tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78609130474847014912024-02-06T22:17:48.080-05:00While we wait; called to the edge of morning.A sinner edited by Grace.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger64125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-21829689031653626502010-06-29T13:43:00.023-04:002016-07-15T11:42:07.849-04:00The Hurricane"As a dream when one awakes, so, Lord when You awake, You shall despise their image." Psalm 73:20<br /><br />I had a dream years ago. How long ago that dream was, I can't say. I do know that it must have been after I awoke because I remember it clearly. I have since understood the dream as being revealed in my waking life, so it has changed in my understanding from a dream to a reality while remaining the same in its entirety. I only know One Storyteller who weaves a simple narrative into a beautiful complexity. He is my Lord, and He alone can tell this story of the Hurricane dream. In fact, I am forbidden to speak the dialog I had with the voice that answered mysteries concerning the Hell fire. I am confident that had I been allowed to remember the words that were spoken to me as I looked down on that pit, any soul that heard them would be assured of the truth of that place. So, after all, I am not the best one to ask about what happened in that dream, all though I was there...conscious the entire time. However, I must put something down to make sense of what is happening as I am living in that dream while awake.<br /><br />If, immediately upon waking, I were asked to describe where that dream took place, I would have answered in my old elementary school gym. In fact, that is how I began to describe the setting before I knew where it truly was. The fact of the matter is that the place that I found myself inside in that dream had not been built as of the time of the dream. Well, that is not entirely correct either. The place had not been restored to its original, in reality, it sat divided in an entirely different state then the one in my dream. <br /><br />Not knowing that I was dreaming of a future location, my mind raced to find something I could describe that place as, so I called it what I knew at the time. It looked like a large open room with a hardwood floor(ie a gymnasium) although I later learned that the floor is actually sealed cork, a fact that was perhaps not even known to the architect that would design the future room, yet. However, not knowing that the room was a restored 100 year old Grand reading room (because that idea didn't exist in my mind yet) I clung to the fact that it was my old elementary school gymnasium.<br /><br />The setting of my old gymnasium didn't quite fit with the place I found myself in inside the dream because of the giant windows that looked out onto a beautiful array of trees. Also, there were dozens of old study tables that lined the center of the room. I am not sure how my interpretation of the setting effected the telling of the dream. Perhaps it is like a father telling a night story to a child. As the father tells the story, the child pipes in that there are certain points he is missing. If it is night then there must be a big sleepy moon in the sky, the child says. And the father allows the child to add to the story in that way, without effecting the narrative, only embellishing details that make it more accessible to the child. In that way they share in the creative processes.<br /><br />I believe that is what my Lord has done with me. I thought it was my gymnasium from elementary school, and I said then there must be my gym teacher who we called Mr. B. He always had his whistle. And there he stood guarding the doorway to the grand reading room. as I entered it through the hallway to my old gymnasium, he blew his whistle and told me to take off my shoes. I noticed a pile of shoes next to the door, and he indicated to me that mine belonged among the pile. The pile reminded me of black and white photos I had seen of piled shoes from the holocaust.<br /><br />As I walked into the room, barefoot, I saw that the only light coming into that massive open space was through the windows opposite of the entryway. The windows in the grand reading room are two stories tall, providing enough light for the entire room, the light stretches across the room at the different angles of the day. And, no one in the room seems to notice or care about the beauty of the space. I often stare out of windows, enchanted by the creation on the other side. People look at me, and then try to see what I am looking at, and then grow bored and snap back into their own being.<br /><br />These windows were so special. I had never seen any windows like them when I was dreaming of them. And now that I have seen them I would agree that they are special. I look at them from the outside as I walk into the library, as they show the warm light of reflected sunrises with floating clouds above me. And, when I am inside the building I see that they are amazing to look out of in view of the seasons with the trees that are immediately outside the library. There are trees from all over the world that are planted outside those windows. I would stare out those windows, if I didn't feel oppressed by the people in that room, studying. <br /><br />After noticing the windows and the scenery outside them, I next noticed that the room was full of people who had their backs to those windows. They were all seated facing the door I had just walked in. In fact, they had all just watched me take off my shoes. I had the feeling that I was holding them up from starting something. As I eyed the roomful of people, each at their own table, sitting perfectly still and silent, I noticed an old friend named Amy. I walked up to her and gushed about the past and how great life was and is. <br /><br />I have known Amy since we were 5 years old. I say We because were were born only a few days apart. When I was six years old, I heard the story of Jonah in Sunday school, I was excited and wanted to tell all of my friends about the man that lived for three days inside a giant fish. Amy heard the story from me, too. She was confused and asked me if I got the hero's name wrong. She was confident that I was speaking about Pinocchio, the Disney cartoon. My heart sank as I realized how hard to reach with the amazing truth she had already become through counterfeiting. That night before bedtime I prayed a prayer that would get answered 25 years later. I prayed that I could share my Lord with Amy.<br /><br />In the dream I approached Amy as we were children again. We both lit up in expression, not noticing the stuffy cold atmosphere around us in the gym. Perhaps the other people were listening in as we shared our stories about life. Then I heard a whistle blown from my "gym teacher" and he yelled at me to take my place seated in the back row against the windows. I was confused, as I didn't know how a place could be set for me, not even knowing what was happening in the room at the time. As I scanned around me it appeared that each person who was seated had a pencil and paper in front of them. I immediately realized that they were waiting to take some sort of test, and I had stumbled in, unknown, and held them up while I fumbled with my shoes and chatted with my old friend.<br /><br />When I was 18 years old, I drove home from a high-school graduation party, drunk. I didn't want my parents to smell the alcohol on me, so I decided to stay out longer to sober up before my curfew. I took the long way home that wound around the base of the hill I lived on. Just before I was to cross the river and go past the cemetery, I decided to stop and turn around. My decision led to my arrest for DUI. When I finally got home, my sister beat me up. She said that she had a dream that I was in a fatal car accident in front of that cemetery. She said that she just knew the dream was a premonition,as she cried and beat me she said that I should be dead.<br /><br />Amy called me sobbing on the phone. We hadn't spoken like this in 25 years. She said that she couldn't forgive herself and I led her to Jesus, my Lord. She was born again, a new creature. She started attending the childhood church of her husband Andrew. It is a church in Northern Kentucky called St. Andrews.<br /><br />When I was born again with the spirit of my Lord inside me, I became aware of the spiritual struggle in my life. I had a dream that evil spirits were chasing me down to destroy me. In the dream, I stopped running from them in fear and turned to confront them with a question: "What about St. Andrews?". The spirits fled away, scared of something in that statement that was far more powerful then them. <br /><br />7 years after my DUI, I returned to the scene of the crime, a new creature. I drove all the way to where I had turned around before the bridge. This time I decided to keep going, to pass the cemetery. As I looked over I was stunned to find that the cemetery was named "St. Andrews". <br /><br />In the Grand reading room I found my place in the dream. I sat down, uncomfortably, wishing that my place was facing the opposite direction, so that I could be looking out the beautiful windows at the trees outside of them. However, I didn't want to cause any further disturbance by turning my chair to the other side of the table. I noticed how all 50 or so tables and chairs had been properly organized like perfect squares, spaced out evenly across the sealed cork floor (that at the time I thought was hardwood). <br /><br />Perhaps this was done for the test, I thought. People needed space so that no one could be accused of cheating. After all, what good is a mental competition of individual merit if people are sharing results? Mr. B blew his whistle in short bursts and everyone perked up. "Listen up." he shouted to an echo as it rang again and again through the giant two story room. The Grand reading room seems to have been designed to create echoes. Everything in the room is hard and unbending to sound. The placing of a pencil on a table can result in an echo. Mr. B's voice was far beyond the intended volume for that space. The echoes of his voice were also louder then the peaceful level required to not disturb the entire grand reading room.<br /><br />He told us to take our tests out of the manila envelope's on our tables. He had all kinds of instructions about how to open the envelope and how to organize our papers and pencils. I followed along as long as I could, hoping to catch his attention later to explain the mistake that had been made in my sitting for this exam. However, there was no break in his instructions that got ever more detailed and overbearing as he began to tell us all how we should write our names on the paper in an certain way.<br /><br />The stress that was caused by this exam flew out of Mr.B's mouth like an invisible dragon, flying in loops over the heads of the test takers, then sitting on their shoulders as they hunched, listening to his every word. The over-burden of his commands became so large that I began to giggle to myself. There was no way that I could take part in this competition. I hung in as long as I understood what his words intended, but then he told us to get out these strange slide rulers that had been prepared at each table. It seems that we were each being asked to use the rulers to write our names on the front of the test. It would not do if we each had our own hand writing, so we would have to identically use the rulers to write our names.<br /><br />I struggled to understand how to use the ruler, it had an axis that could rotate to various angles that he instructed us on. He began teaching how each letter of the alphabet was different angles on the ruler, but I missed what he said about the capital letter "A". Being named Adam, I needed that letter to complete my name on the test, and there was no stopping his instruction to ask him to repeat. I gave up trying to write my name and slowly turned around to look out the window at the trees.<br /><br />Mr. B's voice and echoes continued, but softened as I replaced my attention to the beautiful creation outside the windows. I prayed a prayer of worship to my Lord for creating such beauty as the sky changed to imperial violet over head. It was the last sunset, and the other people in the room were missing it. At the time, I didn't know that it was the last sunset, but I did know it was the most special event I had ever witnessed. When I had filled my heart to over-flowing with praise for what was happening before my eyes, I slowly turned back around to the exam.<br /><br />Mr. B had finished instructing the exam-takers on which angles to use for the slide rulers to write their names. He was now beginning on how to unseal the test booklet. I was looking for any break in his instruction that I could excuse myself from the room politely. My soul longed to go outside and converse with the maker of that sunset as I watched it slowly change colors. I wanted to feel the breeze and hear the birds sing their praises. But, I had to sit patiently, as Mr. B did not let up in his instruction on how to unseal the glue to reveal the first page of the test. <br /><br />I must admit that as a child I was intimidated by Mr. B. However, I had long since grown past that fear, and was only remaining seated out of a loving respect for the man, and the other people who were diligently trying to pay attention to his unceasing detailed instruction. Indeed, it seemed that the people following his words had all grown weary, before the test had even started.<br /><br />The test did start though, I noticed mainly because Mr. B stopped talking. The room was far more silent then I though silence could be. Perhaps this was because it was no longer ringing with echoes. I was about to get up from my seat and attempt to leave in silence when Mr. B's hand slapped down on the name sheet I hadn't filled out. It seemed that he had noticed me the entire time, as I gazed out the window. How he had not been more interested in the last sunset I will never know. But, he was glaring at me for my insubordination and clear lack of order in following his instruction. He whispered threats at me that I should quickly open my test and begin, that each phase of the test was critically timed, and I had fallen behind already.<br /><br />When I was young I climbed trees. My house was on a cul-de-sac surrounded by forest on every side. It didn't take much effort to find a suitable tree to climb. I was a good climber, and light in weight. I would spend hours hiding in the top branches of a tree. Tree branches get smaller as you climb to the top, I knew it was important to recognize the smallest branch size that would hold my weight. <br /><br /> When I got as high as the tree would allow me, I would wedge my foot into the natural y shape made by the branch as it meets the trunk of the tree. If I wedged my feet in far enough, it didn't take much effort to stay supported and keep from falling. I could spend hours up in the top of a tree, feeling the gentle sway as the wind blew. <br /><br />I remember looking down at the world and feeling completely secure and hidden. I never met a tree in my childhood, that given enough time and entry branches low enough to the ground, I would climb it. They were all different, all amazing, challenging puzzles to climb. I climbed all kinds of trees, even sticky and sharp pines. Some trees took hours to master. I can look back now and say I had a great relationship with trees in my childhood.<br /><br />Back in my dream, Mr. B backed away from my table as I opened up the test. His eyes never left me as I read the first question. The question was about trees. There was an image of a tree, drawn by a computer in black and white. It was a smooth oak tree with very little detail added in. The question asked something like how many carbon-based molecules are inside this structure. The question didn't even use the word tree, it called the oak a structure. Fortunately, for me, this question multiple choice. I looked down at the possible answers and chose one by guessing. However, I was unable to figure out how to write down the answer on the paper because I had to use the complex slide ruler.<br /><br />I wasn't frustrated, but I was done pretending to take the test. I got up from my chair and walked to the door. As I glanced out the giant windows again at the trees behind the test-takers, I thought it a shame that they should be tested to know what a tree is made of without being able to appreciate it for its beauty. Turning back around, I was almost out the door when I heard Mr. B's whistle echo behind me. He told me to put my shoes on. I had completely forgotten that I didn't have shoes on, dreams are strange in that you don't feel the cold floor under your feet. I was looking through the pile for my own shoes when my Lord told me to look out the window.<br /><br />My perspective from the windows had changed, I was further from them now, with a room full of people sitting, testing between myself and the windows. There are 5 giant rectangular windows in the grand reading room. Each giant window is made up of 40 smaller rectangular windows. This creates a cross-work pattern of light and darkness between the glass and framework of the giant windows. Each smaller rectangle is its own little window, but from far away, they split the landscape behind them into hundreds of masterpieces.<br /><br />Isaiah 34:4 And all the host of heaven will wear away, And the sky will be rolled up like a scroll; All their hosts will also wither away As a leaf withers ...<br /><br />Watch therefore, for ye know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of man cometh. Matthew 25:13<br /><br />I remember thinking the comforting irony of how the world was ending, so I shall never be to blame for not finding my shoes in that massive pile.<br /><br />As I looked at the windows for the last time, under the instruction of my Lord, The little rectangles showed the sunset had turned golden amber. Then, some of the smaller rectangular windows began to turn black. That is they turned blacker then night, completely void of light, into darkness. The action of these windows turning void reminded me of a hurricane pulling shingles off of a roof. One, two, three became void...there was missing reality behind the test-takers and none of them noticed at all. The change happened quicker then the eye could see erasing pieces of the creation behind the test-takers.<br /><br />"He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful." John 15:2<br /><br />I tried to make a sound of warning to the test takers, but didn't find my voice. I watched as people were erased, the event had sped up and moved from just the window panes to now all of what I could see. Blocks of reality seemingly flew away into pitch black, I was in awe of the scene as I watched the last test-takers still focused on their task at hand, were erased completely. Then I asked if I should be erased as well. I felt sin being pulled out of me violently. I was being torn apart. My mind was being pruned like an over-grown tree. I remember specifically seeing a branch removed from my mind that represented everything that I knew about speaking Spanish.<br /><br />Perhaps it was my foolish pride, but I felt the urge to hold onto my knowledge of speaking Spanish. Even now, in describing the event, I still call it "my" knowledge as if it is mine to keep, like I earned it or something. I reached out to grab the branch and felt like I was being pulled away with it. My Lord asked me to think of my friend Fred and how he would view such an event. I immediately laughed a humbling laugh and watched Spanish go away with a ironic smile. I thought of how ironic this event is to the humble man who can see it clearly. All the work I put in was done for the wrong reason, so that knowledge had become sinful and would lead to my destruction if not pulled off of me by my loving Father.<br /><br />The thought then comforted me that I would be able to experience the reality of who God is in my own being as I lived in my newly pruned body and mind. That is, I would know what God approves of first-hand by being pruned by Him, I would become approved. I would then be a little reflection of what God calls good. That though comforted me as the pruning continued. When it was finished, I felt like a little child who needs to completely trust in a parent who knows better. I was humbled. I felt like I had just given up my toys, and trusted it was for a good reason because I loved the One who took them away. My thoughts became simple.<br /><br />"So anyone who becomes as humble as this little child is the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven" Matthew 18:4<br /><br />The only question that I asked my Lord was: "Where did it all go?" He showed me. He moved me without any effort of my own. I remember feeling nothing at all, so sense of motion. Everything was black.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-23901627784144702282010-05-30T10:56:00.003-04:002010-06-02T07:50:20.728-04:00in love we trustAdam Dorsey<br />Chinese 505<br />Research Paper<br />6/4/2010<br /> <br /> <br />In Love We Trust: individual pursuits of happiness<br /> <br />The film "In Love We Trust" by Wang XiaoShuai is a film filled with emptiness. There is the empty Beijing cityscape in deep focus that allows the camera to show acres of bulldozed land around the frames of empty high rises. Director Wang returns to these Beijing shots as a constant theme of empty space develops throughout the narrative of the film. The film begins and ends with a car trip through the maze of urban landscape; the camera lens is ever tinted as a soft blue grey that draws the attention to the polluted grey of the Beijing sky. The camera never escapes the concrete of Beijing to offer any alternative view of landscape; this gives the film a secluded urban feel.<br />It becomes quite clear that director Wang is intentionally filming the city with as few people in the shots as possible, allowing for the theme of emptiness to permeate through the cityscape just as if a permanent setting of the film. This is a statement made in contemporary China that contrasts the romantic socialist past. Director Wang is making a statement about how individual pursuit has impacted collective well-being. <br /> We ride along on the subway as it carries the characters through Beijing with the camera always pointed out the subway window toward the rolling empty streets and seemingly abandoned buildings lining empty neighborhoods. The camera seems to avoid the people of the city as one's eye avoids contact with a stranger's. A soft piano plays while this landscape moves by outside the subway car window, speaking to the dampened psyche that develops inside such an empty place.<br />The seemingly empty buildings that rise out of the empty bulldozed lots have been built, in part, by the characters that Wang presents in the film. We are introduced to Xiao Lu as he is on the site of a tower being constructed. Again, Wang focuses the camera's eye on the empty frame of the building that is being raised from the cleared earth. Xiao Lu works in the construction of these empty buildings as a project manager. Xiao Lu's job is one at which he is constantly on call and lives between heated arguments over building materials. He uses a cell phone to negotiate deals at all hours. <br />Xiao Lu works on the outside of the frames of these buildings separate from and his ex-wife, Mei Zhu who works inside the new buildings, selling spacious, empty apartments. Mei Zhu works in real estate and walks couples through empty rooms. She leads buyers through these empty spaces in attempt to fill them as homes. Director Wang XiaoShuai uses the frames of the empty rooms to separate the characters in the film. This is one way that the director uses inside the film to expose the new reality of life in China as an isolated existence. While it is true that the material comfort, represented by the spacious apartment, is a positive thing; isolation can occur as a result of the over-pursuit of material comfort.<br />The blank walls of the empty rooms become dividing lines that isolate the characters inside the apartments. Mei Zhu is never able to close a deal for selling apartment number 2007. The potential buyers comment that they think the space is too big. The camera remains below Mei Zhu and blocked by a wall from the space of 2007, leaving the viewer to imagine the empty rooms. Mei Zhu uses a cell phone from inside this isolated space, to connect with her family and home.<br />While the theme of emptiness permeates the film, cell phones are an important medium to traverse the empty spaces between people. The symbol of the cell phone is told as a riddle between Lao Xie and HeHe: "With tens of thousands of miles in between, everything can be heard clearly". The cell phone appears as a vehicle that transmits through emptiness.<br /> Cell phones appear frequently through the film, as a means of detached communication. This contemporary form of communication is a break away from the face to face communication of the past, a point driven further home by the reality that contemporary China is moving away from its socialist past and becoming more and more a nation of isolated individuals. <br />The use of cell phones allows for nameless and faceless characters to enter into the narrative. The cell phone also works to bring two separate scenes together through the emptiness of the narrative surrounding them. In fact, the point is made that the cell phone can operate without even any meaning or intention in its call. Mei Zhu accidentally "pocket dials" home on two occasions, with one of these occasions allowing her husband, Lao Xie to hear her adultery in action. The cell phone becomes a type of objective observer of the narrative that is able to transmit through the empty space of the setting. The cell phone is able to connect the characters in scene, while remaining independent of actual human connectedness.<br />Traveling through miles of empty space continues as a theme of the film. Xiao Lu's current wife, Dong Fan is an airline stewardess. As a stewardess, she traverses the globe through the empty firmament above the horizon. Her job would appear to be enviable to the average person. However, when Lao Xie (Mei Zhu's current husband) comments that Dong Fan's job must be great to travel, Dong Fan answers him with an uncomfortable smile and blank stare. A job, it seems, can not fill the empty void in her life. Dong Fan longs to be rooted with a family, her heart is not comforted by her enviable job position.<br />As Dong Fan and Xiao Lu ride an escalator through a posh Beijing mall, the camera pauses on a showcase of Golden paw-waving cats. The excess in this case is humorous as the film turns toward the emptiness created through unchecked capitalism. It could have been a healthy capitalist pursuit that built the empty towers and bulldozed the land. Perhaps it is the same excess in pursuit of money that allows the golden cats to wave at Dong Fan in the mall.<br />As the cats are grinning in their perpetual wave, Xiao Lu tells the cell phone in his hand that money is not a problem with the construction bid, but he is not on the work site because of a family problem. And, as the narrative shapes around the emptiness in two families, the viewer is aroused to the dilemma of the family problem spoken by Xiao Lu. <br />Dong Fan is empty and bored in her discontented stroll through the mall. Her gaze reminds the viewer of another scene in the bedroom of her home. She wants to have a child, to fill her empty womb. However, Xiao Lu has become impotent around her, unable to fill her desire. Their “family” life consists of buying things to fill the emptiness of their home and heart. Dong Fan reminds Xiao Lu that he is already a father from his previous marriage, and she too would like to have a child in her life. <br />Children are seen as symbols of happiness inside the film. It is the disease of Hehe, Xiao Lu's only child that drives the entire narrative. The only time that there is any laughter in the film is when Hehe is on screen. The blank stares of the adult characters liven up to full smiles as she touches them.<br />The film begins with a still shot of an empty entryway that is filled with the playful laughter of Hehe, Lao Xie, and Mei Zhu as they leave their apartment. The same empty entryway is shown at the end of the film as it is filled by a class full of happy children on their way to wish Hehe well in recovery from leukemia. This is a way for director Wang to complete the theme of childhood happiness that runs through the film.<br />Hehe's leukemia is a symbol of trouble plaguing contemporary Beijing life; A hollowed out existence. Leukemia literally empties bones of marrow. The question: "who will save Hehe?" is a central question to the film. The means that the film's characters are willing to go through to save Hehe presents the larger dilemma of emptiness in contemporary life. Relationships are seen as removable constructs that are only detrimental toward the individual pursuits of happiness. <br />In a post-modern world, value systems have lost there meaning, marriage is just another social construct from an outdated meaning system. So the characters move from marriage to marriage, only pausing as the wake they leave catches up to their discontent. To save Hehe, Mei Zhu is willing to sacrifice two marriages her ex-husband's and her own. Mei Zhu's current pursuit is leading to her future divorce, as in the film, she asks Lao Xie to divorce her while she stares blankly at a television screen. Her words are without feeling "Let's get a divorce" as if they have no meaning.<br />It is not a coincidence that "In Love We Trust" is a film narrative that comes out of China in 2007. The post-Mao era dealt with the transition between the end of socialist-romanticism and the beginning of a new capitalist-romanticism. That age saw possibilities in the budding economic transition. As those possibilities turned from fresh green to corrupted grey, a new school of thought is developing in urban China. This period of reaction to the trappings of capitalism in China could be called post-romantic capitalism. The film "In Love We Trust" falls squarely in place with this line of thinking as it shows the result of the end of the pursuit of the capitalist dream. <br />Mainly, the film shows the result of the ethically-unfettered, get-rich-at-any-cost approach to the capitalist life. Much of the film's human setting can be seen as a result of the past pursuits of the characters. The past divorce of Mei Zhu and Xiao Lu is a constant in the film's memory. The divorce is a past decision that haunts the ethics of present film narrative. Like-wise, the abortion of Mei Zhu and Lao Xie's offspring is a haunting decision from the past. This aborted half-sibling for Hehe touches the here and now of the film, offering only a regretful ghost of genetically matched bone marrow salvation. <br />The characters of the film are caught in pursuit of happiness. Even as they mop up the consequences of past pursuits, they still chase after present idols. So, the characters can be seen as having given up on the emptiness brought about by chasing the golden waving cats for the mantle. This pursuit could be classified as the romantic dream of capitalist happiness in the larger sense. <br />However, these older, wiser characters have not settled to rest without their current, more middle aged happiness idols: the healthy family life. It is not that a healthy family is a bad thing in itself. But when worshiped as an ends to happiness, even love can be hard master to serve.. The film depicts Mei Zhu turning life upside down to save Hehe, serving her need through adultery. Mei Zhu is willing to sacrifice all for her daughter. In the harshest of light, she is willing to create a life for its umbilical cord blood (think of the future consequences).<br />Ultimately, these pursuits can lead only to more emptiness, living for ones own happiness. Lao Xie tells Mei Zhu not to cry in front of Hehe, as it is bad for Hehe to see. Then, Mei Zhu spends the rest of her on screen time with Hehe…crying. Mei Zhu saving Hehe is not about Hehe, it is about Mei Zhu living for the gain of her own happiness.<br />And, emptiness is personified in the film: the emptiness of solitary, isolated existence. Personal emptiness is internalized in the film through slow piano music over close-up camera angles on blank stares. During the hospital scenes, director Wang is even able to erase all expression from the faces of the characters as he places bleach white surgical masks over their noses and mouths. The men are constantly smoking cigarettes, and the camera sees each one as it fills the void of their lungs and disappears into a cloud around the faces. Lao Xie's only moments of individual freedom in the film come when he goes out in pursuit of his next pack of cigarettes. <br />The film deals with the hard reality of contemporary issues in an objective and non-didactic way. The emptiness that surrounds the characters is presented as the landscape of contemporary city life. The emptiness inside each of them is the relational void, ironically, created by pursuing alternative individual solutions to happiness. <br />Who will save Hehe is the call to create a new, viable life. Indeed, the genetically matched marrow, to be born from adulterous affair is the only hope provided for Hehe inside the narrative. The viewer is left to question at an objective distance weather the joy in Hehe’s heart can be saved as well. Or will Hehe be saved only to live as an isolated individual pursuing her own private gain, in the contemporary adult world of emptiness.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-43427416122666622832009-07-23T09:56:00.003-04:002010-06-30T12:17:28.445-04:00The Statues "What have you done with yourself? What is your major?" Mr. Green asked. And I assumed he only wanted a word for an answer.
<br />"English" I replied.
<br />"English?" His question dripped with a sarcastic jibe. He had pulled himself up to the circulation desk and met my eyes as if to study me. "What good is English?" he continued in his line. "What accomplishment could come from studying English?"
<br /> It was at this point of our "conversation" that I realized that Mr. Green did not want an answer from me. He was using his questions as an argument to change my interests toward his own. I was puzzled and my face showed a question that I refused to ask, mainly out of respect. That was: "Who do you think you are?"
<br /> Seeing me in a state of silent questioning, he bridged the gap. "I own Aunt Jamima"
<br />
<br />He was a statue man.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-36922342436507223172009-07-23T09:54:00.001-04:002010-06-30T12:17:28.449-04:00स्तातुए मेंAccidental Hindu? I pressed a button that I should never have touched. I only did it out of the fancy that some day there would come a use of that transliteration. But that use was just a fantasy and I became trapped inside Hindu fonts that would not go away. Somehow I saved the above title into my blog before I was able to turn the Hindu off. Another small reminder of my uncertain reality as seen through the true reality.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-59428734554588613242009-07-22T09:41:00.005-04:002010-06-30T12:17:28.453-04:00mist and riversA soft, thick mist hangs between the towers like a web blanket slowly lifting off the riverbanks. The sky is turned on like a bulb covered by a translucent screen. Light dosn't stream through, but is caught, dampened, clouded, and released with trimmed edges.
<br />
<br />Pulled away from the just waking ground below, and lifted as it bunched together and suddenly was transformed into water that fell back down, that blanket became a process. The rain fell an entire day. There was no sun. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-472323166492340602009-07-10T22:36:00.003-04:002010-06-30T12:17:28.457-04:00Called, disolved, not an one to be dismayed. That king went pop with pills in his head, money, frills, dead. That king went dead, slow suicide paper red. Today, away yesterday's freak, how now holy speak. That king went pop in public space, no more that face. Changing asthetic life that puked on top. Wretched on top. Molested sainity beyond extreme, never to dream land. No more dead ever land, Peter pan is sick. Children to bed fairy-tales are twisted, media insisted. Alone seperated individual are our rights. Vomitous nights. Queer sickly fights. Is this what left the den of theives to shame on? No more gate beautiful to lame on? Just porceline plastic and salesmen sheets. None left retreats, Play boy, play and get your game on. Into this scene let heaven stare. Aware. Alive, awake, sovergn, controlling. Will it to be your son in fullness be applied, this world's air ruler denied. Peace on earth.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-59995774393499699312009-07-02T11:26:00.002-04:002009-07-07T15:57:39.239-04:00bedbugsBedbugs… <br />It all began when Xin just couldn’t stop scratching her bug bites. Mosquitoes love her, so we thought she was just scratching the normal mosquito bites. These bites were different though. They were in a line on her arms and back. A little research showed they were bedbug bites.<br />First we spread a powder over every part of her room. We covered the bed, the walls, and the carpeted floor. The powder was supposed to dehydrate any bug that touched it. The problem was it didn’t work; Xin was still being attacked nightly. We were going mad.<br />The next step was to cover every inch of the bed with sealed plastic. That will get them. We washed the bed with a steam vacuum and sealed it with thick plastic and duct tape. That didn’t work either. The next day Xin got bitten twice. I tried to convince Xin that it wasn’t bedbugs. That was a bad idea, she had already caught one.<br />As soon as I had thoroughly convinced myself that it was not bedbugs, a bedbug ran across the top of the bed between Xin and me, in plain sight. We had them running, that was good. It was filled with blood, which was bad. <br />I began to research bedbugs. I wanted to know everything about them. How and what they ate, what they liked, where they lived, what they dreamed about. One thing was sure; they didn’t like 106 degrees Fahrenheit. They are like us; they felt feverish at over 98 degrees. They drink our blood; they become prone to our own disadvantages. Blood doesn’t like heat.<br />It was over 90 degrees outside already, so I figured we only had to turn up the heat by about 20 degrees to kill them off. We sealed the room and turned on four space heaters. The temp in the room reached 120 degrees. Our sample bug died as the blood inside it dried like a scab.<br />A few days later, a bedbug was discovered running in the bathroom. That was good, we had them running and confused. Even better, it was empty of blood. We chemical bombed all three floors of the house and went out to eat. While we dined they were chemically destroyed. <br />It has been three days since the bombing. There are no signs of bedbug life.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-13595914794295314412009-05-29T19:53:00.012-04:002010-06-30T12:17:27.637-04:00Memorial DayWait up on evening's side.
<br />Gentle yellow smiles wide,
<br />now pulling backward toward Orange.
<br />
<br />And a solitary bird,
<br />painted motion; seen and heard,
<br />staging the all still sky.
<br />
<br />Do you throw away your art?
<br />Summer swelters old Springs' heart,
<br />disarranging subtle blend.
<br />
<br />
<br />Is morning come on a wave
<br />to tremble up on that line?
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<br /> Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-87533316062697919872008-12-10T08:25:00.001-05:002008-12-10T08:27:03.236-05:00Even as IEven as I,<br />fallen,<br />dip the tip<br />of my head<br />into the fire;<br />I pause, and<br />look up on<br />the world<br />now<br />nwod edispuUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-257282120643656212008-12-10T08:24:00.001-05:002008-12-10T08:25:30.681-05:00Desert BloomJust add<br />water and<br />pull the string<br />inflated<br />democracy<br />def<u>lated</u><br />kingUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-7108996390137952392008-12-10T08:19:00.000-05:002008-12-10T08:21:00.852-05:00Mysterious division: A look at “Black Walls”Mysterious division: <br />A look at “Black Walls”<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Adam K. Dorsey<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> Chinese 503<br />Autumn Quarter 2008<br />Professor Kirk A. Denton<br />December 4, 2008<br /><br /><br />Liu Xinwu (Chinese: 刘心武, Liú Xīnwǔ) is considered to be one of the earliest proponents of the post-<a title="Maoism" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maoism">Maoist</a> division of Modern Chinese literature. In his short story written in 1982, “Black Walls”, Liu focuses on an overcrowded court-yard tenement in the old city of Beijing. It is in this setting that Liu is able to display what the social pressures and burdens of years under Maoism did to the average Beijing resident. Liu is interested in the interaction between the individual self and the collective group. <br /> The story of “Black Walls” centers on the actions of a relatively unknown “every man”, the tenement neighbor named Zhou. On the morning of the narrative, Zhou paints the walls of his own tenement black. Drama quickly ensues when Zhou’s neighbors congregate in another tenement to collectively disapprove and criticize Zhou and the black walls. The action of the plot is relatively minimal as Liu focuses more on the social aspects of the morning’s drama. Zhou’s neighbors seek to condemn Zhou’s action, and it becomes clear that there has been a paradigm shift away from the judgmental social structure created under Maoism that ruled their past. Liu uses narrative structure alongside the thoughts and speech of the characters in the group to define and measure this shift. As the story concludes, a young character reveals this measurement as ironic distance in the narrative as he confounds and indicts the old, leaving the socialist courtyard group speechless, but unchanged. <br />“Black Walls” is strictly organized, and holds to a tight linear chronological interpretation of a single morning’s events. Italicized lines at the opening of each episode read like a timestamp. It is through this structure that Liu plays with the expectations of the “old guard” Maoist Government. This is to say, the rigid censors who viewed Liu’s work in the past. It is true that Liu worked as an editor at a number of prominent government-sponsored publications throughout most of the 1980s. However, in 1987, he was fired as editor of the publication People's Literature after a story he allowed to be printed failed to meet government approval. It is with this in mind that the reader can see irony in the narrative structure.<br /> So we can read the italicized timestamp: “Five, no, four to eight” (p.3) as humor toward the absurd expectations that the Maoist censors had toward the individual artist. The “Five, no, four to eight” timestamp is a statement that stands satirically opposed to the notion that an artist should be expected to report as a strict realist. That is to ask the censor: What time should be recorded if the clock’s minute hand ticks over while I am in mid-sentence? It is through over-emphasis of the details in the narrative structure of “Black Walls” that Liu makes his critical attack on the Maoist expectation of realism in literature. However, realism is not the only Maoist expectation critically attacked in Liu’s narrative structure.<br />Liu also points criticism toward the Maoist ideal of homogeny with his narrative structure. It seems, “Five, no, four to eight” is just one of many different ways to record a timestamp. Other methods Liu uses to report the time include: “About 7.46”(p.3), “About a quarter past eight”(p.4), “8.25, or thereabouts. Meanwhile –”(p.5) , “It was past 8.36”(p.7) and finally the he settles on, “8.37”(p.7) . It would appear to the reader that Liu is struggling to make his timestamps as diverse as possible. Liu’s heterogeneous time stamping asks of the reader: If these methods of recording time are all acceptable when presented in a homogenous way, why are the same methods agents of discomfort when presented heterogeneously? Through over-emphasis of diversity in the narrative structure of “Black Walls”, Liu critically attacks the structured expectations of the Maoist censors. <br />As if he were burdened to do so by the self-appointed censorship committee within his own plot, Liu adjusts his narrative structure’s time stamping into a completely homogenous line as the narrative progresses. What the narrative structure is left to resemble is the very theme Liu wishes to discuss. That is the question: What happens when diversity meets homogeny? Or, in other words, Liu reports the individual self’s struggle to remain independent of the collective, “individual-consuming” group. The reader is first introduced to this through the symbolic character for “double happiness” printed on the unmarried individual Zhou’s wash bin. “He wasn’t a day under thirty, and was most probably a bachelor, though he used one of those wash bins with a “double happiness” design in red on it. Strange that - maybe he was divorced.” (p.1) Liu establishes a narrative voice that is sympathetic to the homogenous group. This narrative voice allows Liu to draw the reader into the narrative and firmly establish expectations of the group. Furthermore, it allows Liu to assume the reader is aligned to the absurdly homogenous expectation of say, what a Chinese man should be at the age of “over thirty”. It is this first expectation of the individual self’s coupling or attachment through the age old institution of marriage that provides a gentle gateway into Liu’s thematic discussion of social constructions that seek to limit and consume the individual self.<br />As seen already with “double happiness” Liu uses symbols to represent larger ideas. “Black Walls” is a story that contains many images as symbols. One main way Liu approaches the theme of diversity vs. homogeny is through use of color imagery. To begin, Liu chooses the title “Black Walls”, perhaps, with interest in that mysterious unknown that divides neighbors. Indeed, the black paint acts mysteriously as a divider of neighbors. Mrs. Li’s thoughts about Zhou’s painting express the homogenous ideal: “Maybe he (her son) could make Zhou stop this silliness. Then they could repaint his place white together. White was such a lovely colour. How could the walls of a house be anything but white?”(p.10, parenthesis mine) The question in Li’s mind, while ironically distant from the author’s own artistic opinion, could be reframed as the question of this short story. It would then be asked as: With neighbors like these, how could an individual paint his walls anything but white? <br />Again Liu uses color as a dividing agent among the neighbors. Neighbor Qian reports a scandalous scene: “Just last week I saw Zhou airing his quilt outside his place – none of you others probably noticed – a quilt, mind you, with its cover made of red satin. Not all that strange, you may say; but wait for it: the underside was bright red as well! You can’t tell me he isn’t wacky!” (p.6) Liu uses the contrast between the colors black and white to symbolize the struggle between diverse individualism and homogeny. To the homogenous ideal, the walls should remain white. And again, to the absurd homogenous ideal, quilts should not be red on both sides. <br />Even among the homogenous group, color is used as a critical dividing line. While remaining a part of the homogenous group with his agreement on Zhou, neighbor Qian expresses his individual opinion. Old Zhao and his wife think divisively about neighbor Qian’s new found identity within the homogeny: “You’re nothing but an old tailor – they thought in unison. Back in the days when we had you pegged as a petty exploiter you wouldn’t have dared talk back like that. Now look at you: just because you make a bit of money by taking in work and sit watching your new colour TV, you think you can speak to us like that?”(p.5-6 italics mine) It is evident here that Liu is using the symbol of color television to express Qian’s liberation from the oppressive social pressures of the past.<br /> Liu uses color imagery as a type of self-exodus from the black and white collective homogeny of the past. Colors provide Liu with a vehicle to criticize the past social order under Maoism. This criticism is Liu’s use of color alongside the new found expression of self in Post-Maoist China. Liu does not suggest that the individual self was completely swallowed up by the homogenous collective beast of Maoism. On the contrary, Liu uses neighbor Qian as an example to how the individual self has continued and, indeed, been redeemed from the past. By this “continued” is meant Qian’s individual self was not born after the death of Mao, it was liberated from the oppression that dictated it to be silent. And, by this “redeemed” is meant that Qian does not think differently then he did in the past, only that he is now able to, once again, express his thoughts. <br />Liu does not just use color imagery to establish social divisions among neighbors, it can also be seen a divider of generations. “A few of the young people living in the courtyard were going out as it was their day off. They were all dressed up One girl who spent her days selling meat had decked herself out in imitation jeweled ear-rings…cream coloured high heels…her automatic nylon umbrella with a floral pattern in blue burst open the moment she stepped into the street…The young fellow who worked in a foundry was sporting a jersey he’d got ahold of somewhere with the legend “Indiana University, USA” printed on it…a pair of corduroys made for a safari suit…tinted sunglasses...Then there was the girl who was studying business management…a pale green skirt that she’d made herself …” (p.3) <br />The colorful descriptions of these youth burst forth on the narrative like the young lady’s colorful umbrella bursts out onto the drab grey street. . It is with this youthful color that Liu transitions from the past black and white Maoist period into the bright future. Liu carefully places the fashionable individualism of these youth together with descriptions of their faceless servitude. While one is just the “girl who sells meat” during the work week, she becomes a jeweled, cream-colored, nylon-flower toting individual on her day off. This is something fantastic to the grey world around her. She is colorful, in spite of her environment, feeling none of the pressures to conform to the dreary concreted past of Maoism, and its social order. This is Liu saying that the frustrated, isolated, socially pressured individual self of the black and white past is now putting on the colorful future.<br />At the end of his narrative, Liu chooses to introduce a new character to the morning’s drama. Little Button speaks to the adults: “I know you’re all angry with Uncle Zhou for painting his walls. You don’t know him; he’s really nice, he’s fun to play with.” (p.11) With these simple words, Little Button confounds the “old guard” social order. Liu uses the innocent child to complete the overthrow the hypocritical Maoist social construction. While Little Button only represents a small portion of the narrative, his character and dialog are extremely important as they become Liu’s final verdict to the past.<br />Little Button’s work is not only to stun the past social order, Liu also uses Little Button to show vision of the future. And, again, Liu uses color in this vision. In particular Liu speaks to what he sees the colorful future holding for the individual self as an artist. Button continues to speak: “Once he (Zhou) called me into his room and showed me a pile of cardboard pieces. They were as big as the evening paper, and all different colours. He showed them to me on after the other, holding them right up close to my eyes so all I could see was that colour. Then he asked me lots of questions: ‘Do you like this one or not? Does it make you feel like going to sleep or going out to play? What does this one make you think of – or doesn’t it make you think of anything? Does this one make you feel scared or not? Does this one make you feel thirsty? Do you want to keep looking at it or not? He wrote down everything I said in a little book. He’s great fun, really.”(p.12)<br />Liu uses Little Button as the innocent spectator of art for Liu’s own hopeful vision of China’s future. “Black Walls” draws to a conclusion with the author appealing to the beauty of the aesthetic in art, that is to say the sensory contemplation of an object as beautiful. Art, then, finds its values in empathy, not politics. The questions that Zhou asks Little Button are personal and subjective. These questions serve towards the transfer of feeling and experience from one individual to another. <br />In conclusion, the author Liu XinWu’s “Black Walls” provides insight into an old problem. Lu Xun formed an image of this problem in his introduction to “A Call to Arms” when he described a crowd of onlookers at an execution. The apathy of the observers was startling. Again, Lu Xun wrote of these critical spectral crowds in “Diary of a Madman”, but he did not provide a hopeful transition away from the “cannibalistic” disapproval of “other”. Little Button provides Liu’s answer to the cannibalism. Liu seems to envision the individual transfer of empathy solving the problem of group apathy. And, if such a common “every man” as Zhou, in such a common setting as an urban courtyard can transmit this empathy to the next generation, there is great hope for the reformation of the larger society, through the individual. That is, if we can see past black walls that divide.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-91391117240193308282008-11-20T18:41:00.000-05:002008-12-10T08:18:40.531-05:00Busy Day and the ZooToday went great comparing the sleep we got last night. Ava went to bed at 730pm and wokr up about 1230am and didn't go back to sleep I think 330am, not really sure the exact time. After trying to get her back and all the talking about... She finally moved into our bed and it still takes hour maybe to get her to sleep. She was tossing and turning for a long time. Anyway, we got up soon enough to make it to the dance class. And Cousin Luke came over for 2 hours in the afternoon. Then headed to the Zoo to get some free tickets, so NaiNai and YeYe could come over and go see the lights at the zoo with everyone.<div>We got to the zoo little early to avoid the traffic. Before we got in the front door we heard either tiger or lion was roaring. And tiger is the animal Ava wanted to see, since we are not going to be there too long. The tiger was upa dn walking!!! Very exciting, this is the 2nd time we hvae seen the tiger doing sometime. Most of the time it just lay somewhere. It would chase us when we run in front of the glass. I took many pics and movies, I will try to put them on the blog.</div><div>But the diappointing thing was about the tickets, they are only valid Monday through Thursday. So NaiNai and YeYe would hvae to pay when they come and see the lights.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-61475936866639225852008-06-28T09:03:00.000-04:002010-06-30T12:17:28.473-04:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjugpaczlsWkP17eOcYuv66e3yorYBlXQP9t1uJNmrbmCyAGJUFUeBw_fd0nc6MaAsIaitwTNN-T3ORZO8InsIbJuNgEqCT1LxVA6AuanXJfHLMKZYuGkaE-OkdoIrwch_bp-GGXhXZtenb/s1600-h/100_2185.JPG"><img style="CLEAR: both; FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjugpaczlsWkP17eOcYuv66e3yorYBlXQP9t1uJNmrbmCyAGJUFUeBw_fd0nc6MaAsIaitwTNN-T3ORZO8InsIbJuNgEqCT1LxVA6AuanXJfHLMKZYuGkaE-OkdoIrwch_bp-GGXhXZtenb/s320/100_2185.JPG" border="0" /></a><div style='clear:both; text-align:LEFT'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-27151321965533761882008-06-27T10:36:00.000-04:002010-06-30T12:17:28.478-04:00Up Emei Island12/17/2000<br /><br />The day started off with us rolling out of bed at the newest hotel. Cyn's uncle had been in a suit with the crazy driver friend. We went to eat breakfast and met up with the traffic cops. Only one of them dressed in uniform. We ate (I didn't because I wasn't hungry after the meal the night before). We went to the mountain following the police. When we got to a certain point, it was no longer safe to drive. We got out and got into a bus for free (because of the cops) and went up further. It kept getting colder and foggier until there was snow covering the whole road. We put chains on our tires and continued ahead up the mountain. We passed people walking in the snow that covered their lower legs completely.<br /><br />The zig-zag upward continued for about 40 minutes or the length of a horrible Shanghi comedy which was showing on the bus. When we stopped for the second time it was snowing. Cynthia's mom threw a snowball at her dad. There were ice cicles that were three feet long hanging from a shelter in the pines. The trees looked thicker here, and gave the only relief to the eye from the exausting glare of white snow. This was a foggy winter wonderland.<br /><br />The cops got us onto a gondola for free and we rode through the clouds. Trees appeared and disappeared covered in snow and fog. There were windows all around me, but I could not see even ten feet into the cloud surrounding our tiny gondola. And then...we were in heaven. The sun reflected off the tops of golden clouds at our feet. The mountain appears to be gold from the reflected light all around it. As far as the eye can see there are clouds underfoot, broken up only by peaks of other mountain tops perhaps hundreds of miles away.<br /><br />As we reached the top of Emei, the trip has taken four hours from breakfast. Now the temperature is 70 degrees and a light breeze calms the soul. The older generations of people bow before the buddah in the temple, lighting insense and praying. There is a hollow bell behind the temple that draws my attention. An ancient commune of sound not unlike NASA's SETI in inspiration. It is ornately hung beside a wooden log that swings toward its side. As for me, I look out at what seems to be an eternal plane of cloud and light. This is What Genesis 1 calls the ferment. For the first time I am brought to the state of the prodigal son. A breeze blows over my goosebumped skin as I stare out into the mysterious waves and Islands and see creation again.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-76840842302923786572008-06-27T10:32:00.000-04:002008-12-10T08:18:40.532-05:00Emei Island<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj36sa3Po8rZLfyOhwdv_LJ9IY14I5rAAjfAdkQmz85ij5SLsWrqkZZefiWtPlU4FBe-beaXJBfSlvaNJPtM_AMR5VVsk9ClGrblPaYN2uumh0emHZDIiKIiKPZXrytIMT-p8sWFcDb-J7p/s1600-h/Mount+Emei.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj36sa3Po8rZLfyOhwdv_LJ9IY14I5rAAjfAdkQmz85ij5SLsWrqkZZefiWtPlU4FBe-beaXJBfSlvaNJPtM_AMR5VVsk9ClGrblPaYN2uumh0emHZDIiKIiKPZXrytIMT-p8sWFcDb-J7p/s320/Mount+Emei.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217641970194129794" border="0" /></a><br />Mt. Emei (UH-may) at the top of this mountain there is a wonderful temple with a golden buddah. Years ago the temple was gold and it shone down with the reflected sun upon the sea of clouds where only the tallest peaks at 14,000 feet appear as islands. This wonder was so bright that is cast a clean shadow far below in the summer. People who enter this temple seeking answers sometimes can see their own shadows far below. Some jump into that sea of clouds, believing that they are jumping into heaven itself.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-24890656125652092482008-06-26T13:08:00.000-04:002008-12-10T08:18:40.532-05:00Crossroads12/16/2000<br /><br />To you America, I can't imagine the look on your face if you were politely seated next to me right now. There are nine Chinese people speaking two different Mandarin dialects. Their words carry the air with enthusiasm. The circle we are sitting in is bordering a large wooden table clothed in white plastic. The plastic protects the furniture below it from the bubbling cauldron in the middle of the table. There are also plastic bags on our finely gold padded chairs. I am made to put my jacket under the plastic to protect it from the fumes of noxious gas that are let off from the fuel source under the cauldron.<br /><br />And what a cauldron it is. The boiling, spiced water is full of wiggling fish, chicken blood (dried in blocks like jello), chicken feet, tofu, and many assorted veggies I have never seen, as well as animal parts. It seems the Chinese eat everything. Everything. Your FDA would not allow for things to come to this. All parts of all makes and models have equal opportunity to end up in line on the table. When their number is called, they assume position over the popping bubbles before sliding off their porcelain dish into the maelstrom of submerged biology below.<br /><br />The little interaction I am allotted in English describes the "food" as organs that function unknown to the eyes of men. That is to say they reside inside animals that, while reasonably domesticated are left mostly unexamined for their insides. Even had they been to the extent of a High School Biology class, I could not have been made to recall their functions at this hour. The English breaks up and goes back to Chinese at these crossroads. It seems that the terms and functions of these organs are much more readily available to my Chinese friends at the table.<br /><br />To introduce you to my new friends would be useless. I don't know their names. They practice saying mine and then give into calling me by a closely sounding Chinese name. A name is just a symbol anyway. China is full of symbols and names that don't always convert into English. The men are dressed as police officers. Their faces turn beat red against their conservative uniforms as they get really drunk on very strong rice liquor. The liquor tastes like fruit at first and then catches your throat on fire. I imagine men in America drinking hard alcohol like this in small shot glasses. These men drink from large cups.<br /><br />One of the red faced men is very kind. He stood up to toast me. He says I am strong. Cynthia's mom doesn't allow them to fill my cup with their fire wine. They laugh and eat, poking their bamboo chopsticks toward the center of the table to pull out anything and everything from the cauldron. The men eat fish and spit the heads and tails on the floor. One fish wiggles off the plate and hits the floor prematurely. The floor is not refuge as it is washed off and then dropped into the pot. I am now given jokes about the freshness of the fish as they see the horror on my face.<br /><br />I bring you up, America, and I talk about your food. One of the men said that the taste of pizza makes him sick. I will not mention you again, America, this is <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">truly</span> amazing. I remember Cynthia telling me that the Chinese have a joke about drinking too much, the face turns red like a monkey's butt. They keep toasting over and over and eating food so spicy it makes the lips numb. Their teeth seem to be rotting in <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">front</span> of me.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-26481697498347502322008-06-26T12:53:00.001-04:002010-06-30T12:17:28.532-04:00Snapshots of Time and Space<dl class="body"><dt class="post-head">12/14 and 12/15/2000</dt><dd class="post-body"><div class="image-wrapper"></div><div class="content-wrapper">The train ride experience: 28 plus hours...snoring men above, sleeping parents below...lots of talking...cute women that clean everything...Food on carts..Fruit (Beijing Pears) being skinned with a knife by Xiangyuan...All one peal curling spiraling down towards her feet...beer...pictures of mountains and fog...lots of countryside...Zeppelin's Kashmir...ears popped...Tunnels in rythm to the steel track...more tunnels under, between, through sharp pointing peaks...snow...farmers... railroad workers dirty faces grin and eat noodles...Joy in new unknown love...learning Chinese... Chinese medicine technique has me fearing combs for the first time in my life.<br /><br />Chengdu is the transport and communication hub city of southwest of China. Placed carefully in the fog of the high mountain basin, Chengdu is a cultural relic in wet grass. It is surrounded in every direction by mountains that meet the sky like high walls. This must have been one reason that the city was a capital to many dynastys as far back as 2,400 years.</div></dd><dd class="post-body"><div class="content-wrapper">Staying at the Tibet hotel (4 stars). Cyn's uncle set us up on the 11th floor with 2 rooms. </div></dd><dd class="post-body"><div class="content-wrapper"> </div></dd><dd class="post-body"><div class="content-wrapper"> On the train ride here, the subject of fair skin was raised. It is said that the people of Chengdu have fair skin because of the moisture in the air that adds to their skin and protects them from the sun.<br /><br />I also learned on the train that Bush is the president of the U.S.<br /><br />Cyn's father's family were all employed in the R.R. business. Now her uncle works for real estate. (note that is incorrect, I was very confused about Chengdu and the family situation there, her uncle is still with the railroad)<br /></div></dd></dl>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-65332665677181314712008-06-26T12:53:00.000-04:002010-06-30T12:17:28.536-04:00Too Tight<dl class="body"><dt class="post-head">Entry for June 20, 2008</dt><dd class="post-body"><div class="image-wrapper"></div><div class="content-wrapper">we are from the same latitude my love!<br />four seasons have we lived for this our life<br />we are from the same platitude my love<br />123456789strife.<br /><br /><br />we are of the same attitude my love,<br />all the symptoms and theories combat us<br />we are of the same gratitude my love<br />He speaks and lives redeemed is our trust!<br /></div></dd></dl>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-73146164577159176112008-06-26T12:52:00.000-04:002008-12-10T08:18:40.532-05:00Comfort on the Tracks<dl class="body"><dt class="post-head">12/14/2000</dt><dd class="post-body"> <div class="image-wrapper"> </div> <div class="content-wrapper">I am on a train, the toilets flush onto the tracks. I just ate a pidgin and washed it down with beer. As I have lost my reserved mentality, Cyn and I found each other. Finally...I am happy and comfortable.</div></dd></dl>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-91934189050975676592008-06-26T12:51:00.000-04:002008-12-10T08:18:40.533-05:00Palace Postcard Catharsis<dl class="body"><dt class="post-head">12/13/2000</dt><dd class="post-body"> <div class="image-wrapper"> </div> <div class="content-wrapper">She came over early today and we went to the summer palace. In the middle of the winter, the place was empty. There were maybe a thousand people there and of those thousand I was perhaps one out of ten foreigners. Even this figure is high. There were street vendors (this is a nice name for them) who were selling postcards and stamps and hats and maps of the park. They were women of older age, short dark deep set eyes hair long in a ponytail braided or short and to their shoulder gray / jet black hair. The only English they spoke was "hello" and then they described their products in Chinese. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Cyn</span> didn't help, she said what she could but she was not enough to stop these people, I filmed two men. One of them was selling a map. The other was a solder who told him to stop. Some of them were selling Chairman Mao books, I told them I had one already. It was all a pretty nice joke until one of the men selling postcards started saying bad words in Chinese at us. He called <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Cyn</span> a prostitute that was using me. I could not believe he would say that. I wanted to make him understand who I am. I wanted Cynthia to know that we could change his mind. The man came back and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Cyn</span> started crying. Her eyes were so big with big tears rolling slowly down her cheeks. She mad a high pitched moan that told the man to back away. She was clearly upset and the other people watching were alarmed. I looked at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Cyn</span>, she said that the man had to feed his children, I looked at him, he backed away and looked like a fifty year old man who was a hurt boy. I gave him a hug and he left, I tried to give him money, but he was humiliated by the display. I felt horrible, but I justified myself as much a possible.</div></dd></dl>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-60363240940303284282008-06-26T12:50:00.000-04:002008-12-10T08:18:40.533-05:009 Unnamed lanes<dl class="body"><dt class="post-head">12/13/2008</dt><dd class="post-body last"> <div class="image-wrapper"> </div> <div class="content-wrapper">The streets are so new, nobody knows their names. I am sitting in a huge traffic jam. 9 lanes one way. The fumes give me a headache.<br /><br />Tonight we ate at Zhuli's older sisters' house. Cynthia must address her and her husband as uncle and aunt because they rank one generation higher then her. It is a family respect heirarchy thing. I was told that her house would be beautiful because she was older then Zhuli...that was a joke, but the house was beautiful. Modern style...in a new high-rise building. When the grandson came in, they asked Cyn what he should call her..."aunt"? and she said that she would be called by her name because she didn't like that when she was young. A new generation? I think so.<br /><br />I saw thousands of color photos of this boy and he was only 6. Starting kindergarden and very smart, he took pictures of the family. He called me uncle, I pronounced some words correctly, we ate, I used chopsticks. I am tired now, I will sleep.</div></dd></dl>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-84110140638043711142008-06-26T12:49:00.000-04:002008-12-10T08:18:40.533-05:00The Chinese Flavor of Things<dl class="body"><dt class="post-head">12/11/2000 pt. 2</dt><dd class="post-body"> <div class="image-wrapper"> </div> <div class="content-wrapper">I climbed "the mountain that is so tall the devil fears he can not climb it" today. What a great name. 2400 steps up 2400 steps down. My legs are on fire! Right now I am sitting with a large group. Cyn's Fathers' family. I am in a military building that I should not be in. No foreigners allowed. There are servants here and the building accomidations are well above par for China. They are deciding what to eat. Scorpion, duck, rabbit, and everything else. I will eat anything now, i am hungry and I have gotten used to the Chinese flavor of things. They are very kind to me. They order somthing that they think I will like. I wish those children could live here. They would love the attention that I am getting.</div></dd></dl>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-82476143485822101852008-06-26T12:48:00.000-04:002008-12-10T08:18:40.534-05:00Commodies Responsibilities<dl class="body"><dt class="post-head">12/11/2000</dt><dd class="post-body"> <div class="image-wrapper"> </div> <div class="content-wrapper">The first thing I must address today is the poverty of Beijing. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Cyn</span> showed me her old house. When she was a girl she lived in a very small shack and shared a pit called a bathroom with too many families. Beijing is changing. The city is employing poor farmers who would normally be outside the city to build the new Beijing. The new Beijing will be a lot like a clean American city with a subway system already in place, 8 lane highways, and a person for every job. As the average citizen gains more liberty with all of the commodities that are given in this city, a paradox is developing. In two days I have seen five children searching for food. Adults don't beg like the children do, they just sit on the ground with their heads buried in shame. Their only possession is a cup for coins. The children attack the apathy of strangers by hugging people's legs and blocking their paths. The children wait at McDonald's for scraps of food. I made two friends today. They could not speak English, but hunger has no language. I saw God in their shame turned to happiness when I gave them a sandwich.</div></dd></dl>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-27353349008369870882008-06-26T12:46:00.000-04:002008-12-10T08:18:40.534-05:00A City Reinvented<dl class="body"><dt class="post-head">12/10/2000</dt><dd class="post-body"> <div class="image-wrapper"> </div> <div class="content-wrapper"><p>Today Cyn and I went on a walk to go shopping. Beijing is a city that is being reinvented. Down with the old buildings and up with great tall buildings reminiscent of ancient styles of architecture. What a grand place! People tried to sell cd roms and fuji cameras on the street. None of them knew English well enough to convince me. One man called Cyn a prostitute who got lucky by finding me. He misjudged. I don't understand how he felt the freedom or self-righteousness to say those words.</p> <p>At night we went to a bar where everyone was bored. It was confusing to me because the bar had kareoke and a roller rink. I met a girl who asked: "people tell me that college is supposed to be the most fun part of my life, why am I bored?" All I can do is cry for her. i understand that seh has very little excitement in her daily life and when she is given any free time she dosn't know how to use it. She asked me what I do in America when I have freetime. I told her I listen to music.</p></div></dd></dl>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860913047484701491.post-35992765304889670942008-06-26T12:45:00.000-04:002008-12-10T08:18:40.535-05:00New Love<dl class="body"><dt class="post-head">12/9/2000</dt><dd class="post-body last"> <div class="image-wrapper"> </div> <div class="content-wrapper"><p>I have found new love. I am lost in here and there. The faces her can talk but the words don't move me.</p> <p>We flew in on a huge Chinese airplane. The food on the plane was chicken with rice. They also served another mean of chicken or pork or beef. The taste of the food was strange to me. The people on the plane were almost all Chinese. They seemed relaxed and all around more happy then I have ever seen complete strangers be. Perhaps the Chinese do not feel as if they are strangers.</p> <p>We arrived in Beijing and came to the Wan's apt. Cyn's aunt had waited with her friend at the airport to pick us up. She was very happy to see me. I could tell by the smile on her face that she is a gentle, caring person. I could tell by her and Cynthia's conversation that they are great friends.</p> <p>We all went to meet the grandparents of Cyn. Her grandfather gave me a present. A wall hanging (or placemat?) it is a beautiful scean of a bridge and water. Her Grandfather spoke English. He talked to me whild Grandma talked to Cyn and aunt. We talked about China and America with politics and life. We laughed and flowed with English. He is a very big little man whou was given a great opportunity to come to America because he is a wise interpreter. He lived in Pittsburgh and went to Ottowa for 2 weeks and stayed in D.C. He showed me a wall hanging of D.C. that was given to him in America. He said of the Americans: "You like to make friends".</p></div></dd></dl>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0