist, or Buddhist.

I was happy about one aspect of that post, however. It did remind me of an important point that is often neglected in these discussions. The superficial trappings of a religion are dangerous, if they are taken literally. The essence of a spiritual path is not in the boundaries which define it for the followers, but the deeper spiritual truth. Most true spiritual paths require a master for exactly this reason. Without a master to guide you, you'll fall back onto dogma or rules, the most basic aspect of a path. The rules exist for reasons, which a master will gladly explain to neophyte disciples. The rules are guides, meant to be elucidated by a master of the path. If you don't have the benefit of a master, you get caught up in your own ego, and the path isn't clear.

This Rumi verse, like many of Rumi's, talks about ridding yourself of ego. He is warning us against the trappings of love, the outward appearance of faith. Living by the trappings of faith is okay, you'll fit into your society fine, but you won't be a true Lover. As usual in Rumi, there is a prescience to this poem. In an age where the superficial information about anything is available to anyone at the click of a button, people believe they can shape the world with their own ego. What they desire to be true is true, and the enlightened people are bypassed. The information is valuable, if your quest for knowledge leads you to a master, but the trappings themselves do not make up the spiritual path. As fundamentalists across the world are teaching us, the branches and blossoms die without the roots to nourish them.

The only way to be free of the issues which divide us, Rumi says, is to let go of your ego. Die before you die, and the remaining is the pure, unpolluted you of the Divine. It's hard to delve into any path and not find this basic message of egolessness and surrender. It's not a coincidence that the other paths even come back to the same terms, in society after society. Truth will out, as Shakespeare said.