Thank You

It's hard to believe I've been here so long - only two months in Korea, but who-da guessed that without a calendar? The time seems to go by so fast. And as the weeks have gone so fast here, I realize the years are quickly coming as well - I'm 25 today.

On this birthday, another alone - last year was spent by myself in NM - I know I have no need for gifts. What could I ask for? Sure, there's books I want, but I have one I'm reading now. I have pens to write with, paper to write on, the art supplies I presently want. And I have a job now to help me get the things I need or may later desire while most of my amenities are paid for by the school. No, I have no need for anything more.

But it is today that I realize that the gifts I've been given have never come wrapped in paper or sealed in envelopes. No balloons or surprises or cakes amount to the gift of the family who loves me and has cared deeply for me these 25 years. Today I'm not reminded so much that another year has passed, that I'm getting older - but rather that for all these years, loving eyes have watched me, worried about me, cheered for me, and continue to do so.

And whereas the wrapping paper and cards and celebrations have represented the love, I'm happy that this birthday I can say "Thank you" for the same gift I've always been given, without fail, for 25 years.



I tried for a better picture that had Amanda more in the middle, but in the process, I knocked the ice cream off my cone :( but I caught it! :) and put it back on the cone and enjoyed.
By the way, yes, that IS Baskin Robbins!

My birthday was a slow, lazy Sunday. I woke up, hung around the apartment and played guitar. I went out for coffee and finished the book I've been reading

Then Amanda called me. Actually, her timing was perfect. I'd just finished my coffee and had two short pages left in the book. So I called her back after I finished, ran home to gather my things, then went to see here in Sanbon. We went for sushi and ate, oh, I'd guess at LEAST twenty pieces for about 15 bucks, then we left to run a quick errand and back to her apartment to do art. We hung out, listened to music, then went out for ice cream. After ice cream, we headed back, I went to the train station and headed home.


Train stations on Sunday nights are great. It's like going to a Ranger game and waiting around after everyone has left, like I used to do with Chris Swearengin. There's quiet chatter about, the evidence of the day's happenings with trash littered about, a man on his cellphone having hushed conversation, the evening breeze brushing through from the dark, into the fluorescent lights of the platform, and back out. Occasionally, the fast-track train roars past and, each time, causes my stomach to fly like a flock of pigeons pecking seeds in the middle of the street as a car approaches. And the engine rushes by and the carriages follow and squeal behind. My train came and I got on and swayed as the car carried *bu-dump bu-dump bu-dump* across a bridge. Outside the glow of neon lights persisted, hoping for the last dollar of the long, seven day week. Just beyond is the dark neighborhood with softly lit streets and white lights shining through ground glass windows that hide the inhabitants inside. I ride above the vacant highway roundabout - everyone's home waiting to start "next week".

I arrived to my junction, stepped to the other side of the platform, my train showed up, and I got on. It was mostly empty and I stood to wait for my stop. The first stop was Myeonghak, then my stop at Anyang. I went up the steps into the station. An old man passed me going the opposite direction with a look that told of his age, that he was tired, and that he didn't like having to stutter step and go around all the people in the still bustling station. He was ready to be home. I walked through the market, which was slowing down for the night, and made it back to my apartment. Once home, I made soup and sat watching a DVD, then went to sleep.

It was a slow relaxing birthday.

(Careful w/ those) Lofty Thoughts

(click the images to view larger)

with Cream and Sugar

I tried to order Coffee with cream and sugar. This has happened before. Lately, I've just ordered mochas because they're tastier, what with all that chocolate, but today, I wanted coffee with cream and sugar.

It took 5 minutes back and forth explaining, questioning, demonstrating, guessing, English, Hongul, Hongul, English.

"Kopi with, uh, k'urim and solt'ang.""Sugar?" she asked. "And k'urim," I replied. She tilted her head confused. "Cafe Mocha?" "No, um, a, uh, kopi Americano, solt'ang, k'urim," I told her, miming with my hands a cup of coffee, pouring sugar, then pouring cream.

She was still confused and shook her head. I said, "Uyu?" which means milk. She said, "Oh, latte." I said, "Anio," which means no. And demonstrated with my empty hands again, saying, "Coffee, uyu, solt'ang," then made a mixing motion.


This went on and on with laughing, confusion, apologies, pauses to explain in each others language. I said, "Ah! Maxim kopi?" Maxim is a kind of coffee that comes in individual packs with sugar and creamer. She nodded, "Ne." I made the shape of a Maxim packet with my two pointers and thumbs. She nodded and said, "Latte."

"Oh my god," I whispered in my head.

I told her, "Hot coffee, chowayo uyu," which means cold and milk, so I suppose it means cold milk, but you don't always know this is true in a foreign language, "and sugar." I said, "Not steamed milk," and shook my head, pointed to the espresso machine, and mimed with my hands again the process. "Kopi, uyu, soltang." I said,"No machines." She nodded.

"A small cup?" I asked. She lifted a tiny espresso pitcher. I said, "Ne! Ne!" pointed and said, "Uyu." She put the pitcher down. She said, "Hot kopi, cold milk," she looked confused by this, "sugar?" I said, "Yes."

Eventually we agreed on something and she began steaming milk. But my coffee came out to my liking, so it's great!

... have you ever heard this...?

Peace

The text comes from here

Fierce Feathers:
A true story of the Society of Friends in America


In 1775, there were many communities of European settlers in the American west. Some of these were followers of William Penn and called themselves the Society of Friends, though others often call them Quakers. These Christian disciples had found a new way of practising their faith. They keep to a simple way of quiet worship, often meeting in silence, seeking to be peaceful in every situation. Many Friends went to America to find the religious freedom that was denied them back in Britain. You may have read about the Pilgrim Fathers, and the Mayflower, their ship.

Robert Nisbet was a Quaker preacher. One weekend he had to set out on Friday to arrive at a new and remote settlement by Sunday, to preach. It was a thirty-mile walk, tiring and thirsty, and he slept two nights in the open. The journey could be dangerous too. Many of the white settlers, though not the Friends, had used guns against the native Americans, and the response was swift, and often murderous.

As Robert walked, he thought about how to preach. The small community of Friends he was visiting were fearful and hard pressed, but faithful to their peaceful intentions. Every day there were stories of fierce fighting between settlers and native Americans, aka 'Red Indians'. Robert chose a Bible verse, Psalm 91, verse 4. ‘God will cover you with his feathers. Under his wings you will find refuge. Do not fear the terror of the night, or the arrow that flies by day.’ Robert Nisbet planned a short sermon on the text.

On Sunday morning, as usual, all the Friends, from the eldest grandparent to the tiniest child, sat together in silent worship and meditation in the largest of their wooden cabins. It was a fresh morning, with a clear sky. The doors and windows were left open, and a gentle wind blew through. Robert read his text, and the people listened while he spent a few minutes sharing his thoughts. Silence descended: the community was worshipping. No sound arose inside the cabin. But outside soft footfalls came into the little village.

The native American Chief followed by many Braves crept into the little group of wooden buildings. They carried war axes, scalping knives, arrows and bows. They came to kill the settlers, and drive the whites away from their land. At first they thought the tiny village was deserted, but their expert trackers noticed all footprints leading to the largest cabin. They silently surrounded the wooden building.

Then two Braves stepped across the open window. Two more, and the chief, stood in the doorway. One by one, the worshipping Friends inside noticed the presence of the attackers. The quiet air crackled with tension. Each one looked to Robert: he motioned with his hands to keep still, to continue in prayer. Time stretched. The native American eyes took in the scene. There were no guns. No swords. No weapons. Then the Chief murmured to his Braves in a low voice. Silently, one by one, each Brave laid his axe and weapons on the ground. Each one filed into the crowded cabin. They too sat at peace with the Friends in worship.

Minutes passed, and the oldest of the Friends, a man called Zebulon, closed the meeting with a blessing. He stood, approached the Chief, and wordlessly motioned him to follow. He took the chief home, and shared his meal with him. Another of the Braves told Robert, ‘We came to kill you, and destroy your settlement. But you worship the Great Spirit in silence as we do.’ The Braves gave the Friends a white feather and an arrow as signs of peace, to display from their rooftop. There was no war between them.



For me, a great point in this story (besides the fact that peace ushers peace before war ever will) is not WHICH God we worship, but HOW we worship. That we have silent, joyous reverence for that which is beyond us. Not that we believe "I'm right" but that we AGREE that we are finite, while something else is eternal. As the native calls it the "Great Spirit" the settlers call it "God." Jews call it "Yahweh" as Muslims call it "Allah" and all I ask is, what's in a name?
This is an important factor in the story. That common ground was found; that the natives and the settlers worship.
What else is necessary to recognize is that the prospect for violence did not distract the settlers from worship. This is beautiful. Furthermore, those prepared for battle recognized the serenity of worship and respected it. Oh, the beauty of peace. God - the Great Spirit - Allah - Yahweh - weeps joy for this.

On Suffering and Meaning

“He who has a why to live for can bear with almost any how” – Nietzshe



I just read Viktor E. Frankl’s book Man’s Search for Meaning. It is a gift given me by my mom several years back and I’ve just gotten to reading it (by no lack of appreciation for the gift). Viktor Frankl is a psychologist who survived four Nazi concentration camps and developed a new form of psychoanalysis called Logotherapy.

The largest part of the book describes his time in the camps and his psychological analysis of the situation and the men he lived around. It’s unlike any account I’ve read or heard or watched. The main idea of the book is, “How can someone find meaning, even in the absolutely degrading conditions of concentration camps?” No, let me restate this. Even in the most hopeless situation, man has meaning.

It turns out that, according to Frankl, it is exactly this hopelessness, or suffering, that gives us meaning. For this is the task Life has given us to fulfill.

He quotes a conversation he had with his daughter when she asked, “Why do we speak of the good Lord?” Frankl responded, “Some weeks ago, you were suffering from the measles, and then the good Lord sent you full recovery.” Yet, this did not satisfy the little girl. She replied, “Well, but please, Daddy, don’t forget: in the first place, he had sent me the measles.”

Life has no single, general meaning, but our meaning in life changes as our tasks change, which happens daily, and even hourly. As the girl was handed the measels, her task, i.e. her meaning in life, became to outlast the measels. She lived to the task Life gave her and the measles went away.

Frankl narrates accounts such as this throughout his recollection of the concentration camps, when men, himself included, came down with Typhus and had a decision that Typhus was their end or Typhus was the suffering Life gave them – it was up to him to live up to the challenge. The challenge to us in our times of suffering is to creatively change the situation from one of pity and self-doubt to accomplishment and personal triumph.

He continues that there never ceases to be meaning. Our meaning in life is not what we expect to gain out of life, but what life expects from us. The tasks, the challenges that are handed to us, these are why we are here. And so from a long, thought-out discussion in Existential thought, that is, 1) existence, 2) the meaning of existence, 3) and striving to find concrete meaning in our personal existence, Frankl concludes that, although meaning changes constantly, the essence of our lives is to create something or do a deed, to love and to suffer.

Fyodor Dostoyevski is quoted in the book as saying, “There is one thing I dread; not to be worthy of my suffering.” So we are challenged to see suffering as our meaning in life and to overcome.

The idea of suffering is far different in Europe than in the United States where someone suffering “is given very little opportunity to be proud of his suffering and to consider it ennobling rather than degrading – he is not only unhappy, but also ashamed of being unhappy.” The idea that we should always be happy is unrealistic. And whereas we should not celebrate our own suffering, we ought to take pride in that we do suffer and that we triumph over our suffering.

Edith Weisskopf-Joelson stated that “our current … philosophy stresses that people ought to be happy, that unhappiness is a symptom of maladjustment.” She continues, saying that this mentality could account for “the fact that the burden of unavoidable unhappiness is increased by unhappiness about being unhappy.” This is to say that those who are unhappy become more unhappy because people say they should be happy. The idea in Frankl’s book, an idea I share, is that we are not necessarily meant to be happy, but productive, and triumph over suffering.

However, Frankl also states that suffering has no merit when it is unnecessary. “But let me make it perfectly clear that in no way is suffering necessary to find meaning. I only insist that meaning is possible in spite of suffering – provided, certainly, that the suffering is unavoidable.” So, we will suffer and we do suffer, but it should never be by our own doing.

The entire book is about the mind and how heavily our minds play into our suffering and getting beyond our suffering. Frankl shared account after account of men in the camps who struggled and struggled and then noticeably gave up – that is, they ignored threats and warnings and didn’t get out of their bunk to march and work all day, but instead, dealt with the blows and humiliation, for they felt there was nothing left to live for – no meaning left in their lives. Two days later, they died.

Our meaningfulness in life can be seen two ways: 1) Our value in dignity, 2) Our value in usefulness. Frankl asserts that if our value is based on usefulness, the men at Auschwitz would have no meaning whatsoever. Our value is based on our dignity and our ability to accept our suffering and conquer it, or, out last it.

In this regard, he continues to say that, for old people, “instead of possibilities in the future, they have realities in the past.” By this, they can celebrate the love they felt, the accomplishments they’ve made, and the suffering they’ve overcome.

In stating that these aforementioned ideas are not pessimistic, but “activistic,” Frankl illustrates the idea in this way: “The pessimist resembles a man who observes with fear and sadness that his wall calendar, from which he daily tears a sheet, grows thinner with each passing day. On the other hand, the person who attacks the problems of life actively is like a man who removes each successive leaf from his calendar and files it neatly and carefully away with its predecessors, after first having jotted down a few diary notes on the back. He can reflect with pride and joy on all the richness set down in these notes, on all the life he has already lived to the fullest."

No, the idea that we suffer is not pessimistic. It is activistic. It is acknowledging suffering and struggle and living to our fullest potential in spite of challenges. “It does not really matter what we expect from life, but rather what life expects from us.” We must live up to our tasks. We will always have meaning, as we always have tasks, but are we worthy of the tasks we’re given?

"For what then matters is to bear witness to the uniquely human potential at its best, which is to transform a personal tragedy into a triumph, to turn one's predicament into a human achievement" - Viktor E. Frankl

Sunday Morning Dragonfly

A Very Short Account of My Day

(a while back)

I woke up late, finished my cereal, went out shooting for a project but couldn’t get the photos on my computer; went out and bought tofu and onions to bring back and cook, ate, went back out to read. Listening to Sigur Ros, I was inspired to get up from my spot under a tree and walk. I walked across town to the mountain on the other side of the tracks and over the highway, and I hiked up and up. I didn’t make it all the way up to the top, but I found a clear landing and sat down to read as the sun sunk lower behind distant mountains. As it dipped behind, I finished my chapter and descended my own climb and walked back across town home.