"Life is a treasure" in Okinawan. I wore it proudly in red on a white headband yesterday at the Japanese consulate. On Friday, in solidarity with the Okinawan community who have been protesting the construction of another US military base in Okinawa.
A fitting end to the week. It started off with hearing His Holiness the Dalai Lama on Tuesday. When he walked up the stairs, the tears burst out of my eyes. It was as if I had seen an old friend whom I have missed so many years. Perhaps it was the presence of calm and compassion that filled the stadium. What I felt: there is hope for this world. The tears ran down my face as I committed to memory this feeling this calmness that comes upon understanding that hope is possible. Upon gazing at this simple monk in his saffron and maroon robes what came to me was that there is hope for this world.
I'm strugging for the words to describe the journey of the week.
Life is a treasure truly. My friend Anna and I were just talking now about slowing down and listening to ourselves as writers. Oftentimes we overschedule ourselves with activity and find it hard to just sit. Part of the writing process is just keeping still enough to hear that voice in your head. To listen to your voice and your story, or the story that waits to make it to the page.
My story this week: After an adjustment at the chiropractor, I move like a Tahitian dancer and didn't know it. I am more flexible in how I deal with life. Life is a treasure, truly. There are moments of struggle and disagreement when there are things that are clearly not in harmony with the value of treating others with kindness and respect. Henoko is an example of such a struggle.
After the Wednesday dharma talk on the 8 verses of an Enlightened Mind, we climbed into our cars, faced the traffic leaving Kahului and found ourselves in Paia at the Temple. There we met the Japanese priest who told us the story of the genealogy of a king of Okinawa who was exiled and who refused to return to Okinawa as a Japanese citizen. He defied and disagreed with the colonization of his people and his culture. We were in the presence of great mana or spirit that day. We could feel it. So palpable. His spirit and his family's spirit written on simple pieces of wood that defies being discarded carelessly. My hope is that being there inspires us to action to remember that life is a treasure. The ocean, what our ancestors give us, simple and strong acts of resistance are treasures. I carried this strength with me to the consulate to help in letting them know, that destroying part of an island for military uses is not okay.
I am finishing this now more than a month later and wondering how I let time slip by to forget to finish this blog. My mother and I are eating lunch at the table this Kamehameha Day. We talk of parades and long beans. We journey to Whitmore this afternoon to pick lychee. This is time well spent. Time is truly a treasure.
2 comments:
Sistah-your words and mana'o are truly a treasure. Thank you for sharing and posting this. I enjoyed hearing it upon your return and now reading the account helps me savor it again.
Love, G
Wow! I remember that convo now! I still struggle to be still. It can be so exasperating. I, too, thought of starting to tell "stories of the Day" at night into my journal, just to get in the practice of it -- the stillness to hear the story, to see it manifest. I have not yet quite gotten there yet. This is a reminder to keep striviing. To make it happen. Thanks for the that, sweets.
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