2012-01-11

SIVA SHAKTHI. THE PRESENCE OF SILENCE


It is amazing how the Truth is speaking without uttering the word. All words are artificial and useless when it comes to describe the experience of Love. And what the first thing I'm doing? Writing! Thinking! Rationalizing! It's so hard to say goodbye to intellectual blah blah. Definitions. Thoughts. Projections. To sooth the ego. To get to stillness and silence. Just to be. To let your heart talk to God only. Without words. To be like Krishna's cow, instinctive, patient and silent. I don't need anyone to TELL me, because I KNOW!
In Tiruvannamalai, small Indian town at the feet of holy Mt. Arunachala, Siva Shakthi lady gives her darshan. Small, old and insignificant, you would think, but soon after she appears in the room I feel the wave of Love which sweeps my breath away and makes my tears run. Her beautiful face calm, her eyes intense and shiny, her inner light glowing. She only stares. She only does small hands gestures. Nothing more. And there is no need for more.
All profound healing is made in silence, in concentration and mindfulness. And everything comes on time. Whenever I need this particular experience it will inevitably come to me. Or I come to it. Even though all the ashram and guru culture is totally alien to me, one morning I had a feeling I have to see Siva Shakthi. And even though I felt it strongly, I got lazy and almost missed the whole thing. Thankfully, I went. The experience was immediate and profound. I felt my heart chakra opening painfully. That's what the Guru does, he or she opens you. Yet you cannot hold on to this light too long, because it's addictive and the work is not done. When the chakras are opened, that is only a start. Now there is a time for cultivation and harvesting. To let go of I want, I expect, I hold on to. To be in the presence. To feel the oneness. To get over the negativity. And start now.
It was wonderful to be in Her light. But my true guru is an Indian landlord of a place I'm staying. Alcoholic, aggressive and demanding, with whose presence all my senses and feelings are abused, my traumas surfaced. My Work starts here. To cultivate compassion instead of separation. To acknowledge the addict, the aggressive, the needy one in myself. To love my own shadow in this awful Indian man. That's what Siva Shakthi has just told me. Without uttering a word. ---

2009-11-07

SYDNEY, SYDNEY, SYDNEY!

Soy Latte at Glebe Point

for Andrew

are we speaking words?
always is a strong one
traffic was being slowly soothed
by her

silence

no rush putting letters together
there is always only one way
this moment
no matter what or

who

can you trust? he asked
she’s been always full of doubts
no answer came
to her crowded

mind

numbers? they always there
fearless
only sometimes
change

the order

she always eats
the coffee foam
from the top
first



Sydney, 24/10/2009

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2009-10-22

REVERSE CULTURAL SHOCK

After 8 months of traveling around Southeast Asia and slowly sinking in Asian, mostly Buddhist culture, I came to Australia. Nice huh? Yeah... Though, my very first reaction was: I want to catch the first plane back to Bali!!! Surprisingly, I felt very uncomfortable and much reluctant to be here. To see clean streets and identical suburban houses, wide perfectly sealed roads with sidewalks, to have procedures for everything due to safety standards, to eat food I haven’t been eating for a long time, to be among Caucasians! Nevertheless, I ended up going to Asian restaurants in Perth, trying to be among Asians, smiling to them on the streets. I was having a problem do adjust myself to „my own” culture!

First day in Perth. Watching TV... Commercials every 15 mins. Pain killers! Take them immediately, you don’t have time to think why your body is painful, do you? Is it headache starting? Tranquilizers! If you don’t take, you gonna be nervous! O gosh, why suddenly I’m so nervous? Wrinkle and anti-cellulite creams, oh shit, I’m getting older, I should be using them already, hurry! Food, more food, the best food, McFood! Am I hungry? Insurances! You have to insure everything, from your nail polish to your house and life, otherwise, you are going to be screwed up, because what if...? Oh my Goddess, I’m screwed! I started to change channels compulsively... Oprah Winfrey’s ridiculous show, something about how to manage your money. So there is Miss Great Financial Advisor in studio, who spent obviously a lot of money on her education, and is enough qualified to say, listen everybody!, you need bloody big dough to have a huge house with nice garden, two cars, kids in collage and descent retirement! But even though you work your ass off, forget about having another kid (you really want to have!) or go for holiday to Hawaii (as you are knackered from earning money)! Inflation, economic crises, currency ups and downs! We have to save, invest, multiply, we have to have, to have more, to have...! It took me a while I finally switched the TV off. The thing is: I DON’T HAVE TO! I don’t need to use any bloody expensive creams, I have nothing to insure, and hopefully my son will manage to earn money by himself without counting on millions from my untimely death! If I get older, or sick, or even die, well, it happens to people, doesn’t it? We are afraid of everything and everybody around! We pass these fears to our children by over-caring and constant admonition: don’t touch it! don’t trust! watch out! How much money corporations make on these threats we all submit to…? Yeah…

What a nice silence! My pulse slowly is coming back to normal. My thoughts are becoming more focused and happier...

I’ve been to places in Asia, where these threats did not arrive yet, where people have nothing to insure or the insurance fees are too expensive for them, they are very bad clients of McFood, so none of them are fat or die from heart attacks, they don’t know about workaholism, how to manage their money and how to use computer or internet... Some of their kids cry in horror seeing the white person for the first time! Don’t you think it’s funny? People in these remote areas still live very slowly and without so many “civilized” fears. They accept their lives as they are. They treat suffering as a natural part of human condition, but it doesn’t mean they don’t suffer. They are not over-caring towards their children, let them explore the world, although all children are looked after well, happy without all this nagging and without sophisticated toys... This approach to life is dying...


On the other hand, to more and more young Asians, either in their own countries or living in „white” world (where they, of course, long to live), Western model of life is the most attractive and desirable! The desire to be white reached its most ridiculous level in case of Michael Jackson, but try to find in Asian malls a cream or body balm without the words: white or whitening! Real challenge, believe me! The whiter you are and the more Caucasian your face looks like, the better!

Generalization? Maybe. Probably. Whatever...

However, I’m Caucasian, the daughter of Western culture! All in all, the Western culture serves me well. I can talk to people all over the world using modern technology, I can travel (alone), I’m well-educated smart ass, I’m self-sufficient, I can be promiscuous, nobody would ever dare to say when or to whom I should be married, or how I should be dressed, I could be educated equally to men... None of those things would be easily accessible for me in poor, traditional and remote 80% (or so) part of the world! Last but not least, I’m happy to be in Australia. All the experience here is simply fantastic: trip to bush, getting to know lovely Aussies and their easygoing lifestyle, taking photos of beautiful cities with my expensive camera...

Yeah, it’s just this uncomfortable feeling on the back of my head, that wherever on this world whites appeared, they gave themselves right to kill people and their traditions, to exploit their work, rape women. Australia has its own history of shame! Steeling the land, genocide, the case of "stolen generation"! They were taking half-caste children from their families to convert them to the Western way of life, to "civilize" them. What a lovely intention! And on the end - what a surprise! - they could have “civilized” servants, nicely dressed and speaking English. They did it to Aboriginal people for more than three decades and stopped not so long time ago, in 70s. Many Caucasians (sadly, mostly Polish immigrants and sadly, not to much surprise) I spoke to over here still have this narrow-minded Europe-centric point of view, which is based of the superior and arrogant certainty that our culture is the best and the rest of the world should adjust to it, even if they’ve been living in this land for 200 (sometimes 20) years and Aborigines have been here for thousands of years. Whites complain about violence and drinking, but who introduce the alcohol to them? They complain that Aborigines destroy their government issued houses. So what? Their culture was nomadic for ages, how can anybody think about changing it within a few generations? And why would anybody think about changing it in the first place? Because it doesn’t fit our way of life? Of course, now is now and Australian government tries to improve what is there to improve, but it looks like still they do it without really concerning the cultural differences...

I guess, everything is exactly like it should be and heading in the direction of somehow development. But... what a shame!

---

2009-10-02

ROADSIDE PEOPLE


they inhabit Roadsides

squat sitting

no batting an eyelid

aimless

you could think they do nothing

but it’s not true at all

they have the most responsible

work to do

they watch

world moving

that is why

they are There everyday

 

sometimes they can sell

bunch of bananas

some sweets or drink

you might get hungry

or thirsty

on your way to Somewhere

they could teach you

tranquility and stillness

how to be

but you usually

pass them by

on your way to Somewhere

 

they make love

at their roadside Houses

their dirty children are brought up

by Roads

they collect rain water

and stars in big jars

just for fun

they recycle your fancy Life

but you usually

take your eyes off

their shabby clothes

covered with dust or mud

 

roads need them

and they need roads



Kratie, Cambodia, 12/07/2009


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2009-09-27

SOMEWHERE IN CAMBODIA


Yes, I’ve seen Angkor Wat. Yes, it was exciting. Yes, I liked it. But real Cambodia is far from Siem Reap. For me it starts somewhere between Krakor and Tonle Sap Lake...

When I got off at Paris Guest House (where they take this names from? oh, from France :) in Krakor, I thought my fate with being overcharged everywhere is not going to end, cos if it’s the only guest house in the town, they always take advantage. So, I didn’t agree to pay 6$, they didn’t agree with my 3$. I left the place with the silly hope that I will find something anyway. I was asking people along the road about any possible accommodation, but nobody spoke any English. Already a bit frustrated, sweating and tired, I saw the guy who was teaching maths to a bunch of students at the porch of the wooden house. I thought the teacher might speak English. A bit embarrassed I approached his „class” and asked if he knows about cheap accommodation in this town apart from Paris. Rina without any hesitation invited me to stay in his house. After the nice conversation with some unavoidable questions (name, age, marriage status, children and why I travel alone), I was ready to reach my final destination, Kompong Luong, amazing town settled on the waters of the biggest lake in Southeast Asia, Tonle Sap Lake.

Tonle Sap was absolutely amazing experience! People there live in floating houses, and the town moves with the level of water which depends on the season, lower in the dry one and high up starting from July. I rented a paddle boat only for myself, avoiding high prices and noise of motorboats and having woman as a sailor :). They have everything they need: schools, clinic, shops in floating houses, shops on the boats, Buddhist temple (but no sangha there, for ceremonies they have to invite monks to come), Christian church, gas station, bars, restaurants and Goddess knows what else. Inhabitants of Kompong Luong are almost all Vietnamese. My lovely boat driver took me to the temple and then we stopped at the tiny bar near gas station for sugar cane juice (yummy!) . I soaked up the atmosphere of this boat life with delight. I couldn’t take my eyes off children playing in water, women in their conical hats running the one boat grocery shop, man working. Or children working, woman taking care of children and man lying down in their hammocks. And if they wanted to change the place of where they houses were, they were just... moving them. Everything were going on slowly and with its own everyday rhythm. On the end my sailor invited me to her house, as far as I understood, there were her parents and two small children. I scared the older girl to death, she couldn’t stop crying :)

(By the way, I really don’t understand why Lonely Planet Cambodia guidebook didn’t put it as a Cambodia highlight. The other wonderful „living” lake, Inle Lake in Burma, made it Burmese highlight from which the whole town of Yang Shwe live on.)

Back to Krakor, where Rina introduced me to his lovely friends, usually teachers in high school there. Even though I had planned to leave the next day after being hosted by Rina, I stayed one day longer staying with Bun Thep, biology teacher.
These two sweet guys showed me around. I’ve been to beautiful countryside with bamboo huts and rice paddles, buffaloes splashing in water, people replanting rice, smiley and curious faces everywhere... I’ve been to English lesson where my revelation was not as important as unavoidable questions of marriage status, children, age and so on... I’ve been for delicious dinner to the restaurant hidden deeply in the jungle village I would never found myself. I’ve been invited for friends gathering and drinking Angkor beer together...

Then I went to Phnom Penh. I spent 3 hours seeing S-21 Genoside Museum, former Tuol Sleng High School before it became Khmer Rouge investigation arrest n 1975. It’s so hard to describe how sad it is to see what people can do to other people.

I guess that was „a real Cambodia” too...

---

2009-07-12

HRABAL W HANOI, LAO-TSE W SAJGONIE

„(..) i oto zrozumiałem, że na świecie w ogóle nie ma znaczenia, jak co się skończy, ale wszystko jest jedynie życzeniem i chęcią, i pragnieniem podobnym do imperatywu kategorycznego Immanuela Kanta, który ćwierć wieku temu objawił mi się tutaj, na placu Karola, kiedy deszczową nocą kupowałem kiełbaski z rożna, a stara sprzedawczyni grzała sobie ręce nad rozżarzonymi węglami.”
Bohumil Hrabal, „Zbyt głośna samotność”, s. 50

“Stillness and tranquillity set things in order in the universe”
Lao-tzu, “Tao Te Ching” (Ch. 45)

Kiedy pakowałam swoje warszawskie życie do kartonowych pudeł, wpadło mi w ręce zabytkowe, podziemne (Wydawnictwo Krąg, Warszawa 1982) wydanie „Zbyt głośnej samotności”. Pomyślałam, książeczka trudna w czytaniu bez szkła powiększającego, ale może być na czasie i mała, cieniuchna, łatwo się będzie pozbyć... 1 czerwca przyleciałam do Hanoi z Hrabalem w plecaku. Czytam. Na ławce przy Zachodnim Jeziorze albo przy najlepszej kawie na świecie w kolejnej kawiarni Nguyena jakiegośtam na rogu, albo na kanapie u Chrisa, który cierpliwie gości mnie w Hanoi przez blisko dwa tygodnie, nie licząc wypadu do Zatoki Halong i w góry Hoang Lien Son. Bohater Hrabala za swojego mędrca-przewodnika wybiera Lao-tse. A ja nie wybieram lektur, tylko one mnie, więc w bibliotece Chrisa wygrzebuję co? Oczywiście „Tao Te Ching”. Robię kopię (potem odkrywam linka: http://academic.brooklyn.cuny.edu/core9/phalsall/texts/taote-v3.html). Wojny, ustroje, walki szczurów w podziemiach, młodość, starość, wszystko toczy się swoim kolistym rytmem. I w ogóle nie ma znaczenia, jak co sie skończy. Bezruch i spokój? Pełnia przeciwieństw yin i yang? Droga, a nie cel?

“Weapons are instruments of fear; they are not a wise man’s tools” (Ch. 31)

„Niebiosa nie są humanitarne, ani człowiek humanitarny nie jest”. Czytam o masakrach, jakie urządzali Amerykanie Wietnamczykom, ile bomb zrzucili, ile ton chemikaliów, napalmu, ile to kosztowało. Czytam, ile kobiet zostało zgwałconych, ile starców i dzieci zamordowanych. Czytam, jak cierpiała ludność wiejska, jak walczył Viet Cong z Ameryką, jak walczyła Północ z Południem, jak Północ prześladowała Południe po zjednoczeniu. Czytam jak kobiety, które urodziły mieszane wietnamsko-amerykańskie dzieci, cierpiały ostracyzm społeczny i biedę po wojnie. Czytam o zdeformowanych powojennych noworodkach z ziem, gdzie Amerykanie użyli chemikaliów... Oglądam w Cu Chi tunele, kopane niemal gołymi rękami na Francuzów, pomysłowe pułapki na amerykańskich żołnierzy, recykling odpadów po armii amerykańskiej doprowadzony do perfekcji, żadna puszka po coca-coli się nie marnowała, żaden niewypał, nawet amerykańskie mydła używali do zmylenia psów, które miały wywąchiwać wejścia do tuneli. Słucham przewodnika, który opowiada swoją historię. Tu, w Cu Chi, się urodził (pokazuje ulicę), stąd ojciec zabrał go do Sajgonu, tu wrócił jako dwudziestojednolatek w 1968 służyć w Viet Congu (zna tunele z autopsji), tu został ranny (pokazuje bliznę na ramieniu, drugą ma na nodze), tu się ożenił, tu urodził mu się syn, tu zmarła mu żona, śpiewa żołnierskie piosenki, pełne dumy i patriotyzmu, specjalnie je przetłumaczył na angielski, żebyśmy zrozumieli... Na koniec wycieczki można sobie postrzelać z karabinu...

“That is why a victory must be observed like a funeral” (Ch. 31)

A jednak ręka mi zadrżała, w końcu kawał historii ląduje w koszu. Może powinno trafić do muzeum… Ale jak się podróżuje i szanuje swój kręgosłup, to trzeba się rzeczy pozbywać. Pozbywam się więc Hrabala, jak mnie pouczył Lao-tse. Jak i świat pozbywa się co jakiś czas rożnych ideologii, systemów politycznych i religii. Komunizm się w niektorych krajach skończył, chociaż mało kto wierzył w tych krajach, że się skończy. Demokracja i kapitalizm też podzieli ten los, chociaż trudno to sobie wyobrazić. Być może skończy się rewolucją, którą wywoła powiększająca się w ogromnym tempie rzesza biedoty. A potem skończy się rewolucja, chwilę po tym, jak załopoczą na wietrze świeżo odzyskane prawa i wyschnie krew burżujów. A nadzieja, że coś się zmieni być może jest jedynie życzeniem rodem z imperatywu kategorycznego Kanta…
Przyglądam się miłemu z pozoru mariażowi komunizmu z kapitalizmem. Zastanawia mnie, czy i w Wietnamie wychodzą podziemne wydawnictwa. Jak tu ludzie radzą sobie z brakiem wolności. Niby wszystko ładnie, biznesy się kręcą, produkt krajowy brutto rośnie, ale korupcja i nepotyzm kwitną, bilbordy z wujkiem Ho, gołębicami i dziewicami obok reklam proszku do prania, hasełka na czerwonym tle, wysławiające zapewne nasza piękną mlekiem i miodem płynącą socjalistyczną ojczyznę oraz wspaniałą partię jedyną, która bez wątpienia pilnuje, aby nasze skośne twarze były grzeczne i w szeregu. O ile w Polsce za komuny wszyscy czuli się spiskowcami, tu nie ma takiej energii. A może się ukrywa w tunelach...

“Others have more than they need, but I alone have nothing” (Ch. 20)

Hrabal pisze o świecie starego prasowacza, który za sprawą wielkiej automatycznej prasy odchodzi w przeszłość. Wietnam się modernizuje. Buldożery zmiatają kolonialne kamienice, a na ich miejsce stawiane są pałacykodomki z balustradkami, kolumienkami i lustrzankowymi oknami… Bez cienia refleksji, za to pewnie przy pomocy niezłych łapówek, masakrowany jest krajobraz. Całe wsie są wysiedlane bez należytych odszkodowań, bo się budują drogi i betonowe hotele. Antena satelitarna i telefon komórkowy to wyznaczniki „pewnego” poziomu. Cały kraj siedzi przed telewizorem i ogląda jedną mydlaną operę za drugą. Konsupmcja, komercja, zasyfianie środowiska naturalnego…
I mogą sobie ci z Pierwszego Świata buzie wydymać z niesmakiem, a tu nikogo to nie obchodzi, nikt się tu smakiem nie przejmuje. Nie to co u nas, w Polsce, gdzie co najmniej jeden poeta – a wielkim poetą był i miał niebo gwiaździste nad sobą, a prawo moralne w sobie – był przekonany, że jednak smak się liczy. Tu najważniejsze jest, żeby się wybielać, nie wyróżniać i gdzieś przynależeć. I nikomu nic do tego, jakkolwiek nie byłoby żal „koników na drucikach” i wszystkich ładnych, burżuazyjnych domków, jakkolwiek także wielkie byłyby ciągoty niektórych większych krajów do zaprowadzania demokracji (ludowej czy kapitalistycznej, do wyboru, do koloru)… Tak to przez niewiele ponad pół wieku zmiotło ze sceny monarchię feudalną, Francuzów, Amerykanów, zapanował komunizm, potem radośnie dołączył kapitalizm, a wszystko to zapewne z ludzką twarzą. Została dobra kawa, zgubny nałóg palenia tytoniu i bagietki.

“Give up learning, and put an end to your troubles” (Ch. 20)

I oto zrozumiałam, że w ogóle nie ma znaczenia, jak mi się ta podróż skończy, a cała reszta jest jedynie zbyt głośnym przywiązaniem do kartezjańskiego „myślę więc jestem”, który niemal ćwierć wieku temu wtłaczali mi do głowy wśród wydm i sosen nadwiślańskich, ale od którego (słusznie poniekąd) zwabiona pierwszym wiosennym słońcem oddalałam się wagarować w Lasku Bielańskim oraz pić piwo w kawiarni piątej kategorii „Oleńka” na rogu Marymonckiej i Podleśnej, gdzie stary cieć podawał mi numerek do obowiązkowej szatni z wyrazem śmiertelnego znudzenia na twarzy.

Król popu nie żyje. Przekraczam granicę Kambodży.

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2009-06-21

ANOTHER

„(..) może to był ten sam człowiek, który przed rokiem koło holeszowickich rzeźni dobył na mnie w nocy fińskiego noża, a gdy zmusił mnie do skupienia uwagi, to odczytał mi wierszyk o pejzażu pod Rziczanami, a potem mnie przeprosił, że innego sposobu zmuszenia ludzi, by wysłuchali jego wiersza, dotychczas nie zna.”
Bohumil Hrabal, „Zbyt głośna samotność”
(Warszawa 1982, tłum. Paweł Heartman, s. 48)


another

train is knocking me away
to another city
to another goodbye

once again I wanted more
but I was given a hair gel
and nobody's-fault-tears

awaken from another dream
with your name
I'm wrapping it carefully in a grey paper of memory

in my empty heart
slowly I’m planting
one smile after another


27/05/2009

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