Overcoming the Hardness of Life

The softest thing in the universe

Overcomes the hardest thing in the universe.
That without substance can enter where there is no room.
Hence I know the value of non-action.

Teaching without words
and work without doing
Are understood by very few.
The Tao Te Ching - 43rd Verse
Jane English Translation

I had written in an earlier entry of a find of a tree growing through a boulder, located at a museum in Nanjing. While on my sojourn in Zhongshan we came to a little oasis in a park. It isn't often I get drawn to do strange things, but I felt compelled to climb in to and area where I just felt like I would find something similar. There it was, the seemingly impossible, another tree that come up through a boulder. The one above in Zhongshan, the one below in Nanjing.
I reflected on my journey, how the softness in my own life seemed to open more doors than with a hard stance. Often with the hardness, it went against my nature, making the pressures of life seem unbearable at times. When I looked at these trees I thought about the journey from a small seed to go through where no light existed, by a force of faith, that some amount of space came and it reached up towards the light and water. As its roots expanded, the softness made way up and out of the rock.
Should it be an impossible journey? Should it be so hard? Often I wondered about the times I needed to have just a little more patience, just a little more strength to push through. At the same time I looked and actually could observe the action and nonaction at the same time. They may not be perfect trees out there on their own, growing without opposition.
But in this oasis of calm, I saw the harmony of how life can actually be soft even when it appears to be hard.

Burning Incense without Prayers

This is the only Buddhist Temple I have been to in China. Not that I frequent Buddhist temples for religious reasons, but I tend to visit temples because they are the symbols of believing in something bigger than yourself. For that feeling, I love to look at the expanse of the sky to realize how small I am, but in the neon haze, it often can be difficult to feel that sense of smallness we often need.
In this temple, the monks are completely vacant. There were no nuns, just the statues remained with a few people keeping up the temples, selling incense and prayer papers. I watched a woman carefully go through the practiced ritual with almost a moment of hesitation as she shoved her prayer bucket into the flames.
I looked at the flames and wondered for a moment if the ashes would speak for her. Half of the time I stared at the flames and wondered how often we do little things like this in times of trouble to make ourselves feel a sense of peace about the circumstances that pass through our lives like seasons. When we think of past wounds, are they still there or have we covered them up with rotting bandages?
It was my turn and I was kind of wrestling with the plastic covering the incense. A flame tender assisted me as I decided to burn them; not for myself, but for all of the people that seemed to lack hope. With all that my eyes had seen in China, I felt I had much to be thankful for, so without prayers I took the incense and placed the sticks in various places, spreading them out so the scent could waft through the temple. There were no names, just silence. There were no bows, just my paces.
I followed the young woman who modeled the way for me. All along the way, I thought of the people without names who I had only seen. Without belief in anything but the stars I could see that spiral out into galaxies, I felt small, and smaller still did my life seem to appear. I could not feign any sort of reverence, but I did pay respect to the purpose of the place. I had no complaints in the heat of the day. But, for a moment I understood why people pray. Life can be hard. The task is living, not dying. There is pain in life. You can do everything possible in the world to avoid it. You can protect yourself from others.

However, in doing so, a person then gives up on living by being too afraid to live and only thinking of all of what 'might' happen to them. In focusing on what 'might' happen, you might might miss all of the good along the way.

Here is to walls coming down in order to be free...wherever you are.

Art...Real or Fake

I saw a post from one young blogger, a great young woman who is studying literature in the United States. She did a film review, an ironic choice of "F is for Fake", the very last film that Orson Welles released in his lifetime in 1973. I have always been attracted to people who seem to be rebels, but who they really are is always up for interpretation. The premise of the film goes into the question, What is art? In Orson's view, art is all fake.

But what about those who just are driven to create? It made me look at my own journey. I am drawn to people, and often they are drawn to me and tell me their stories. Often, they are filled with pain, the pain associated with life. I remember when I was in Paris, and a strange man saw me the Buttes Chaumont, which is in the XVIII district of Paris. He saw me photographing all sorts of things in the park, and followed me, just watching me. Finally, he came up to me and asked if I would join him for coffee.

"My English is not that good, so it would be nice if I could talk to you." He began. There was something about his approach. Something so honest about it, that I couldn't decline. So I agreed and left with him to a nearby cafe. He was holding a satchel, not really much of one. He was asking about my French, and began to tell his story.

"I have lived a horrible life." He started slowly and then opened up his bag. He reached inside to pull out a large envelope and laid it on the table in between our cups of coffee. "I have asked many strangers, to write about me, and I think you are a writer." As he poured out his life before me, I listened to detail after detail. A life, that at many times, went through many valleys that were dark and horrible. The agony of his life was centered around one event. One event he kept reliving over and over again. It was over a lost love. There was a Romeo and Juliet quality to the story, but I wasn't falling for it.

There was a woman he loved very much, when he was very young. He had asked her to marry him and she agreed, but her father opposed the marriage. He still pressed her for her hand in marriage, but at the time, she was not in the position to go against her father nor go against the love of her life. So she made a different choice, and threw herself to her death in front of a train...dying instantly.

He never let go and kept living in a beautiful, dark hell of his own making. He didn't give himself permission to have a life he could live. When he finished his story, I asked him one question.

"Why haven't you let yourself live? You died that day...and every day for over 20 years, you have kept throwing yourself in front the train with her. She chose to die. You need to choose to live." His eyes welled with tears. I don't know why no one had told him that before. I don't know why he came up to me that day. I looked over the envelope's contents...and the words, in so many different languages...in chaotic writing was full of drama and pain.

Pain is very easy to hold on to and becomes the identity of a person. Sad and dark lives that should have been or could have been something else. I have seen people defend their pain. Justify it. Violently protect it. But a wound that continues to be ripped open again and again...never heals.

You don't stay in these valleys of pain...you keep walking through it.

So, I view art differently. Art doesn't have to be fake. Perhaps that is why I am drawn to create, to be flawed, and not care about comparisons along the way. Because I am not trying to be anyone else but me.

Leave the fake images and plastic in Hollywood. So, as I grow, evolve and learn differing crafts and developing talents...I share this virgin effort with you, called...simply "What If..."

Eat or Be Eaten?

I often view the markets with a mixture of pleasure and disgust. I can't help that side of me, as I gradually became a vegetarian bit by bit. It started off as I started growing physically intolerant of meat. Now, as I have become more sensitive, the smell of the flesh of dead animals bothers me. It was a strange evolution for me, but I have managed to stay away from red meat completely.
I walked through the market, and felt the heat of the day as we were all walking through Zhong Shan, and saw people who just needed to sleep. It's like that with the body, if you fail to listen to its needs it just kind of gives out on you.
As I wandered by, a friend and I noticed these two fish who had been cut wide open to display their freshness. I was totally horrified because their hearts were still beating. Half of their bodies were gone, and there were the hearts, still pumping blood. I felt done. The last bit of meat I had left on my menu was gone.
They were still struggling to live and somehow I became completely sympathetic to their pain. No, I don't get after people who need meat to live. However, in a very strange way I wondered about my growing intolerance within myself.
I looked at the fish heads, with mouths wide open and then saw the fish in the pond outside, fat and swarming to be fed, ever so trusting, poking their heads out of the water.
What a different view life has in this pond for them. Maybe in a few months I can eat salmon steaks again...maybe, but only if they are killed swiftly with a bit of mercy. Or I could just stay as I am...not missing the taste of their flesh, and choosing to go a different way. We often forget about the lives that feed into ours. How little would it take for someone to view us as little more than fattened cattle if intelligence was used as a food guide?

Miami is Calling You...

(C) 2010 Philip Brooker

For me, this was a welcome invitation to receive. I looked at the suitcase and thought of how wonderful it would be to see this master artist again. What most of you probably haven't realized is that you have seen his work throughout the world, but haven't been aware of the creator. At times, this giving soul has lent his incredible talent to many non-profit events, such as Haiti and others along the way.

However, he is, an artist, a film maker, a silent humanitarian, a life with misspelled words, and above all a friend. In a world that tries to make everything into a competition and about comparing, we often fail to look and observe. Very often, I have found that we all need to dial ourselves down and remember what life was like before all of the business of busy-ness came into our lives.

Slow down and look.

Plan to go to Miami, and while you are there, go to Lincoln Avenue. Let this poster collection be an invitation to discover the works of Philip Brooker.

Go ahead...you have time.

I have always believed that art should tell a story, even tell us parts we may at times not want to hear, without words.

So turn the page...

No Words

Journey to Zhong Shan to Find My Way

"Don't look at the finger pointing to the moon. It's just a finger. The moon is the moon, not the finger." I don't know how many times Dr. Luke Chan said that to me and the small group that met with him to study Chi Lel Qigong for the past three weeks. However, I needed this oasis more than anyone knew, even myself.Before I had departed, I had looked at what my blog had become. It was a huge departure from the direction I wanted. So, I had 'deleted' my blog, and when I made the journey back, I resolved to revive my blog along with my revived perspective on life. I honestly don't know how it happened. It seemed like I was noticing more and more negative aspects in life than the positive ones I had been used to seeing. It got to such a point that it was effecting everything in my life, to include my health. So I did what I needed to do, and found something that worked for me while here in China. Though the practice is Chi-Lel is largely based on the principles on the Tao te Ching or Dao de Jing (whichever preference you have). I found it to have many positive aspects that went beyond the physical, to effect a positive mind and body connection that was noticed almost immediately.
Also during my stay, we saw the incredible history of this city, which was the birthplace of the most revered person in modern China's history, Sun Yet-sen, who was instrumental in the overthrow of the monarchy that ruled China for over 2,000 years. The statue above is also the only statue of an American, who was a great supporter of Sun Yet-sen, Ruan Yan. The story is one of the most amazing ones, showing what one person can do to change a nation. The Republic of China was formed on 1 January 1912, and Sun Yet-sen simply pledged to support the people, and had fought many battles along the way, trying to keep the republic going until his untimely death in 1925 of Liver Cancer.
In this quite place, with a slower pace of life, I was able to retreat under the blue skies and palm trees, an oasis of time that I used to regain my spirit, find my inner muse and realize that the world will always be full of more than enough drama. It is very true that things happen and often in chaos and discord we seem to want to find a reason for things. We want them to remain the same, but they are always constants.
However, sometimes we need to ask ourselves how true the reflections are. Are you really seeing what you see, seeing what others want you to see, or seeing only what you want to see...or primarily just looking for the worst possible result...

With that thought held deeply in my mind...I thought again and began to see a different image in the reflection.