An era of convergence and transition

We live in an era of convergence but also of transition. It’s a delicate time when, more than at any time in history, the past is still available to us. We can reach out into the past, visiting the cave paintings and monuments of earlier civilizations, reading their literature, appreciating and understanding their different ways of thinking. This is partly because in our present reality we are still exposed to a variety of cultures and languages. Our world is enriched by diversity. We should be thankful to immigrants and refugees, who bring with them different ways and customs. They break down our assumptions about our own sometimes overly homogeneous or hegemonic cultures. At no time in our history have we been more capable of absorbing influences from past and present world cultures.

But there is no guarantee that this will be true in the coming years. We have already witnessed how wars and intolerance can wipe out the monuments of the past, from Syria to Afghanistan, i.e. the cradle countries of our current civilization. And even without ISIS and the Taliban, there are the effects of earthquakes, as in Bam, or air pollution, as in Delhi, and of course climate change everywhere, causing floods and fires, all of which take a toll on the preservation of the past. At the same time, languages grow extinct, from France to the Amazon rain forest, cultures are swept aside: it’s an age of mass cultural genocide.

As our culture grows more homogeneous we will begin to lose our ability to understand and appreciate the past. We will not understand the ways in which past civilizations could be based on different concepts than our own. Already we are seeing in western countries that the majority of people have a limited capacity to understand theistic cultures, and this is partly the reason for the rebellion of many citizens of those countries against the arrogant, cynical materialism and atheism of modern societies.

Two things are currently urgent. One is to preserve, to the degree that is possible, the diversity of civilizations still extant. We need to spend less time attempting to educate people of cultures different from our own, and more time trying to preserve these cultures. We’ve spent the last couple of hundred years ensuring that the people living in the tropics from the Amazon to Africa and India and further east, dress and behave modestly, in conformity with the norms of northern peoples. We have unified and homogenized the languages of the western countries in favour of standardized versions, and insisted that immigrant school children will adapt to the societies in which they have come to live. Once we have wiped out diversity it will be difficult to restore it.

The other thing we need to do is to take advantage of our still existent diversity in order to understand past civilizations and cultures, before we lose this ability. For example, we still have shamanic and animistic people in the world, and we know that their beliefs in some ways reflect those of paleolithic cultures. We know that the natives peoples of the Amazon or of New Guinea have an intimate understanding of their environment that we can only envy. They have a knowledge of the uses of every plant and substance and have developed the ability to survive in adverse conditions.

Humanity has not completed its evolution yet. We are not necessarily at the end of this process. But whether we evolve into multidimensional beings capable of creative, spiritual and holistic thinking, or cardboard automatons living in totalitarian societies where every breath of divergent thinking is suppressed, depends a lot on our present time.

Some things are personal

Last night I sat before my computer and thought about summing up the last few days in my life. And realized again that some things are better stated in a personal notebook, rather than online in social media or my blog. I have one of those very nice Moleskine notebooks where I often do that. There’s the additional advantage that a notebook is a distraction-free environment. I’m less likely to turn my attention to the latest news or notice a story somewhere that I cannot not read immediately.

On the  personal canvas of a paper notebook i can ask myself questions that I’m not so willing to share with the world yet. I can give accounts about real people that I would not want them ever to see. I can make remarks that might land me in trouble, with one person or another, if posted online – and the danger of that serves as a natural inhibitor.

The only trouble is, that when there are a variety of different media to choose from, it’s not always apparent what is the best place to express one’s thoughts. Usually, when I sit at my table, I don’t always know whether what I’m about to write will be suitable for sharing, or with whom.

In our family we also have a closed group on a social messaging app, where we often post photos, messages or links.  I abandoned mainstream channels like Facebook and Twitter a few years ago, but recently went back to using alternative federated social media, so this provides another alternative for writing.

Yet with regard to these deliberations about how to express my thoughts, there’s actually nothing new under my sun. I’ve thought through all this before. I just have a hard time assimilating my decisions. I’m like a one-person creaky old committee that can’t make up its mind and, when it does, can’t implement its own decisions. But the answer is, and remains: use my blog as a basis for all of these journal entries; then decide what to share, where. Some entries can be shared with alternative social media; some with friends and family; some can be placed in my blog but kept completely private.

So if I’m clever, I will act according to my own best practices, and use the framework of my WordPress blog, publishing some things, marking others as private, and sharing some posts with friends.

Journal 2010-05-22

Spent some time fiddling with social networking software like TweetDeck. None of the existing arrangements make me completely happy. I have a feeling that the best system for updating status is not so much a continual interaction with the web bit a once a day digest of significant thoughts or learning from that day, condensed from a logging of these – which could be kept in the phone or computer in draft form till later.

Journal 2010-05-12

Yeah so today I became more certain about going to India again over summer. That happened after taking Elizabeth to the airport. Somehow my brain is wired to associate travel to India with happy thoughts – there isn’t much logic to it.

It was great seeing Emily again. We had already some interesting conversation. It’s amazing how people interact with us in our lives in ways we hardly suspect. Like when we were talking about children she said that her first really strong desire to have kids was one day when babysitting in our house. She had slept over. Yonatan had woken up crying and made his way to her bed. She said that just being there for him and being able to ease a baby’s needs had made her realize how good that felt.

In another conversation I had today, with a village person, I realized how important it is, once again, to keep a record of experience and discussion, otherwise everything is so easily forgotten. That happens because experience needs to be processed and considered. Otherwise much of what we do becomes a jumble. It doesn’t help that our brains are growing old. I wish I could write everything down.

This has been a year of meeting up again with old friends, and it’s nice to see a trail of people coming through, and staying a few days.

The other day at Coral’s memorial I thought again about that extraordinary woman who even at the age of 60 took her life in a completely new direction. Sometimes we take everyhing for granted. It is better to view life as something completely dynamic, since that is closer to the truth.

Journal for Saturday 10 April

Thanks to Twitter I discovered Vi Ransel, whose writing is of a similar style to Arundhati Roy’s non-fiction. I read a couple of articles – one “The American Workplace: Sweatshop USA”.

My own growing up in America gave me a view of it that was fairly unreal. First of all, because Northern Virginia is wealthier than most places and secondly because I left in “the good years”, when jobs were secure and money was easy. But still I left, because I couldn’t tolerate America. How I ended up in Israel is a mystery, but again 1978 isn’t 2010, and I was fairly naive.

Just this afternoon I found myself thinking in patterns framed by that upbringing. When I considered my objections to the existing order, my mind raised the objection: but it really gives me, and a lot of other people all that we need for our happiness. I can afford more food than I could ever eat, live in a comfortable home that can be cooled in summer and heated in winter, can afford nice clothes and consumer electronics. Just a couple of generations ago, all of these things would have been a problem.

And, I reasoned, so what if my style of living, and purchase of consumer goods, permits others at the top of the pyramid to accrue countless millions? It isn’t bringing them any more happiness. I had a small corner of doubt that my lifestyle, besides that of the billionaires, is what is keeping so much of the world poor.

But Ransel helped me to realize again that the security and relative affluence that I currently enjoy is hopelessly fragile. Beneath all the glitter of our 21st century civilization, the basics of food and shelter are still a problem – not only in Africa but also in America. They needn’t be a problem but remain so because of greed and social disparity. There has always been enough food to go around, if only it is shared, and shelter could always be available if neighbors helped with the building – as they traditionally did in Palestinian society.

We live in a period of great complexity. It’s comparatively few people who can see through the illusions thrown up by our civilization, without getting embroiled in other illusions that are still more tenacious – such as ideology or religion.

The important lessons are all about learning how to stay balanced on a ship caught in a hurricane, acting sanely when surrounded by mad people and insisting on freedom while being aware of the invisible bars.

Dorit’s birthday – evening out

It being Dorit’s birthday, Cole, Dorit and I piled into the Mazda and drove up to Jerusalem, with the not overly ambitious plan of enjoying a nice meal.

We chose the Te’enim (Figs) Restaurant, which is in the lovely location of the Confederation House. Windows look out on to the span of Suleiman’s walls just south of Jaffa Gate.

We knew the restaurant from its earlier incarnation on Emek Refayim Street. A couple of years ago perhaps, it moved fo its current location. It’s considered one of the city’s quality vegetarian restaurants, serving an eclectic array of foods from around the world. Looking at the menu, it’s hard to decide whether to order, say, an Indonesian salad, miso soup or a Provencal vegie hotpot.

But in our case the tempting menu didn’t deliver anything close to its promise. Cole’s quinoa and steamed vegetables were bland, stodgy and dry. He added a little of the butter that came with the bread. Dorit’s dish consisted mainly of root vegetables roasted on a spit, accompanied by salad. All was rather tasteless and unappetizing. I ordered a curry leek pie. The portion was generous but the pie filling was mushy, soggy and overly sweet. Cole and I were able to eat most of our portions but Dorit had to give up.

The service wasn’t sparkling. The two young waitresses had their hands full with the few guests. Eventually Dorit was left with the job of complaining. She expressed all of our disappointment but especially her own. And they gave her a reduction on one of the dishes. She asked to deliver our complaints to the management and to inform them we would not be coming back. (As if, even if the food had been awesome, we’d be there more than once a year.)

As compensation, we went to the Cinematheque restaurant for coffee and dessert. Its balcony enjoys a similarly gorgeous illuminated city-wall view.

The offerings were up to their usual standard. We shared a chocolate pudding and balls of coconut and berry sorbet. Ella bicycled over from nearby Abu Tor, where she’d already eaten dinner with friends, and chatted about the final days of her semester.

So in the end the evening turned out all right. We ambled out again into Jerusalem’s late night chill and drove back down through the misty hills – the weekday traffic much quieter at midnight.

The wandering life

Having a permanent address in a small village means that old friends always know where to find you. Facebook is not necessary. Yesterday someone showed up on our doorstep who we had literally not heard from since he stayed with us in 1989.  At the time he was with us for several months. This time he plans to stay until January.

C., now 78, spent most of his life on the road. His journeys took him to every continent. He would plan his year around the seasons of grape picking or hop picking, earning just enough at one temporary job or another to enable him to move to the next destination.

Nowadays he lives alone in a flat in northern England; grows his own vegetables, buys his clothes from charities and his books from used bookshops; doesn’t own a telephone, a TV, or a computer;  doesn’t bother with heating. A modest pension and government rent-subsidy permit him to live in luxury. And, although he claims to have given up travel, he still gets away three or four times a year, mostly to continental Europe.

It takes a certain quality of character to live like C. He isn’t easy-going, but abides by strict principles. He is disturbed by things that normal people don’t even notice. When he was here last time, distant traffic sounds from the highway four kilometers away disturbed his sleep.  He’s uppity and easily distressed. He talks to every stranger, makes friends easily, but retains an aloofness. He lives like a vagabond, but exudes the aura of a man of culture and old-world values.

At 78, he’s a little thicker around the waste, and just slightly stooped. But overall, the years have been kind to him. He continues to exercise three times a day: a regimen that includes eye exercises to preserve his vision. He goes for long walks; eats well, but still has that fondness for wine.

Someday he’ll settle down permanently, beguiling younger people with tales of his adventures. Or perhaps he will slip a ring on his finger for one last time, and vanish.

Saturday sailed by

In recent days I’ve had this strange thing: a bitter taste in the mouth after eating food.   It’s a recurring condition that comes, lasts a few days, then goes away again.  Every few months I get this.  Besides the bitter taste, there’s a slight discomfort in the upper part of the stomach sometimes.  Reading on the web, it seems to match most closely the symptoms of what’s called a hiatus hernia or hiatal hernia.  I think I’ll settle for that explanation, since it doesn’t sound all that serious.

After researching my maladies I got on with cleaning the house, then read a little more of Divisadero.  I’m plodding along slowly with that – probably because I’m spending too much time on computers these days.  I love Ondaatje’s books and read so far The English Patient, Anil’s Ghost and many of the poems in The Cinnamon Peeler.

Then Deb came over.  She talked about the writing guide for activists that she is writing.  Later in the day we had a visit from two men from the German government who may be willing to help us with the Library project.  I met them together with Nava.

Dorit meanwhile had meetings with Frans and Hans from Holland.  Hans is director of an organization called Stichting Collusie, (translation to English) .  They aim “to advise socially and economically vulnerable groups in the area of sustainability, energy saving and environmental protection.”  Since they take volunteers and Yotam is currently checking possibilities for volunteering abroad, she also arranged an interview with him.

In between I looked at FriendFeed.  Found there a link to an interesting article and discussion to identity issues of Muslims in India. Some of the comments complained about the phenomenon of Indian college students rooting for Pakistan in cricket matches between the two nations.  That reminded me of the way Palestinian Israeli citizens often support foreign teams playing against Israel in soccer or basketball. 

On TV heard an interview with a speaker of Esperanto – a language that I would love to study one day.  It takes about 15 lessons by correspondence or through the web to learn the language.  The interview was with an astrophysicist, who appeared with his daughter, with whom he had spoken the language since she was a baby.  As against the popular conception, the creator of Esperanto, L. L. Zamenhof had never intended to replace existing languages, but to create a universal second language for everyone, which would be especially easy to learn.  The effect would actually be to preserve existing languages by not threatening them by cultural dominance.  This year is the 150th year of Zamenhof’s birth.  Too bad the idea never properly caught on.  But there’s a street named after him in Tel Aviv.

In the evening I looked up some more news feeds and links on Friendfeed.  Finally discovered a work around for my audio problem in the Flock browser.   There’s a Firefox extension rather pompously called “The Flash Video Resources Downloader”.  You click an icon in the taskbar and it finds the flash video.  You click another button to download the video in the suitable format.  Then I can open it in Totem.  Fine.  The only snag is having to wait for the entire video to download before listening.

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Scaps from my journal during the mindfulness retreat

Chang How

Chang How

Thursday, March 5

We started a four day retreat with Chang How, a Thich Nhat Hanh disciple, at Khukuk, a kibbutz just above the Sea of Galilee.  We arrived Wednesday lunch time and it will continue till Saturday afternoon.

During the evening meditation I thought again about what Murakami wrote at the prize ceremony in Jerusalem.  I must download the speech, lest it disappears from Haaretz website.  His speech emphasized that every human being has worth and dignity.  Is this dignity based on his Buddha Nature, or is it based on the things that make him unique – the imperfections?  Are the imperfections, the egoism, the flaws of character, also Buddha Nature?  I think that for a writer these are of the essence; the thing that makes a novel interesting.  The dirt – this is the place a novelist goes, and dwells.  But he transforms it into art – he exhalts what other men shun.  He doesn’t belong to that dirt, but rests upon it like a lotus, like a saint.  Of course this is a very idealized view of a novelist.  But in reading writers of the calibre of Murakami or Mistry, there is a feeling that they are special in that way.

Thursday morning.

I was very tired yesterday when we arrived, and tired this morning in meditation. Thoughts confused. I imagined, I think it was early morning, that over Chang How, while she sat talking, giving a dharma talk, there was a high beam, and on it sat a crow.  I was gazing at the crow, which made bird movements, hopping and pecking.   And then at breakfast in the dining hall, I also sat gazing above Chang How’s head (this time in reality).  Behind her hung a photograph from the early days of the kibbutz.  There was the fortress from the 1940s, its tower, stone walls and interior courtyard.    There was a banner saying that you must have the intelligence to know what to want, and then to execute it.

The teacher gave a dharma talk this morning about her own life experiences, which included early life in Vietnam.  She became a refugee and had to move three times, the last time to Canada.  When she fled, it was without any possessions.  She had only two shirts and two pairs of pants, all of which she was wearing.

Chang How was for a long time very angry with her mother.  Her mother had to work hard to support their large family, such that she had little time for the children.  Once when she came home from work the children asked her to take them for a ride on her motor bike, but she was just too tired.  Till today, her mother is full of worry, remembering her earlier hard time and the war.

They had a handicapped brother, who lived with them at home.  Chang How said that while one normally thinks that it is the most beautiful child who gets the most attention, his disability brought all of them to love and help him.

Chang How grew up hating the Americans for what they did in Vietnam, and it took her a long time to overcome this hatred.  Later in Canada she met with war veterans and told the story of how one visited her home.  He had been traumatized by the war and was very distrustful when he came to stay with her.  Before going to bed he secretly checked the whole apartment, crawling from place to place, checking every room.  He even came into her room while she pretended to sleep.  He was afraid she would murder him.

—————–

Satyakama Jabala told his mom that he wanted to study under a vedic teacher and so he needed to ask her about his lineage.  She said, When I was young, I was a maid, and had many relationships.  Therefore I can’t say with any certainty what your lineage may be.  My name is Jabala, so you should say that you are Satyakama Jabala.

Satyakama Jabala went and sought out a vedic teacher and, when the teacher asked him about his lineage, he repeated the story is mother had told him.  The teacher said that only a true Brahmin would have responded like that, without hiding any part of the truth.  He accepted him as his student.

“Om is like a pin, which pierces through all the leaves.”

This morning in meditation I felt like Om must be the string upon which all the beads of a mala are strung.

I fell into a deep sleep after breakfast, with the Upanishads shielding my face from the sunlight. Dorit had been reading aloud the 14 mindfulness trainings, and I had said, “The dharma’s too hard, I’m going back to sleep.” I didn’t awake until 10:30, till long after the “dharma sharing” had begun.

The days, (in the Galilee) are full of birds, “sounds like they are saying words.”

Maybe they are giving their own version of a dharma sharing, if I could understand them.

Da – Datta – Dhamyatta.  I had been looking for that half-remembered passage from What the Thunder Said, in TS Eliot’s The Wasteland.  Quoted from somewhere in the Upanishads, I think.  [found it later: Brhadaaranyaka Upanisad, Chapter 5, 2.] Dorit had been asking if Dana, the donation given to the teacher in Buddhist retreats, is a Sanskrit word.  English, Italian, Pali, Sanskrit – the same.

My Flip camera‘s battery is weakening fast.  This morning I managed to film only till the end of the recitation of the first mindfulness training.  Strange, I dreamed, in my mid-morning slumber, that it had an iphone battery, and was therefore replaceable.  It would be nice if it would be so.

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Journal 2008-09-04

early morning. In Hermann Hesse’s novel, Siddhartha, the Buddha claims three qualities: ‘I can think. I can wait. I can fast.’ And on this vacation I have done a lot of the first two. And now, the plane is delayed for 2 hours, after I arrived here at 11:30. Till 7:30, that’s quite a lot of waiting. And I have done so much reading, and my eyes are glazy by now. And, to make matters much worse, I suddenly developed this dry rasping cough, all in afternoon. Which leaves me struggling to breath. So an exerise in suffering. It is 5 AM and there are still two hours to wait. I have tried breath control, positive thinking, and just staring into space. But I know that I will overcome this, and then possibly a sleepless 5 hour plane ride. It will be great to be home. But I know there is a lesson in this – just as there is in all things -if I can be receptive enough to appreciate it.