After a long flight back from Taiwan, I am home. I arrived yesterday afternoon, and because I didn't sleep on the plane, was in a daze for most of the day. It's just too surreal to be living close to a big Daoist temple on a mountain south of Taipei one minute and then a few hours later find yourself in the progressive capital of the United States, where the buses run on hydrogen.
So, after four hours of sleep last night (believe me, I tried to get back to sleep after waking up at four in the morning, but I couldn't), I got up, dressed, got on my friend Jono's bike and rode to my old neighborhood.
It's autumn, the air is crisp and in my bones, I can feel the many autumns I've spent here. Climate itself can be like Proust's "madeleines", you know, you bite into a cookie you once ate a long time ago, and the memories start flowing.
It's quite a contrast to Taipei's heat and mugginess.
Walking around my old neighborhood on this cool autumn morning, I remember moving to Berkeley around this time of year (a long, long time ago!), I remember what it felt like to live in my old, beautiful apartment (I walk by it this morning and see the name of the person who lives in apartment 103, my old abode), I remember my community of friends way back when, walking with them on Shattuck Avenue. It's all more than I can communicate in words, but I think you understand.
A fish is back in the water.
At five this morning, I find a bakery (the famous Cheeseboard) in my old neighboorhood that has some benches in front. Even though it's not open yet, the lights are on and the bakers are bustling about. So, I open the book that my dear friend bought me before I left (A Fish the Smiled at Me, by Jimmie), and what else do I do but, of course, study Chinese!
A baker in an apron is pushing a cart of flour on the sidewalk and we start chatting. "You have enough light?" he asks as he smiles at me. "Yes, thanks." I say. I explain to him that I just got back from Asia and am jetlagged, and so am back in my old neighborhood, reminiscing.
"Want a muffin?" he asks. "They're just out of the oven," he says. "Bran, blueberry millet, and I can't remember the other one."
"I'd love a bran muffin," I reply. I've had many of them in my years here, and I might be about to have my own Proustian bakery experience.
So, he brings me my warm muffin, and I get to work on Jimmie's story. It is beautiful, about real love and letting go.
It feels like a few minutes have gone by, but I look at my watch, and it's almost six. That means I can go to my favorite cafe and get a cup of tea. It's on the next block. I pack up my book, and walk to Peet's Coffee and Tea, the original store on Walnut and Vine.
There, I get (what else?) and pot of Tie Guan Yin tea. "I'll give you a big mug in case you need room for cream and sugar," the dian yuan/woman at the register says.
I smile ("cream and sugar?") and say thank you.
I sit down at a table, pour myself a cup of tea (who knows, maybe it's from Maokong!), and get back to work on my story of the man and his fish.
I finish the story, feeling inspired (and happy to learn some new Chinese). The sun is starting to come up, and I need to get breakfast.
I am back home.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Rainy Night on Zhinan Mountain
I've leaving Taiwan on Monday morning, early. This evening, I have focused on packing, and finally, I am done. It's a good feeling.
It's a beautiful night in Muzha. It's been lightly raining for the past few hours. I love when it rains on the mountain. It's a feeling of nourishment, strengthening, release.
I need to take a walk and move my body. I don't mind that it's raining, and besides, I won't be able to take a walk in my neighborhood on the mountain for a long time. So, I grab an umbrella and walk down Wanshou Rd.
It's always good to walk after being cramped up inside. After twenty or thirty minutes, I am done my short hike and am back at the stairs that lead up to my small apartment building. I walk up, slowly. There are big lamps along the path, and their light is reflected on the water as it tumbles over the stairs, which are all made of thousands of small pebbles.
I get to the top of the path where my apartment is. This is one of my last walks here, and I am glad I have slowed down tonight to appreciate this place.
It's still raining outside. A fine moment to finish my last blog entry in Taiwan.
It's a beautiful night in Muzha. It's been lightly raining for the past few hours. I love when it rains on the mountain. It's a feeling of nourishment, strengthening, release.
I need to take a walk and move my body. I don't mind that it's raining, and besides, I won't be able to take a walk in my neighborhood on the mountain for a long time. So, I grab an umbrella and walk down Wanshou Rd.
It's always good to walk after being cramped up inside. After twenty or thirty minutes, I am done my short hike and am back at the stairs that lead up to my small apartment building. I walk up, slowly. There are big lamps along the path, and their light is reflected on the water as it tumbles over the stairs, which are all made of thousands of small pebbles.
I get to the top of the path where my apartment is. This is one of my last walks here, and I am glad I have slowed down tonight to appreciate this place.
It's still raining outside. A fine moment to finish my last blog entry in Taiwan.
Chinese Studying and Peoplewatching in Taipei 101
I am often in Taipei 101, until last month, the tallest building in the world. Since I am a poor student, perhaps being there makes me feel, well, a little richer. I study on the fourth floor where there are several cafes and Taipei's best bookstore for English books, and in between memorizing new vocabulary and writing sentences in Chinese that are a mixture of both proper Chinese and English grammar (I get points off for the latter, though), I peoplewatch.
There are the grandmothers who knit and gossip at the table next to me every time I am there. They know me well (well, because they see me all the time), and hopefully, they've gossiped about me.
Then there are the business people who are on a coffee break, business people in meetings with their laptops, salespeople making big deals. Students who are on summer break who are either chilling together after a little shopping, or organizing some big activity, like a play. At least that's what it looks to me.
The boys are usually skinny, mostly with tan complexions and funky haircuts, and a few are more plump. There's usually one guy who's really loud, and the girls all pay attention to him. I am sure they go home together afterwards and tell each other how they think he is so cute. They secretly want to marry him.
Usually, there are a few retired couples drinking tea and eating dessert. There is a large TV above our heads on the fourth floor, mostly advertising expensive watches and other luxury products, including mutual funds. Skinny Versace models (mostly blonde) cross their legs in front of each other while they walk on the catwalk (why do they walk like that?; it looks like they are going to pull their anterior lateral cruciate ligament or something), but they don't look that pretty to me. They look forced and mechanical, unnatural. They look like they can't wait for the show to end so they can go out for another night of dancing, drinking, and perhaps taking expensive drugs. And they're not even twenty yet. Poor girls.
So the old men just look blankly at the screen while the wives talk and sip their tea. But sometimes, they look like they are having a good conversation, like they actually like each other after fifty years of marriage.
I notice that the elderly woman at the table next to me with her husband looking over at my table a few times, curious about what I am studying, and then when I got up to refill my cup of tea with hot water, she looks at me, interested. So, when I have a Chinese question, I walk over to her and say politely, "Excuse me, do you mind if I ask you a Chinese question?"
"Sure," the woman responds. She seems very happy to help, and I ask my question. She gives me a confident and clear explanation and I smile and thank her. Her husband smiles at me and says that his wife is a retired elementary school teacher. "Perfect for my level," I say. We all chat for a while.
Actually, the truth is that after you've studied a year and a half of solid Chinese and lived in Taiwan for that long, I am sorry to say, but the large majority of elementary school students are much more advanced than you. I'm talking about writing and reading. If we're talking about speaking, then I would think it would be appropriate to compare us to nursery school kids in Taiwan, all of whom are far more advanced in their Chinese speaking and listening abilities. For instance, most of my classmates (and me), have a hard time understanding most animated movies in Chinese.
The other day, I got up to go for a bathroom break, and as I was washing my hands, I see a little kid, maybe four years old, with his mom, at the door. She is trying to send him in to pee, but the little boy wants her to go in there with him and help. But she tells him she can't.
I walk over and smile at him and say, "Okay, come in, I'll help you, okay?" When I see that his mother hasn't freaked out and called the police (she is actually smiling and looks a little relieved), I take his hand. His mother tells him to go with me and I lead him to the low urinal where young boys can urinate hygienically and accurately. I walk away and wait for him to finish. As he is getting ready to pee, he looks over at me. I smile and make a face at him. During the process of peeing, he looks over at me several times. This might be the first time a foreigner is supervising his peeing process.
He is all zipped up and walks out toward his mother, but I remind him that he needs to wash his hands. So, I take the toy motorcycle in his hand and put his hands in front of the automatic faucet. He's done washing and I can tell he misses him mom a lot--he forgets all about his motorcycle. So, I remind him, hey, your motorcycle, dude.
I walk out with him, and his mom looks at me, thankful.
I am thankful, too. I sit back down, and am ready for some more Chinese studying and peoplewatching in Taipei 101.
There are the grandmothers who knit and gossip at the table next to me every time I am there. They know me well (well, because they see me all the time), and hopefully, they've gossiped about me.
Then there are the business people who are on a coffee break, business people in meetings with their laptops, salespeople making big deals. Students who are on summer break who are either chilling together after a little shopping, or organizing some big activity, like a play. At least that's what it looks to me.
The boys are usually skinny, mostly with tan complexions and funky haircuts, and a few are more plump. There's usually one guy who's really loud, and the girls all pay attention to him. I am sure they go home together afterwards and tell each other how they think he is so cute. They secretly want to marry him.
Usually, there are a few retired couples drinking tea and eating dessert. There is a large TV above our heads on the fourth floor, mostly advertising expensive watches and other luxury products, including mutual funds. Skinny Versace models (mostly blonde) cross their legs in front of each other while they walk on the catwalk (why do they walk like that?; it looks like they are going to pull their anterior lateral cruciate ligament or something), but they don't look that pretty to me. They look forced and mechanical, unnatural. They look like they can't wait for the show to end so they can go out for another night of dancing, drinking, and perhaps taking expensive drugs. And they're not even twenty yet. Poor girls.
So the old men just look blankly at the screen while the wives talk and sip their tea. But sometimes, they look like they are having a good conversation, like they actually like each other after fifty years of marriage.
I notice that the elderly woman at the table next to me with her husband looking over at my table a few times, curious about what I am studying, and then when I got up to refill my cup of tea with hot water, she looks at me, interested. So, when I have a Chinese question, I walk over to her and say politely, "Excuse me, do you mind if I ask you a Chinese question?"
"Sure," the woman responds. She seems very happy to help, and I ask my question. She gives me a confident and clear explanation and I smile and thank her. Her husband smiles at me and says that his wife is a retired elementary school teacher. "Perfect for my level," I say. We all chat for a while.
Actually, the truth is that after you've studied a year and a half of solid Chinese and lived in Taiwan for that long, I am sorry to say, but the large majority of elementary school students are much more advanced than you. I'm talking about writing and reading. If we're talking about speaking, then I would think it would be appropriate to compare us to nursery school kids in Taiwan, all of whom are far more advanced in their Chinese speaking and listening abilities. For instance, most of my classmates (and me), have a hard time understanding most animated movies in Chinese.
The other day, I got up to go for a bathroom break, and as I was washing my hands, I see a little kid, maybe four years old, with his mom, at the door. She is trying to send him in to pee, but the little boy wants her to go in there with him and help. But she tells him she can't.
I walk over and smile at him and say, "Okay, come in, I'll help you, okay?" When I see that his mother hasn't freaked out and called the police (she is actually smiling and looks a little relieved), I take his hand. His mother tells him to go with me and I lead him to the low urinal where young boys can urinate hygienically and accurately. I walk away and wait for him to finish. As he is getting ready to pee, he looks over at me. I smile and make a face at him. During the process of peeing, he looks over at me several times. This might be the first time a foreigner is supervising his peeing process.
He is all zipped up and walks out toward his mother, but I remind him that he needs to wash his hands. So, I take the toy motorcycle in his hand and put his hands in front of the automatic faucet. He's done washing and I can tell he misses him mom a lot--he forgets all about his motorcycle. So, I remind him, hey, your motorcycle, dude.
I walk out with him, and his mom looks at me, thankful.
I am thankful, too. I sit back down, and am ready for some more Chinese studying and peoplewatching in Taipei 101.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
A Car Full of Kids
I am walking to class in the morning, and suddenly, I hear a kid call out to me, "Waiguoren (外國人; foreigner)!"
I look up, and I notice the kid in a car that's passing me. He's smiling at me, and I notice other kids in the car. When I give him a big smile back, all of them start smiling and waving at me.
They seem to be around seven or eight years-old. As they move away, I keep smiling and waving, and their smiles get farther and smaller, but I can tell they are still beaming.
A good way to start the day.
I look up, and I notice the kid in a car that's passing me. He's smiling at me, and I notice other kids in the car. When I give him a big smile back, all of them start smiling and waving at me.
They seem to be around seven or eight years-old. As they move away, I keep smiling and waving, and their smiles get farther and smaller, but I can tell they are still beaming.
A good way to start the day.
Portrait of Young Taiwanese Woman with Bike
I am sitting in a modern, chic Taiwanese tea shop drinking a cup of wulong tea, studying for my final Chinese exam, my final final of the year, perhaps my final final of Taiwan.
This is a beautiful new tea shop that opened a few months ago, near Taipei City Hall MRT station. There are natural wood tables and beautiful, simple white teapots, Chinese teas and English teas, all tastefully displayed, as if we are in California.
I prefer the Chinese teas. Today, it's a Dong Ding wulong. They serve it to me with a bit of honey on the side. I've never heard of Chinese people putting honey in their wulong tea, so I scoop up the honey with the spoon and eat it like desert.
One of the young girls who works there must be done her shift, I see her walk out of the shop in her street clothes, carrying a small paper bag, one that they put bags of tea in for customers. The automatic door, an impressively finished wide wood door, closes behind her. Most doors to stores in Taiwan open and close like this, either with a light push of a button, or with the movement of your approaching body spotted by a motion detector.
Her bike is parked on the street just in front of the stores, in a space between countless scooters. The scooters of Taiwan.
It's drizzling. Most people are walking with umbrellas, but she doesn't seem to mind. She hangs her bag on one of the handlebars, slowly, and takes out a carefully folded handkerchief, which she carefully unfolds. Then she uses it to dry the seat methodically. First the top, then the sides, then a circle around to make sure she hasn't missed a spot.
As I watch her do this, I realize that this is a uniquely Taiwanese scene. There are no 19 year-old girls in the States who carry around handkerchiefs to wipe dry the seats of their bikes, and if they do, they probably do it really quickly and miss a lot of spots. But not this girl.
She slowly pulls her bike out of the narrow spot. She is moving very slowly. She's doesn't seem like the athletic type, but she is not a prissy lamei (辣妹; hottie). More like the studious type, with a bit of a creative streak. Something says she could make you a really creative and heartfelt birthday card.
By the time she pulls it out of its spot and straightens the bike so it is pointed in the direction of traffic, she notices the rain has gotten the seat wet again, and so she pulls out her handkerchief again.
I realize that I need to get back to studying, and so I continue writing my characters. At my current level, all the vocabulary consists of two-word concepts that are really easy to forget, but sometimes, you can figure out what they mean, words like laolei (勞累).
I look up, looking for her, and she's gone.
This is a beautiful new tea shop that opened a few months ago, near Taipei City Hall MRT station. There are natural wood tables and beautiful, simple white teapots, Chinese teas and English teas, all tastefully displayed, as if we are in California.
I prefer the Chinese teas. Today, it's a Dong Ding wulong. They serve it to me with a bit of honey on the side. I've never heard of Chinese people putting honey in their wulong tea, so I scoop up the honey with the spoon and eat it like desert.
One of the young girls who works there must be done her shift, I see her walk out of the shop in her street clothes, carrying a small paper bag, one that they put bags of tea in for customers. The automatic door, an impressively finished wide wood door, closes behind her. Most doors to stores in Taiwan open and close like this, either with a light push of a button, or with the movement of your approaching body spotted by a motion detector.
Her bike is parked on the street just in front of the stores, in a space between countless scooters. The scooters of Taiwan.
It's drizzling. Most people are walking with umbrellas, but she doesn't seem to mind. She hangs her bag on one of the handlebars, slowly, and takes out a carefully folded handkerchief, which she carefully unfolds. Then she uses it to dry the seat methodically. First the top, then the sides, then a circle around to make sure she hasn't missed a spot.
As I watch her do this, I realize that this is a uniquely Taiwanese scene. There are no 19 year-old girls in the States who carry around handkerchiefs to wipe dry the seats of their bikes, and if they do, they probably do it really quickly and miss a lot of spots. But not this girl.
She slowly pulls her bike out of the narrow spot. She is moving very slowly. She's doesn't seem like the athletic type, but she is not a prissy lamei (辣妹; hottie). More like the studious type, with a bit of a creative streak. Something says she could make you a really creative and heartfelt birthday card.
By the time she pulls it out of its spot and straightens the bike so it is pointed in the direction of traffic, she notices the rain has gotten the seat wet again, and so she pulls out her handkerchief again.
I realize that I need to get back to studying, and so I continue writing my characters. At my current level, all the vocabulary consists of two-word concepts that are really easy to forget, but sometimes, you can figure out what they mean, words like laolei (勞累).
I look up, looking for her, and she's gone.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Say Yes
A wise man once taught me that when you are meditating, you should have a slight smile on your face. This is the proper form in certain types of meditation, I think in the Hinayana tradition in Southeast Asia.
It's like you sit still and face whatever thoughts and feelings you might have--all with that smile of the Buddha. You say "yes" to life, whatever it brings you.
The Buddha had money, a stable family, a wife and son--but he left it all in his quest for enlightenment, to find something deeper. I admire the Buddha (maybe you do, too), and I'm glad he didn't stay at the palace getting massages and signing edicts. His parents would have loved that. I admire his bravery for letting go of the need for guaranteed future security.
I've been thinking about the Buddha lately because I, too, have let go of all that is considered "stable" to follow my dream. I perhaps am not the Buddha, but I know the Buddha would want me to follow my own path. "If you see the Buddha on the road, kill him!" were his words. He wanted us to find our own Buddha, something beyond the conditioning of our personal past and our culture.
The way I see it, we all have the same choice. We can live in fear, or we can move to a place of love. Fear means your little boat floating on the sea gets smashed by the big waves--which if you haven't experienced yet, trust me, you will--and you say, "Oh, shit, I've got to protect myself so this never happens again." Maybe you slowly sail back to shore, tie up your little boat, rent a room at the local motel, and watch cable for the rest of your life. A part of you dies. You never come out again.
The other path is love. The same big, bad wave smashes you to pieces and after a bit of time recuperating, you get back out there. You know that no matter how hard the waves come, you will still be okay. The big waves come back and your little boat gets soaked again, but this time, you know how to deal, you know you'll be okay. And maybe you meet other boats and other sailors, and you sail to some beautiful shores. Sure beats infomercials.
Well, I'll keep it short, if you want to see love in action, you can always watch a Free Hugs video, here's another one, in Chicago. And I'm also including a poem by Oriah, which I like, called The Invitation. Or better yet, give out some of your own free hugs or write your own inspiring poem.
This blog entry is dedicated to you--sending you my love and blessings. You can do it!
The Invitation
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”
It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.
我對你的職業不感興趣。我想知道你的渴望，你是否能勇敢依循內心的憧憬，大膽的作夢。
我對你的年齡不感興趣。我想知道你是否會願意冒險，為愛，為夢想，為體驗生命，即使看起來像個傻子。
我對什麼影響你的情緒起伏不感趣。我想知道你是否曾觸及內心憂傷的核心，你是否已從生命中的背叛恢復，願意敞開心靈；或因此而蜷縮封閉，深怕再受傷害。
我想知道你是否可以正視痛苦，與它共處，我的或你自己的，而不需要躲藏、淡化、偽裝或修飾。
我想知道你是否能與喜悅共處，我的或你自己的。你是否能與狂野共舞，讓狂喜浸淫你全身，穿透每個指尖，不再心存戒慎恐懼，不再要求實際務實，忘記身為人類的限制。
我對你所告訴我的事是否真實不感興趣。我想知道，你是否能為忠於自己而讓他人失望；是否能背負他人對你背叛的指控，但求不背叛自己的靈魂；你是否能拋卻信仰，而仍值得信任。
我想知道每一天，你是否能在不美之處看見美麗，你是否能成為自己生命的源頭。
我想知道你是否與失敗共存，你的和我的，而且仍然願意站在湖邊，向天上銀色的圓月高喊，「是的，我絕不放棄。」
我對你住在哪裡，有多少錢並不感興趣。我想知道，在經過了整夜的哀傷沮喪，身心疲憊到了極點，你是否仍能起身，為了孩子，盡你該盡的養家活口的責任。
我對你認識誰，或你如何來到這裡不感興趣。我想知道，你是否會與我一起，站在火的中央而不退縮。
我對你在哪裡，學什麼，和誰學不感興趣。我想知道，當這一切都煙消霧散，是什麼在你內心支撐著你。
我想知道，你是否能與自己獨處，你是否真的喜歡在你空虛時陪伴的同伴。
It's like you sit still and face whatever thoughts and feelings you might have--all with that smile of the Buddha. You say "yes" to life, whatever it brings you.
The Buddha had money, a stable family, a wife and son--but he left it all in his quest for enlightenment, to find something deeper. I admire the Buddha (maybe you do, too), and I'm glad he didn't stay at the palace getting massages and signing edicts. His parents would have loved that. I admire his bravery for letting go of the need for guaranteed future security.
I've been thinking about the Buddha lately because I, too, have let go of all that is considered "stable" to follow my dream. I perhaps am not the Buddha, but I know the Buddha would want me to follow my own path. "If you see the Buddha on the road, kill him!" were his words. He wanted us to find our own Buddha, something beyond the conditioning of our personal past and our culture.
The way I see it, we all have the same choice. We can live in fear, or we can move to a place of love. Fear means your little boat floating on the sea gets smashed by the big waves--which if you haven't experienced yet, trust me, you will--and you say, "Oh, shit, I've got to protect myself so this never happens again." Maybe you slowly sail back to shore, tie up your little boat, rent a room at the local motel, and watch cable for the rest of your life. A part of you dies. You never come out again.
The other path is love. The same big, bad wave smashes you to pieces and after a bit of time recuperating, you get back out there. You know that no matter how hard the waves come, you will still be okay. The big waves come back and your little boat gets soaked again, but this time, you know how to deal, you know you'll be okay. And maybe you meet other boats and other sailors, and you sail to some beautiful shores. Sure beats infomercials.
Well, I'll keep it short, if you want to see love in action, you can always watch a Free Hugs video, here's another one, in Chicago. And I'm also including a poem by Oriah, which I like, called The Invitation. Or better yet, give out some of your own free hugs or write your own inspiring poem.
This blog entry is dedicated to you--sending you my love and blessings. You can do it!
The Invitation
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”
It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.
我對你的職業不感興趣。我想知道你的渴望，你是否能勇敢依循內心的憧憬，大膽的作夢。
我對你的年齡不感興趣。我想知道你是否會願意冒險，為愛，為夢想，為體驗生命，即使看起來像個傻子。
我對什麼影響你的情緒起伏不感趣。我想知道你是否曾觸及內心憂傷的核心，你是否已從生命中的背叛恢復，願意敞開心靈；或因此而蜷縮封閉，深怕再受傷害。
我想知道你是否可以正視痛苦，與它共處，我的或你自己的，而不需要躲藏、淡化、偽裝或修飾。
我想知道你是否能與喜悅共處，我的或你自己的。你是否能與狂野共舞，讓狂喜浸淫你全身，穿透每個指尖，不再心存戒慎恐懼，不再要求實際務實，忘記身為人類的限制。
我對你所告訴我的事是否真實不感興趣。我想知道，你是否能為忠於自己而讓他人失望；是否能背負他人對你背叛的指控，但求不背叛自己的靈魂；你是否能拋卻信仰，而仍值得信任。
我想知道每一天，你是否能在不美之處看見美麗，你是否能成為自己生命的源頭。
我想知道你是否與失敗共存，你的和我的，而且仍然願意站在湖邊，向天上銀色的圓月高喊，「是的，我絕不放棄。」
我對你住在哪裡，有多少錢並不感興趣。我想知道，在經過了整夜的哀傷沮喪，身心疲憊到了極點，你是否仍能起身，為了孩子，盡你該盡的養家活口的責任。
我對你認識誰，或你如何來到這裡不感興趣。我想知道，你是否會與我一起，站在火的中央而不退縮。
我對你在哪裡，學什麼，和誰學不感興趣。我想知道，當這一切都煙消霧散，是什麼在你內心支撐著你。
我想知道，你是否能與自己獨處，你是否真的喜歡在你空虛時陪伴的同伴。
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