Sitting in the safety of my little cocoon of an apartment as I write, a feeling of gratitude washes over me. After having spent two days away from all of the madness in the mountains a few hours outside of Tokyo I feel a sense of relief and gentleness.
It started with standing next to an 850 year old tree that put it all into perspective. This life is short, I will be gone and this tree will continue on. It was then that I found absurdity in the madness of it all.
I read the other day that someone in the US got on a plane after having been tested for corona. After take off and in the air he got the results texted to him – positive. Regardless of whether or not he voiced his reaction, the rest of the passengers are now at risk for the duration of the flight. If you have any symptoms why would you even consider taking a plane much less getting tested before boarding a plane? What about others? Is what this person had to do more important than potentially infecting a planeload of people?
I also read that Trump sat next to a Brazilian dignitary recently who has since tested positive for the virus. For whatever reason Trump is refusing to get tested despite being the leader of the most powerful countries in the world. Wouldn’t you think a leader is one who leads by example? Maybe I misunderstood the definition of leader.
The take away in all of this and what irks me the most, this is really about supporting and taking care of one another and is the crux of the American dilemma. It is a country of self-centered me first attitudes. I know I was one of them for a very long time. It wasn't until I moved to Japan that I was able to confront and shed the deeply ingrained narcissism.
It will be interesting to see if Americans learn anything from this and band together making sure one another is taken care of. And that means not leaving the house or getting on planes with symptoms.
Recently a friend of mine returned from Mexico. I spoke to her via FaceTime the other day. Of course the topic was corona. She said she had a cough and a bit of a sore throat. My first words, not hers, “Go get tested. Think of all the people you could infect.” It took her a moment to make the connection. And her in lies the crux of the problem. Most Americans don't think this way.
The fact is we affect and infect one another. To think there is some separate vessel cordoning one off from one another is just plain wrong. We are all connected and thinking beyond the borders of self and more about the groups is what took me so long to learn to do while living in Japan.
The simplest way to put it, “When the group is taken care of 'I' am taken care of.“
There is no I, there is no me, there just is. Experiencing, knowing and accepting, that lifts an incredible burden off my shoulders. Yet it is replaced with another one.
With that burden lifted, I don’t have to get wrapped up in issues, take things personally, prove anything to anyone, predict the future, live in the past, care what others think, solve problems, fix others, fix myself. The new burden? Being responsible, honest, there for others, don’t cause suffering, help others realize there is no I, that in and of itself is an uphill battle. People think there is an I. There is only experience in the moment from what is seen and felt thanks to the myriad of senses we experience. Anything else beyond the now is delusional and something extra added.
I like the image of the onion. As it is peeled away getting closer to the center, there is a realization that there really there is nothing and life becomes a little bit simpler. Then the next layer, simple, and simple and simple ... This I can relate to.
My life while busy rich and full outwardly, has gotten much simpler over time as the layers peel and fall away. This feeling of effortless joy is a byproduct of getting just a little bit closer to that center. Maybe those are what impossible to solve Buddhist koans are all about, realizing that we area already in the center and we don’t have to work so hard to get there. I am not sure if this is true or not.
This most likely is not the right context for the use of this term, but the beauty of being a writer is that I can use words to shape it into the meaning I want.
Bits and bobs to me is to start something, stepping away from it, coming back to finish it. Knowing that the time in between something has gone on gets sorted out and easily completed. Like a bottle of aged wine, or marinated chicken that tastes better with time.
In the context of writing, getting it out on paper by just starting it, taking a break then returning to it knowing full well and trusting that it will be both enhanced and completed.
It’s like an artist throwing clay and sculpting. At first it is shapeless with very little details, but stepping away and coming back, the sculptor fills in the details until it takes a knowable form.
I view writing the same way. Something really does go on inside without my knowing on an unconscious level. I find this process fascinating. I noticed this with a piece I posted originally titled “Icebergs,” which I began writing over the course of a few days and taking breaks. It began to take shape with clarity, a new title ”Glaciers,” along with pictures.
Why do I write about this now? As a reminder to myself to just do it, get it out and fine tune over time. Even if I am not done with it this day, I can always come back knowing something is going on inside and will sort out the next time I sit down to write.
I'm sure the last thing you want to read right now is another piece on corona. The disease that has re-defined going viral. Let’s call it hyper-viral.
This little pesky microbe is everywhere, SNS, MSM, BMW and now burrowing into all facets of life. With each passing day life is being re-shaped as fear begins to take shape. From the canceling of events with large gatherings to the deletion of cultural traditions like kissing on the cheeks in France. This annoyance of a disease is changing everything.
There are no cultural boundaries with corona, despite countries trying to close borders. This is a battle between Mother Nature and humankind. Mother Nature 1, humankind 0.
Until we admit that we are not separate from her, this real life apocalypse scenario will play out over and over.
Admitting is the first step towards acceptance and change. This I trust will get us to rethink the ways in which we live our lives. It is my hope that over time, as the virus wanes we change course by reshaping our lives towards one of sustainability.
I am not sure how many lives will be lost or need to be lost before realizing that the way in which globalization i.e., governments and corporations run and ruin the world, that we the people need to take matters into our own hands and make the tough changes that are necessary.
These are just a couple of very simple easy to adapt examples of the way in which I live my life. Of course some countries and locations are easier to adapt than others. But there are ways and we have choices.
1.) Use hand towels to wash wipe my hands after washing them. Not wasteful paper towels.
2.) Alternative modes of transportation whenever you can. Bicycle, train or bus. Single passenger driving is wasteful.
2a.) Travel less by plane.
3.) Bundle up errand running. If you have to run around town taking care of business, shopping and going to appointments, schedule them all into one outing. Better yet combine them with friends and family, that is if you have to drive.
4.) Buy perishable non-packaged and less prepackaged foods for up to three days at most. Perishable goods tend to have minimal packaging. Buying food for a week or more is wasteful and ends up going to waste.
5.) Exercise and eat healthy. Believe it or not this saves the planet.
This is just a handful of ideas and first step changes to ponder and make a part of your life.
I purposely did not explain how these connect with mother nature, climate change and sustainability. I would rather you make the connections yourself.
There is so much more you can do of course. It is up to you.
Right now, we all are not doing a good job of it at all. I hope this corona virus scares everyone, and this reality shifts our thinking towards one of sustainability.
How do you want to leave the planet for your children and generations to come?
Reactions are not always the best place to start a conversation or email for that matter. In fact, it never is. Although this does bring up the question of instinct. Is an initial reaction instinctual or habitual? How do you distinguish between the two? This is an interesting question and one in which I want to ponder before digging in and writing about it.
I bring this up because of a former-friend, maybe friend again someday if he sorts it out, contacted me under the guise of “consulting.” He wanted to consult with me about his job situation. The reality is that he needed someone to talk to. Given the contentious relationship and his issues with me, instinct told me not to engage in person to person discussion. I suggested email or text would be best at this point. He went for that.
I think that looking at my initial reaction of his email and what I really wanted to say, voice chatting would not have been ideal. Who knows what I would have said to him in the moment. Whereas in an email I can read it let it soak in and then come back with something less reactionary and more thoughtful and neutral. This is not because I have issues, it is rather that he does and who knows what he will do if I say what he deems to be the wrong thing.
I am not one to walk on eggshells and prefer not to be around people who are easily cracked.
I have a few guilty pleasures I don’t really write about much. One of them is to watch television shows that may seem on the surface to be cheesy and shallow. On the surface it may be, but I choose television shows based upon a certain criteria.
I know within the first five minutes of a television show whether it has heart and truth regardless of whether or not it may seem shallow. I can tell by how the lines are written and spoken by the actors. It’s the same way with movies, books and even blogs. I know within the first few sentences whether it is even worth the precious time to read or watch.
Being drawn to the various mediums has its limitations, that is there is not a lot out there I find myself drawn to. It’s easy to spot when its not truthful, forced or manipulative of emotions. It’s easy to spot when there are ulterior motives behind what is being written about. It’s easy to spot when it’s simply shallow.
It’s not easy to tap into truth. It’s not easy to confront oneself, deal with it and lay it out there making room for one’s voice. And with such easy access to creating content in whatever form it may be, it’s no wonder there is so much mediocrity. Of course the only way to finding a voice, walk the path through mediocrity, risk, experience, create.
Getting back to my guilty pleasure, having recently run out of television shows to watch, I happened upon a Japanese Netflix show called “Followers,” about oddly enough the very same topic I have written about twice in the last month – “Upvote Blues” and “Breaking from the Bondage of Accolades.”
The premise of the show follows the life of a famous Japanese woman photographer and her struggles with work and eventually becoming a mother. Parallel with this story is the trajectory of a young up and coming, struggling, unconventional actress who clearly does not fit in with the system. The famous photographer spots her in a photo shoot, takes a few candid pictures and uploads them to her Instagram account. With a large Instagram following, immediately the up and coming actress photos go viral. The actress becomes the “It” girl. Then the swift fall from grace.
I will not go into any more much detail in case you have in fact read this far and want to watch the show. The reviews written about the show call it a Japanese version of “Sex and the City.” It is much more than that.
What I will say, this show moved me in unsuspecting ways about this desire to be needed via likes, upvotes, positive comments, etc. This may be the time we live in, but all of that is fleeting. What matters most is finding one’s own way, voice, path, vision, call it what you will. Sustainability is created by hard work and paying dues. The rest is nothing more than a distraction.
The title of this blog is, “Walk your Own Path and Let People Talk,” happens to be a quote from the very last episode of the show. I think the title speaks for itself. If I have to explain it to you, keep walking you just might find you are already on it.
I don't want to downplay the severity of what is going on worldwide. It is serious. How serious? Nobody knows. I wrote a piece titled “Fear” a few days back on my external blog site about more or less keeping it in perspective, or as those Zen Masters like to say, “Keeping it in the now.”
Living in the moment there is no fear, no problems, nothing to worry about. I know for most of you this is a hard concept to grasp. Living in the past or the future is easier to control in your mind. This is what they call delusion and manifests in many different forms.
What I want to talk about today is a few oddities I have noticed in Tokyo in relation to corona, fear and delusion.
Imagine ...
.... you are standing on a packed commuter train in Tokyo unable to move. The corona virus is a few weeks into its long journey towards worldwide infection. Convinced mask wearing offers protection and a modicum of relief, everyone on the train is wearing one. The exception? One haggard looking elderly salary man who clearly should have retired over a decade ago. This non-mask wearing octogenarian surrounded by a sea of mask-wearing paranoid younger salary men suddenly coughs without covering his mouth, spewing forth droplets of saliva easily seen by the naked eye.
The already deafening silence on this morning train reaches a depth of silence that would frighten any meditation practitioner. With this simple act of coughing, everyone within eye-shot in their minds has pronounced him guilty of murder. Nominating himself executioner, a young brash up and coming salary man begins to yell at the perp for coughing in a crowded train, “What the hell do you think you are doing old man? You're going to kill us all!” Lavishing in the attention the executioner continues his delusional rant, “I think it's best you get off the train at the next stop or else we will have to take matters into our own hands.” Stunned and speechless by the lack of respect, the old man gets up from his seat and with head held low shuffles off the train at the next stop.
Imagine ...
... you are at an Italian style coffee shop in a trendy part of central Tokyo minding your own business writing your next blog post. Sitting at a large dark mahogany table that could easily seat twelve disciples + 1, it is empty thanks to the corona virus scare, save for one patron. This university age Japanese mask wearing male stands in front of a glass counter and home to a plethora of deserts to savor along with a cappuccino.
Having already ordered your banana bread and cappuccino you are sitting down at the hulk of a table getting ready to write. You look up to see the university student with tray in hand sitting down directly in front of you. Annoyed by the fact that of all the chairs to choose from this guy sits within corona giving proximity. You remind yourself that Japanese personal space and yours are not the same. Returning for a moment to your writing you look up for a second and notice the mask on your new friend is hanging from his chin. The stark whiteness of the mask accentuates the red pock marks that overwhelm his face. Thinking he is sick with the big “C” you consider moving further away. At closer inspection you realize it's puberty related.
You glance at his tray and realize why he has so many of those pesky pimples on his face. He has ordered one of every desert displayed in the glass case, not talking two or three, rather six, along with a small cup of coffee to wash it all down with. With mask removed he begins the devouring session with the same banana bread you have ordered. Followed by a slice of cheesecake, then shoe cream (think cream-filled-doughnut). With your stomach getting queasy just watching him, you go back to your writing to push this gluttonous juvenile out of your mind. Then it occurs to you, he is eating out of fear. Fear of the big “C”.
Imagine ...
... you are in Tokyo church (yes they have them here too) praying for the sick and the dying, the priest mentions corona in relation to the prayer, a collective sigh moves through the room and heads drop ever lower, as if this is more important than the myriad of other issues that affect the world. The priest says, “Reach out and grasp each other's hands. Let's bond and give strength to the poor and hungry, the sick and dying of the world.” Your first thought, “What the hell I am not holding hands with anyone. I'd rather not be one of those sick and dying we are praying for now!“
You notice that of the one hundred or so parishioners attending mass that day, nearly everyone is having similar thoughts. One third chose to live on the edge and are actually holding hands, the other third simply opt for survival and do not hold hands. With the final third coming up with a clever alternative, tucking their hands underneath the armpits and touching elbows. You stifle a chuckle at the sight and ingenuity of this life-saving alternative.
The unified reluctance to hold hands is perceived by the priest. He speaks in a calm god-like tone, “God is watching your every move. He knows what you do, what you think.” This Christian koan goes over the head of everyone. Each parishioner holds their ground continuing to do what they are doing.
You don't care about that at all, you have chosen to cram both your hands into the front of your pants.
Doubt creeps in on occasion. What I say and what I am doing does it really matter? Why am I doing it? What would happen if I don’t do it? How would I feel? What would fill the void of time and headspace by not doing it? I don’t know if I really want to put that to the test to be honest. I am not sure what it would feel like.
I have gone a few days at a time not writing in any form. It seems after a few days I get antsy. I then override it and throw myself into exercise, watching TV or eating more than I normally would.
In essence, I am escaping from the nagging internal feeling that is telling me to write, to get it out there every day. Out there for the few who are listening or reading in this case.
So I go about my day making sure there is time allotted to write for an extended period of time.
I do warm up writing, two blogs and book revisions. I dedicate time to work of course and fathering, exercise with the rest of the time spent towards anything connected to my book such as illustrations and the website. All this in the hopes that it will come together into one stream connect. It feels right. But I have my doubts. But then again life is insecure and to have this doubt, albeit only slight makes life interesting.
Life is inherently insecure.
What I feel and what I am doing in this moment, regardless of the outcome is most important because this is all there is.
Now.
Listening to a podcast the other day with a poet and writer, I find commonalities. The path from mushrooms and LSD to meditation is similar. People who write have spent a portion of their lives in some form of contemplation, whether Buddhist related or other. The reason, quieting the mind allows the words and images to ferment and come together with poignant clarity and simplicity.
To hear the poet describe his experiences, to listen to the words of his poems I hear a familiar voice and connect deeply to what he is saying.
To be able to live in solitude that is what really is important to artists. Solitude and contemplation. Not having experienced a period of one’s life in solitude art tends to be surface and child-like.
Like anything in life, paying one's dues takes a long time to reach depths and touch places most are unwilling to touch.
Doubt creeps in anytime I am asked to go deeper to touch something that I don't want to touch. To write something I don’t want to write and yet thrust forward by instinct.
I doubt I can get there.
Striving for poignant clarity and simplicity is a lifetime endeavor.
Staying true to instinct and conviction. Never been one for adoration. Doing is the doing. Anything more gets in the way.
Lose the way. Way gets lost.
When does originality become something it wasn’t meant to be? How far down before the dig toward the light? Before suffocating. Before placating. Before it is no longer what it was meant to be.
Not wanting to be, let the merit stand not its own.
Already comfortable. Looking to be told everything alright, is not it. Laying it out there as world were a therapist, is not it. Thinking to be something else is not it.
You know the old adage about opinions? If not, google it!
For someone who didn’t have much in the way of opinions when I was younger it certainly has changed. I seem to have an opinion, sometimes strong, on a myriad of topics. It’s all based on experience and knowledge I have in whatever it is the opinion has to do with. I have learned over time that an opinion on something I know nothing about or have never experienced is simply lying.
I think this in some ways ties in with having a voice, a perspective on the world based upon knowledge and experience. These opinions have fermented with age on the inside for a long period of time and only in the last few years has it come to the fore ready to be put into words.
Finding a voice and perspective in which to write challenging notions, offering up alternative perspectives and getting people to reflect and think about life is the approach.
While people change on their own accord, putting it out there in words in hopes that people read it is the best one can do. If they begin to think and reflect on what they read connecting it with how it may pertain to their life, that’s a bonus.
I am finding that is the way in which you can find an audience, keep putting it out there in different ways and themes, with the voice being the same.
Blogging is a platform that is a place to write on a variety of topics, especially cultural related. I have the luxury of straddling two cultures. Being on the outside of both gives me clarity to see things that may be difficult for those living amongst their own culture. And having transcended some of my biases has also afforded me a level of clarity I might not never have had if I were to remain in the same place.
In the end, people will read and glean what they want and back it up with you know, that thing everyone has.
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