Thursday, March 27, 2008

Living Quotations

As a person who appreciates quotations and poetry, I’ve been fortunate to meet people, who, in their own unique ways, have embodied some of my favorite quotations and poetry, bringing them out of the page into life. My friend Kristin for example, exemplifies Thoreau’s quotes of “living deliberately” and “sucking the marrow out of life.” A buddy, Ej, with his uncanny knack of turning otherwise ordinary trips into something extraordinary, gives life to Francis Quarles’, “The world’s an inn, and I am her guest.” Whitman’s song is shared by my friend Susan who is always “afoot and lighthearted” as she takes to the “open road.” The opening lines of Robert Service’s The Tramp bring me back to my dorm-room days with my college buddies:


Can you recall, dear comrade, when we tramped God’s land together,/
And we sang the old, old earth-song for our youth was very sweet;


(Of course, when it comes to my college buddies, there has certainly been more than a few of them that have personified Henry Youngman’s quote: When I read about the evils of drinking, I gave up reading.)


Caitlin’s ability to light up a room with her laughter and bring out the best in people is an embodiment of William Saroyan’s “Seek goodness everywhere and when it is found bring it out of its hiding place” and several people I met during my work in the Catholic Institute for La Sallian Social Action (people like James, and Jaime, and Devin, and Casey) embodied Gandhi’s “Be the change you wish to see in the world.”

Recently, I’ve witnessed two people bring another favorite quote to life.

I’ve always admired these words from Martin Luther King Jr:

"If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well."


I admired the words for its poetry and romanticism but primarily for its message. It’s been a thrill to see it come to life in an extraordinarily ordinary way.


In an earlier blog, I mention my new found appreciation for running around my village lake. What I don’t mention is that on my way back to my home, I pass by a tiny house with a tiny garden. Everyday, there is this kid and his grandmother tending to the garden. I’ve certainly seen people water plants before but for some reason, I’m drawn to this kid and his grandmother and I always stop even for the briefest of moments to watch them at work. There is a consciousness to their actions, something special— not necessarily in the same way that listening to Beethoven’s 9th is special or reading one of Hamlet’s soliloquies or looking up at the paintings of the Sistine (or gazing at the David)—but special nonetheless…in its own simple way.


Perhaps its how the grandmother seems like an extension of the earth as she bends gently tending to the plants or how the kid dutifully fills his bucket with water from the lake across the street and carries it back to the plots or how the two of them, without talking, seem to communicate to the other what needs to be done or how, when juxtaposed against the sunset, their garden seems to blush in golden hues—a manifest illustration of nature’s tranquility.


Or perhaps it’s simply because in their heart of hearts, they were called to work in a garden.


And they do their work well.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

When My Mind is Full


When my mind is full
I often go for a walk
And walks take me far.

Often, it’s as if I go back in time
Where all is untouched by industry
‘Tis when I see the young monks at play
Their robes—brilliant saffron; sun kissed
And their laughter in harmony with the bird’s song.

Often it’s as if I walk into a glimpse of the future
Or at least what the world would look like
Should we learn to lay down our arms and biases.
Tis when I see the elder monks at peace
Their robes—a wise hue of brown; wind blown
And their presence in harmony with the wind’s song.

Often, it’s as if I walk into a more conscious present
where life is lived with full awareness.
Tis when I see the monks close to my age,
Their robes becoming; deliberate like the night
And their laughter in harmony with my own soul’s song.

When my mind is full
I often go for a walk
And walks take me far.

Those Ancient Khmers

I am running late for my train. The driver taking me to the train station, a bald, middle aged Thai man with long strands of white hair sprouting from a mole in his cheek and a gift for conversation, is excited to learn that I am from the Northeastern region of Thailand. He speaks enough English to engage in conversation about the old Khmer ruins widespread in my neck of the woods. We compare Phi mai and Phnom Rung; talk about the lesser known ruins like Ku Phra Kona and Ku Ka Sing; and he tells me about the beauty of Khao Phra Wihan. I don’t mind him talking as long as he keeps driving.

“Do you know how the Khmers built those temples in the mountains?” he asks me.

“I have no idea”.

He looks at me and gives me one of those smiles. “Well I do”.

And thus begins a rather tense 5 minutes

He starts telling me the story, his foot easing from the pedal as his excitement builds up.

“The ancient Khmer” he declares in rapid oratory “had clean hearts!”

“Clean hearts, got it” I say, nervously glancing at my watch

“They had no technology but their hearts were clean!”

His voice starts rising, his passion more evident, his pride swelling at the opportunity to impart his wisdom upon me. His feet leave the pedal completely. We are parked on the side of the street. His hands flailing wildly in the air like a symphonic maestro, his message being delivered with a fervor becoming of a minister:

“And they had faith! And so they had power! The big stones felt like chog to them!”

“Chog?” I ask, actually a bit captivated by the story (I had given up hope of making my train)

“Yes!” he screams as he begins writing things in an imaginary blackboard “like chog!”

“Oh, like chalk”

“Yes, like chog!”

“Got it”

He goes on, his tone rising, his vocabulary taking on a biblical quality:
“And because of faith, five men were like one and twenty men were like one and one was like many…and because it was for god, they worked with one mind and one clean heart”

I’m carefully working out the previous statement (how the hell is five like one and twenty like one?) when he suddenly turns to me and eyes me rather suspiciously.

“Do you think” he asks, quite guardedly “that they used elephants?”

“Well, I imagine they would have”

“No!” he screams as if I had uttered some blasphemy “They not use elephants!”

He attempts to clear my sacrilege

“The mountain was like this” he slants his right forearm at a steep angle to his thigh and uses the fingers of his left hand to show elephants attempting to climb the steep mountain

“Elephants” he says, as his left hand slides across his belly “could not walk up”

We sit there thoughtfully for what seems like quite a while. He giving me time to let everything sink in; me trying to work out what other options I might have if I were to miss the train.

“Okay, he says finally, as if snapping out of a trance “we go now”

.............................................................................................................

Post script: The train was blowing its horn as we pulled up to the station. If not for an ancient Khmer like burst of strength that I summoned from the depths of my clean heart (and a whole lot of adrenaline) I doubt my fully filled 85 liter backpack would have felt light as “chog” as I made the dash for my journey back to the Northeast.