Be content

Be content with what you have;
rejoice in the way things are.
When you realize there is nothing lacking,
the whole world belongs to you.

Lao Tze

Woman is the Nigger of the World

Church always makes me very emotional. Today there was a sharing of struggles with body image. One woman after another shared their testimonies: so powerful, honest, heartbreaking. You could sense the solidarity of all women then. One said it well: women today are in bondage, internalizing pressures to be perfect. This drive turn strong, capable women into weak, anxiety-ridden girls. It makes women consumed with envy, insecurity, loathing and turns them against one another. We speak of women's lack of rights in developing countries, how it amounts to half of a population enslaved. But American women are enslaved as well, by outside forces that are explicit and implicit, that daily bombard us in all manners.

I think of the John Lennon song: Woman is the Nigger of the World

Woman is the nigger of the world
Yes she is...think about it
Woman is the nigger of the world
Think about it...do something about it

We make her paint her face and dance
If she won’t be slave, we say that she don’t love us
If she’s real, we say she’s trying to be a man
While putting her down we pretend that she is above us

Woman is the nigger of the world...yes she is
If you don’t belive me take a look to the one you’re with
Woman is the slaves of the slaves
Ah yeah...better screem about it

We make her bear and raise our children
And then we leave her flat for being a fat old mother then
We tell her home is the only place she would be
Then we complain that she’s too unworldly to be our friend

Woman is the nigger of the world...yes she is
If you don’t belive me take a look to the one you’re with
Woman is the slaves of the slaves
Yeah (think about it)

We insult her everyday on TV
And wonder why she has no guts or confidence
When she’s young we kill her will to be free
While telling her not to be so smart we put her down for being so dumb

Woman is the nigger of the world...yes she is
If you don’t belive me take a look to the one you’re with
Woman is the slaves of the slaves
Yes she is...if you belive me, you better screem about it.

We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance
We make her paint her face and dance

I don't know if individuals alone can relieve themselves from a lifetime of painted faces. Do we need divine intervention to be transformed?

Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God—this is your spiritual act of worship. Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.

Romans 12:1-2

The Road Not Taken

My dad and I went on a walk today. I saw the leaves change color as though they were on fire: all shades of red, orange, yellow, purple, brown. I'm often taken back by how much beauty surrounds me. As we gingerly selected our path amidst twists and turns, muddy trails, fallen branches, forks in roads, I announced that I am not going to law school. Rather, I want to work as an environmental activist. I thought of the Robert Frost poem, which is never far from my mind.

The Road Not Taken

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; 5 Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, 10 And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. 15 I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. 20

Mustard Seed

May we realize that we are not alone in our suffering so that we may reach out to others in theirs. Just as the light in me honors the light in you, the pain in me honors the pain in you. Injury is a great teacher, so is sorrow. Let us view it as an opportunity to connect to fellow beings, healing ourselves in the process.

Our goal is not attaining the mustard seed but sharing and grieving with others in the never-ending search.

Krsa Gautami and the Mustard Seed

On day, when the rainy season had ended, Krsa Gautami, the wife of a rich man, was plunged deep into grief by the loss of her only son, a baby boy who had died just when he was old enough to run about.

In her grief Krsa carried the dead child to all her neighbors in Kapilavastu, asking them for medicine. Seeing her, the people shook their heads sadly out of pity.

"Poor woman! She has lost her senses from grief. The boy is beyond the help of medicine." Unable to accept the fact of her son's death, Krsa then wandered through the streets of the city beseeching for help everyone she met. "Please, sir," she said to a certain man, "give me medicine that will cure my boy!" The stranger looked at the child's eyes and saw that the boy was dead. "Alas, I have no medicine for your child," he said, "but I know of a physician who can give what you require. "Pray tell me, sir, where I can find this physician."

"Go, dear woman, to Sakyamuni, the Buddha, just now residing in Banyan Park." Krsa went in haste to the Nigrodharama; and she was brought by the monks to Buddha."Reverend Lord," she cried, "give me the medicine that will cure my boy!" Lord Buddha, Ocean of Infinite Compassion, looked upon the grief-stricken mother with pity."You have done well to come here for medicine, Krsa Gautami. Go into the city and get a handful of mustard seed." And then the Perfect One added: "The mustard seed must be taken from a house where no one has lost a child, husband, parent, or friend."

"Yes, Lord!" exclaimed Krsa, greatly cheered. "I shall procure the mustard seed at once! "Poor Krsa then went from house to house with her request; and the people pitied her, saying: "Here is the mustard seed: please take all you want of it.

"Then Krsa would ask: "Did a son or daughter, father or mother, die in your family?"Alas! The living are few, but the dead are many. Do not remind us of our deepest grief!"And there was no house but that some relative, some dear one, had died in it.

Weary and with hope gone, Krsa sat down by the wayside, sorrowfully watching the lights of the city as they flickered up and were extinguished again, And at last the deep shadows of night plunged the world into darkness. Considering the fate of human beings, that their lives flicker up and are extinguished again, the bereft mother suddenly realized that Buddha, in his compassion, had sent her forth to learn the truth.

"How selfish am I in my grief!" she thought. "Death is universal: yet even in this valley of death there is a Path that leads to Deathlessness [for] him who has surrendered all thought of self!" Putting away the selfishness of her affection for her child, Krsa Gautami went to the edge of a forest and tenderly laid the dead body in a drift of wildflowers.

"Little son," she said, taking the child by the hand, "I thought that death had happened to you alone; but it is not to you alone, it is common to all people."There she left him; and when dawn brightened the eastern sky, she returned to the Perfect One.

"Krsa Gautami," said the Tathagata, "did you get a handful of mustard seed from a house in which no one has ever lost kith or kin?"That, Lord, is now past and gone," she said. "Grant me support."

"Dear girl, the life of mortals in this world is troubled and brief and inseparable from suffering," declared Buddha, "for there is not any means, nor will there ever be, by which those that have been born can avoid dying. All living beings are of such a nature that they must die whether they reach old age or not. "As early-ripening fruits are in danger of falling, so mortals when born are always in danger of dying. Just as the earthen vessels made by the potter end in shards, so is the life of mortals. Both young and old, both those who are foolish and those who are wise - all fall into the power of death, all are subject to death.

Of those who depart from this life, overcome by death, a father cannot save his son, nor relatives their kinsfolk. While relatives are looking on and lamenting, one by one the mortals are carried off like oxen to the slaughter. People die, and their fate after death will be according to their deeds. Such are the terms of the world. "Not from weeping nor from grieving will anyone obtain peace of mind. On the contrary, his pain will be all the greater, and he will ruin his health. He will make himself sick and pale; but dead bodies cannot be restored by his lamentation.

"Now that you have heard the Tathagata, Krsa, reject grief, do not allow it to enter your mind. Seeing one dead, know for sure: 'I shall never see him again in this existence.' And just as the fire of a burning house is quenched, so does the contemplative wise person scatter grief's power, expertly, swiftly, even as the wind scatters cotton seed.

"He who seeks peace should pull out the arrow lamentations, useless longings, and the self-made pangs of grief. He who has removed this unwholesome arrow and has calmed himself will obtain peace of mind. Verily, he who has conquered grief will always be free from grief - sane and immune - confident, happy, and close to Nirvana, I say."

Detachment

Never be without remembrance of Him,
for His remembrance
gives strength and wings
to the bird of the Spirit.
If that objective of yours
is fully realized, that is
"Light upon Light"...

...But at the very least, by
practicing God's remembrance
your inner being
will be illuminated
little by little and
you will achieve
some measure of detachment
from the world.

-- Jelaluddin Rumi

With That Moon Language

Admit something:

Everyone you see, you say to them, "Love me."

Of course you do not do this out loud, otherwise someone would call the cops.

Still, though, think about this, this great pull in us to connect.

Why not become the one who lives with a full moon in each eye

that is always saying,

with that sweet moon language,

what every other eye in this world is dying to hear?

~Hafiz

I Saw You

I saw you dancing last night
on the roof of your house

all alone.

I felt your heart longing for the Friend.

I saw you whirling

beneath the soft bright rose

that hung from an invisible stem in the sky.

So I began to change into my best clothes

in hopes of joining you,

even though I live a thousand miles away.

And if you had spun like an immaculate sphere

just two more times,

then bowed again so sweetly to the east,

you would have found God and me

standing so near

and lifting you into our arms.

I saw you dancing last night

near the roof of this world

~Hafiz

My Eyes so Soft

Don't surrender your loneliness so quickly
let it cut more deep.
Let it ferment and season you
as few human or even divine ingredients can.
Something missing in my heart tonight
has made my eyes so soft
my voice so tender
my need of god
absolutely clear.

~Hafiz

Guest House

This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

~Rumi

Joy and Sorrow chapter VIII

Then a woman said, "Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow."

And he answered:

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.

And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was often times filled with your tears.

And how else can it be?

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.

Is not the cup that hold your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?

And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."

But I say unto you, they are inseparable.

Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.

Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.

When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.

~Khalil Gibran

Pain

And a woman spoke, saying, 'Tell us of Pain.'

And he said:

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.

Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.

And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;

And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.

And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.

Much of your pain is self-chosen.

It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.

Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquillity:

For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,

And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears.

~Khalil Gibran

Farewell Party

欢送会 - 谢安琪

来的人已经来我们干一杯祝福你未来
有人说那年的耶诞派对同样精彩
有人说明天的时代要拭目以待
试问谁能残酷坦率表白当下的无奈

有人提议说来一个游戏预言的纸牌
很奇怪命运的轮胎任由扑克安排
欢迎会有新人到来欢送会有故人离开
不要猜为了喝得更愉快最好不要太明白

* 离开的要离开过去的喜怒哀乐喝下多少杯
多少祝福语一句一句走过人间的澎湃
成为你的未来
离开不留伤害香槟酒一瓶一瓶及友谊万岁
陪大家一起迎接生存永恒的常态
对明天忠诚的崇拜 *

醉下的醉下来晨曦都将至好好的感慨

多年来从青春少艾成为别人的贤内
明天你要扬帆出海明天我要多赚两块
更应该努力不懈的存在来年笑得更开怀

*repeat*

欢送你也不要悲哀
明天也会有欢迎会盛开

Farewell Party - a mandarin song

All the guests have arrived. We toast to your future.

Some say the past is glorious. Some say the future awaits.

Who can be frank about the present despair?

The turns in the wheel of life, no one can predict

Welcome parties bring new friends. Farewell parties see off the old.

In order to drink and be merry, better we are not too sober.

Tomorrow we go our separate ways.

But our good times will come again, so leave without sorrow.

We toast to our friendship and keep hope in the future.

We see you off with joy.

For tomorrow another welcome party will come.

Adieu

谢安琪的“年度之歌", 表妹形容的最好：“巴适了！”

曾经攀上的天梯 曾经拥抱的身体
曾经在乎一切 被突然摧毁 霎那比沙更细
良夜美景没原因出了轨 来让我知一切皆可放低
还是百载未逢的美丽 得到过又促逝 也有一种智慧

＊ 全年度有几多首歌 给天天的播 给你最愉快的消磨
流行是一首窝心的歌 突然间说过就过
谁曾是你这一首歌 你记不清楚 我看著你离座
真高兴给你爱护过 根本你不欠我甚麼 ＊

曾经拥有的春季 曾经走过的谷底
人生是场轻梯 忽高也忽低 不输气势

Repeat ＊

谁曾是你这一首歌 你记不清楚 我看著你离座
很高兴因你灿烂过 高峰过总会有下坡

回忆装满的抽屉 时光机里的光辉
人生艳如花卉 但限时美丽 一览始终无遗
回望昨天剧场深不见底 还是有几幕曾好好发挥
还愿我懂下台的美丽 鞠躬了就退位 起码得到敬礼

谁又妄想一曲一世 让人忠心到底


A Cantonese song.

My favorite parts:
I have owned the warm springs. I have walked the low valleys.
To have experienced this beauty then to have lost is also wisdom gained.
I'm so happy to have shone brilliant because of you. With highs there are lows.
The year's touching songs go as quickly as they come. You don't remember who gave you this one, but I watched your attention go.
Thinking back to yester-year, I gave it my all.
And am so happy to have given to you. You don't owe me anything.
Yet I understand the grace in exit. As the lights go out, I take a bow.
Who can expect anyone to remain faithful to one song in one lifetime.

It is said a French woman never says 'adieu' to her lover unless she wishes to mark a period of prolong separation.

Adieu Academia.