Things Change

There is hope for me yet. The last few days, I've been, let's say, "pensive", and that's been reflected in my last few posts. Talking about cats and butterflies, you know.

Another way to put, I've been overwhelmed by the sheer stimulation of being in Taipei again. About 96% of that stimulation comes from the constant inflow of Chinese. I carry an electronic dictionary with me wherever I go and am looking up characters on the bus, at restaurants, at the supermarket, everywhere. (By the way, I would really like to know what those signs that are posted above the urinals say, exactly.) I go to Chinese class every morning, which I am happy to say, is challenging, and I study in the afternoons, sometimes for three or four hours.

Another 3% comes from this very social side I have, let's call it the Gemini part of me, that is making lots of friends. I try to cultivate these new relationships, and stay in touch with the friends I made here the last time around (although most are wondering why I live up on the mountain behind Zheng Da).

What about the other 1%? you're asking. I think that comes from the strange electronic music that comes from the garbage trucks in Taipei (and no, it's not "electronica"). They play this weird song to announce that they are coming to your neighborhood, and everyone is waiting outside with their bags of compost and plastic and trash and paper, asking each other "How's business?", or "How's that son of yours?" But in Chinese. It's subtle, but I think most people would agree that this electronic song that comes from the garbage trucks does cause extra, sometimes excessive stimulation, here on the Ilha Formosa.

However the numbers work out, all I can say is that all of this stimulation has made for one overstimulated Jewish Chinese Taipei Boy.

Today, however, things changed. After class, I met my friend Michael the acupuncturist, from Seattle, who e-mailed me yesterday and told me he is in Taipei. He invited me to lunch with his 97 year-old Chinese Medicine teacher. We met at Dr. Zhang's clinic in Ding Xi and chatted in the front of his storefront office while waiting for him to finish seeing patients. We tried to involve an innocent Chinese bystander in our conversation and were successful. Michael never fails to blow away locals with his command of Mandarin and his knowledge of Taiwanese culture.

Dr. Zhang finished with his last patient, and so we began to get ready for lunch. With umbrellas in hand we headed off to lunch in Ximending, a bustling section of Taipei where all the high school kids gather to spend money on food, movies, clothes, and other stuff they probably don't need. You must go to Ximending sometime. There is this humongous television screen above the crowd, which combined with the lights and the noise, makes you feel like you are in a postmodern Asian movie.
When we arrived at Ximending, Zhang laoshi got out of the cab, weaved his way through the uniform clad kids, and headed quickly toward the restaurant, where we would soon be eating dim sum. I've never seen a 97 year-old man walk so quickly. My god, in case any of you are getting old out there (please e-mail me if you are not), I suggest you hang out with Zhang laoshi. If you pay very careful attention, I think it is possible to make some kind of magical paradigm shift.

I don't know if my Chinese is good enough to study with Dr. Zhang, but I know that this is not the first "fortunate meeting" I'll have in Taiwan. In Chinese, this is called yuan fen (roughly translated as "affinity" or maybe "synchronicity"), and happens often here.

These meetings remind me that I am blessed, and like my friend Tracy, who is kicking ass in London says, "since you met me, you must have a lucky star over your head, because I am really lucky."

Today, the fall semester began for regular students at Zheng Da (mine started last week).
Today was also the first day for many clubs, and so I got to decide which club I would like to attend. At first, I thought I would attend the ballroom dance club, but I watched them perform last week, and since the guys all danced like girly-girls (sorry, but it's true), I decided to join the aikido club on campus.

I did aikido when I lived in San Francisco in my early twenties, and was very devoted, going to class at least three times a week for almost two years. I studied with a well-known teacher in California who brought aikido back from Japan after he studied it with O'Sensei, the founder of aikido.

Alas, I moved to Berkeley, across the Bay, and while I looked for a teacher I liked, I never quite got back into it, even though I missed it at times. I am finding that life has a way of doing this. You know, the whole "years going by quickly" thing.

It's been about a decade since I practiced. I'm in pretty good shape, so was able to physically keep up with class, but I found that I was a bit rusty on some of the techniques. These are techniques that I did hundreds of times and was tested on several times to get a couple of belts.

It feels like they'll come back quickly. Mostly, I loved the feeling of practicing again. Aikido was not only a way for me to get exercise, but it was (and is) a way for me to feel this energy we call qi in Chinese Medicine (ki in Japanese). Doing aikido is like dancing, and afterwards I feel light and happy and strong. Which is how I felt after our practice today.

For years after I stopped practicing aikido, I kept O'Sensei's calligraphy on my wall in my studio apartment in Berkeley. Even though I wasn't practicing on the mat, I still felt his influence on me. How could I blend with opposing energy instead of fighting with it? How can I keep myself and my attacker safe (instead of being "killed" or "killing")? These are what O'Sensei wrote about and addressed in his teaching.

So, O'Sensei, I'd like to make a toast to you: "Thanks for helping me out when I was just a kid out of college, and thanks for coming back into my life again today, as a kid back in college."