Thursday, May 3, 2007
Where?
Hey,Sailor Gal, where are you now? Also how are you? Maybe you be mid-ocean or someplace like that whewre you can't even read the question, but since I need to know where you are in order to worry about you effectively---I ask anyway. Love, Sailor Dad
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Flurry
Below you will find me catching up with more news from India, then galloping forward with a song and some thoughts about the Virginia Tech shootings.
Three things
After becoming aware of the tragedy at Virginia Tech University as a community, moving from our shipboard space out to a traveling space of vast expanse in China and then bullet train expanses in Japan, I want to raise three thoughts with the community until we regather. The first regards traveling as students with this news.
As we head into countries where Confucianism, Taoism, and Buddhism have played foundational roles in the deep textures of these cultures, I want to tell you that all three traditions take the souls of the recently departed very seriously, especially when those lives were taken violently before their time. You might find yourself in spaces like temples that honor the memories of souls and it might be helpful to have an introductory handle on how they see souls as you process your travels, carrying with you the news about the Virginia Tech tragedy. All three traditions have great respect for the souls of recently departed loved ones, be they human or dog or other sentient being, and all three provide altars or other sacred spaces at which people regularly burn incense and make food offerings to those souls. On this trip I have seen offerings of fruits, a can of coke with a straw, a glass of Guiness beer, dessert foods, flowers, bok choy, and burning incense in hanging coils that can burn for up to a month as well as in sticks that might burn for an hour. The smoke from the incense carries the prayers upward to the souls.
In the case of Buddhism, the tradition that I know best, it perceives the soul a bit like Einstein saw energy—it is neither created nor destroyed, but rather moves into a different configuration. As with the case of the Virginia Tech killings, if a soul has been violently taken before its time, the soul is understood to have an unrequited bundle of potential energy—it was not done living. It uses some of that energy to console those who are left behind grieving. When my dog Tashi was killed as a two year old during graduate school, my Buddhist friend told me I might see glimpses of her because she would be offering me her solace. I found this perspective psychologically interesting and helpful as indeed I caught glimpses of her and could receive those glimpses with compassion rather than endure them with pain.
Further than offering solace, the soul with unrequited energy to transfigure also seeks ways to accomplish its life goals. And this is where I think you might find yourselves coming into the equation of how the energy of the Virginia Tech students will continue on in transfigured ways. They were not done being students. We are students using the world as our classroom. We are pursuing the dream of a meaningful education and we just might have the company of some unrequited souls traveling with us. We are a very good fit for the transfiguration of their energies—if you had the option as an unrequited soul wouldn’t you tag along with earnest student energy going around the world? If you find yourself experiencing a kind of dogged, determined and compassionate engagement with your education you might want to smile and thank them.
We are entering countries with ancient civilizations that have developed and preserved sacred spaces in their midst to honor the memory of the dead, reinforcing the sense that humans belong in a cycle of life and death. If you make your way into a Taoist Temple you might consider what an interesting and powerful act burning incense to the dead is—it brings a living, breathing person into the equation of that transfiguration. The Taoist focus on right harmony with the vital force of the universe means that humans actively engage in honoring souls and sending prayers back out to the cosmos. My first point is that we are entering communities that can address and expand our way of understanding how humans have developed wisdom and rituals for dealing with the forces and powers that impact our mortal existence. As students you might find it useful to be in such temples knowing that you can consider the regional worldview and move forward with the energy of the souls of your fellow students.
Second Thought: Why Schools?
The shooting at Virgina Tech, like the shooting at Columbine, is a particularly American phenomenon that merits our reflection. Why is it that the maimed and delusional mind turns its violence upon the space of institutional education in our culture? What is it about the power of a school setting that the maimed mind is retaliating against? Why do the students and teachers at schools become the target of this indiscriminate, murderous intention? What happens in schools in the minds of Americans such that the maimed mind sprays its violence within school walls?
I think there are at least two kinds of power that the maimed mind hates in places of learning: the power of ideas that have the potential to set the mind free and the power of the institutional community.
The power of ideas to awaken and stimulate and broaden the mind is the power that brings teachers to places of learning. It is the power that unites communities in their creation of schools. It is the power you see in the ideas of a student who is not enduring their education but rather is pursuing their education. It is the power I have seen in the papers I have been privileged to receive on this journey. The power of peak learning experiences unites administrators, educators, and students in a common role—we are all students when significant learning is going on. The maimed mind has nothing it wants to learn. It only has a lesson it intends to teach. This maniacal assumption of the power to teach others about their death is the ultimate silencing of a student’s existence.
The second kind of power is the power of a community with its accommodation to civic, social rules of engagement that the maimed mind hates. The principle or Dean as a figure of administrative authority, the teacher as a figure of authority that evaluates how smart or accomplished the student is. The peers who determine who does and who does not matter, creating social groups like nerds, Goths, cheerleaders, jocks, and loners. The compromises and social arrangements of American high schools (secondary education) and American colleges and universities (tertiary education) might be fairly different, but everyone who got to college got there through the secondary experiences so that there are deeply ingrained ways of organizing social networks—who your friends are—that feed into the college environment. The power of this social hierarchy follows Americans for years until their 10th reunions where people have finally grown strong enough to see each other with fresh eyes-- so the class of 82 (in my case) finally sees each other as fully human. If we think deeply about why the violence happens in schools we can begin to unpack it which leads me to my third thought.
Third thought: Narrative Lines
We need to understand this uniquely American narrative line. A narrative line is a story line that drives the progression of the story. Even if we think like a Buddhist that there is no permanent self underlying our experiences, we also know that the Buddha offers a narrative line that monks and nuns follow—a way to enter into the journey complete with ethics and rituals. As we grow and transform in our lives, our narrative line holds those experiences together, from our childhood to our expectations about our deaths.
Given that America has a string of school shootings so that the reports on the Virginia Tech shooting clarify that this has now distinguished itself as the worst event in terms of numbers of dead, acknowledging that there have been precedents and suggesting perhaps that there will be another tragic school shooting in the future that we will compare to this one when it happens, given this American trajectory or narrative of violence in schools, all of us who are on a Semester at Sea have a deeply personal link to the victims of these shootings. We are students too. Every targeting of a student is a targeting of us.
We are all about to head out again as students having freshly received a wound directed at who we are and what we are about to undertake in a vast openness. Respect that wound and consider it as you process your experience. How do we as a university culture respect and attend to our wounds in ways that make us stronger? To try to be funny, we might be heading out feeling a bit like sitting Peking Ducks who were not at Virginia Tech but who will return to enter new institutions where it could happen, almost predictably, again. How do we live with this narrative line?
We do not have to become passive, wondering when the next killing of students might happen. We do not have to feel helpless to intervene in the life of a loner, the next crippled soul, who needs medical and social support. I am not suggesting that there will be a time in the future when minds do not become crippled. I am suggesting that we interrogate the narrative that brings the student back into his or her school to teach everyone there a lesson. How do we negotiate our way between the two kinds of power that schools represent—the power of ideas to free the mind and the power of social networks (who belongs, who matters)—so that we are contributing to that other narrative line of American education as a right and a place for everyone, rich or poor, ugly or beautiful (and just what is ugly and just what is popular or beautiful), able to create and contribute uniquely to the common good?
Do not doubt that school is hell for some people. It was hell for every shy kid you never met, who was mocked by the guy who copied the shy guy's shuffle a few steps behind him in the school hall, the shuffle that was supposed to help the shy guy disappear. We can be agents of that other narrative that seeks common ground with another soul who also belongs fully in the halls. You don’t have to be everyone’s friend, but treating everyone with the compassion you show your friends is part of the American way, too.
Unrequited souls, power in the school community, American narratives.
Namaste,
Mary Keller
After becoming aware of the tragedy at Virginia Tech University as a community, moving from our shipboard space out to a traveling space of vast expanse in China and then bullet train expanses in Japan, I want to raise three thoughts with the community until we regather. The first regards traveling as students with this news.
As we head into countries where Confucianism, Taoism, and Buddhism have played foundational roles in the deep textures of these cultures, I want to tell you that all three traditions take the souls of the recently departed very seriously, especially when those lives were taken violently before their time. You might find yourself in spaces like temples that honor the memories of souls and it might be helpful to have an introductory handle on how they see souls as you process your travels, carrying with you the news about the Virginia Tech tragedy. All three traditions have great respect for the souls of recently departed loved ones, be they human or dog or other sentient being, and all three provide altars or other sacred spaces at which people regularly burn incense and make food offerings to those souls. On this trip I have seen offerings of fruits, a can of coke with a straw, a glass of Guiness beer, dessert foods, flowers, bok choy, and burning incense in hanging coils that can burn for up to a month as well as in sticks that might burn for an hour. The smoke from the incense carries the prayers upward to the souls.
In the case of Buddhism, the tradition that I know best, it perceives the soul a bit like Einstein saw energy—it is neither created nor destroyed, but rather moves into a different configuration. As with the case of the Virginia Tech killings, if a soul has been violently taken before its time, the soul is understood to have an unrequited bundle of potential energy—it was not done living. It uses some of that energy to console those who are left behind grieving. When my dog Tashi was killed as a two year old during graduate school, my Buddhist friend told me I might see glimpses of her because she would be offering me her solace. I found this perspective psychologically interesting and helpful as indeed I caught glimpses of her and could receive those glimpses with compassion rather than endure them with pain.
Further than offering solace, the soul with unrequited energy to transfigure also seeks ways to accomplish its life goals. And this is where I think you might find yourselves coming into the equation of how the energy of the Virginia Tech students will continue on in transfigured ways. They were not done being students. We are students using the world as our classroom. We are pursuing the dream of a meaningful education and we just might have the company of some unrequited souls traveling with us. We are a very good fit for the transfiguration of their energies—if you had the option as an unrequited soul wouldn’t you tag along with earnest student energy going around the world? If you find yourself experiencing a kind of dogged, determined and compassionate engagement with your education you might want to smile and thank them.
We are entering countries with ancient civilizations that have developed and preserved sacred spaces in their midst to honor the memory of the dead, reinforcing the sense that humans belong in a cycle of life and death. If you make your way into a Taoist Temple you might consider what an interesting and powerful act burning incense to the dead is—it brings a living, breathing person into the equation of that transfiguration. The Taoist focus on right harmony with the vital force of the universe means that humans actively engage in honoring souls and sending prayers back out to the cosmos. My first point is that we are entering communities that can address and expand our way of understanding how humans have developed wisdom and rituals for dealing with the forces and powers that impact our mortal existence. As students you might find it useful to be in such temples knowing that you can consider the regional worldview and move forward with the energy of the souls of your fellow students.
Second Thought: Why Schools?
The shooting at Virgina Tech, like the shooting at Columbine, is a particularly American phenomenon that merits our reflection. Why is it that the maimed and delusional mind turns its violence upon the space of institutional education in our culture? What is it about the power of a school setting that the maimed mind is retaliating against? Why do the students and teachers at schools become the target of this indiscriminate, murderous intention? What happens in schools in the minds of Americans such that the maimed mind sprays its violence within school walls?
I think there are at least two kinds of power that the maimed mind hates in places of learning: the power of ideas that have the potential to set the mind free and the power of the institutional community.
The power of ideas to awaken and stimulate and broaden the mind is the power that brings teachers to places of learning. It is the power that unites communities in their creation of schools. It is the power you see in the ideas of a student who is not enduring their education but rather is pursuing their education. It is the power I have seen in the papers I have been privileged to receive on this journey. The power of peak learning experiences unites administrators, educators, and students in a common role—we are all students when significant learning is going on. The maimed mind has nothing it wants to learn. It only has a lesson it intends to teach. This maniacal assumption of the power to teach others about their death is the ultimate silencing of a student’s existence.
The second kind of power is the power of a community with its accommodation to civic, social rules of engagement that the maimed mind hates. The principle or Dean as a figure of administrative authority, the teacher as a figure of authority that evaluates how smart or accomplished the student is. The peers who determine who does and who does not matter, creating social groups like nerds, Goths, cheerleaders, jocks, and loners. The compromises and social arrangements of American high schools (secondary education) and American colleges and universities (tertiary education) might be fairly different, but everyone who got to college got there through the secondary experiences so that there are deeply ingrained ways of organizing social networks—who your friends are—that feed into the college environment. The power of this social hierarchy follows Americans for years until their 10th reunions where people have finally grown strong enough to see each other with fresh eyes-- so the class of 82 (in my case) finally sees each other as fully human. If we think deeply about why the violence happens in schools we can begin to unpack it which leads me to my third thought.
Third thought: Narrative Lines
We need to understand this uniquely American narrative line. A narrative line is a story line that drives the progression of the story. Even if we think like a Buddhist that there is no permanent self underlying our experiences, we also know that the Buddha offers a narrative line that monks and nuns follow—a way to enter into the journey complete with ethics and rituals. As we grow and transform in our lives, our narrative line holds those experiences together, from our childhood to our expectations about our deaths.
Given that America has a string of school shootings so that the reports on the Virginia Tech shooting clarify that this has now distinguished itself as the worst event in terms of numbers of dead, acknowledging that there have been precedents and suggesting perhaps that there will be another tragic school shooting in the future that we will compare to this one when it happens, given this American trajectory or narrative of violence in schools, all of us who are on a Semester at Sea have a deeply personal link to the victims of these shootings. We are students too. Every targeting of a student is a targeting of us.
We are all about to head out again as students having freshly received a wound directed at who we are and what we are about to undertake in a vast openness. Respect that wound and consider it as you process your experience. How do we as a university culture respect and attend to our wounds in ways that make us stronger? To try to be funny, we might be heading out feeling a bit like sitting Peking Ducks who were not at Virginia Tech but who will return to enter new institutions where it could happen, almost predictably, again. How do we live with this narrative line?
We do not have to become passive, wondering when the next killing of students might happen. We do not have to feel helpless to intervene in the life of a loner, the next crippled soul, who needs medical and social support. I am not suggesting that there will be a time in the future when minds do not become crippled. I am suggesting that we interrogate the narrative that brings the student back into his or her school to teach everyone there a lesson. How do we negotiate our way between the two kinds of power that schools represent—the power of ideas to free the mind and the power of social networks (who belongs, who matters)—so that we are contributing to that other narrative line of American education as a right and a place for everyone, rich or poor, ugly or beautiful (and just what is ugly and just what is popular or beautiful), able to create and contribute uniquely to the common good?
Do not doubt that school is hell for some people. It was hell for every shy kid you never met, who was mocked by the guy who copied the shy guy's shuffle a few steps behind him in the school hall, the shuffle that was supposed to help the shy guy disappear. We can be agents of that other narrative that seeks common ground with another soul who also belongs fully in the halls. You don’t have to be everyone’s friend, but treating everyone with the compassion you show your friends is part of the American way, too.
Unrequited souls, power in the school community, American narratives.
Namaste,
Mary Keller
I’m Thinking About the Belly--A song in five courses
Dear Reader: I need you to participate with a belly breath 2/3 of the way through the song. To do a belly breath you start by having your belly extend open drawing air into the lower part of the lungs, then fill the lungs up high and begin to exhale from the top down, finishing by drawing the belly in to push the air out.
This song starts with the appetizer to invite you into the meal. Then we move into the soup kitchen so to speak. The chorus, Food is love, is like the sorbet that is meant to cleanse your pallet. Then we hit the main dish complete with cows, sheep, fruit and veg. Then we stop eating and watch thoughtfully as the dishes are cleared. After watching we get a selection of cheeses, metaphorically represented as the baby that poops and peas, (perhaps an image of Ryder and each one of us as babies) served so that we can think about the cycle of inhaling and exhaling, taking food in and eliminating food. After the cheese, dare I say cutting the cheese, take the belly breath, where you sit back and feel happy and try to make some room for dessert. The song finishes where it began –the first verse --followed by the chorus, the final sorbet.
I’m thinking bout the belly of this ship on the sea
And I’m thinking bout the belly ‘neath the throat in me
And I’m thinking bout the belly of the folks on this earth
And I’m thinking bout the belly of the woman who gives birth
I’m thinking bout the belly of the folks in my town
Only 8000 people
We can move food round
And I’m thinking bout the belly
When it’s hungry just right
And I’m thinking bout the belly too hungry at night
Cuz food is love
Food is love
My Dad told me so at his brother’s funeral
We watched folks bring dishes and bowls and casseroles
And my Dad whispered to me food is love
And my Mom showed me daily food is love
Have you grown a fruit?
Have you grown a veg?
Have you grown a cow or a sheep?
How close are you to the growers of your food
Cuz the growers of food grow love
I’m thinking about folk who cooked the food on my plate
I’m thinking bout people who serve it to me and away
I’m thinking of doing so with style and care
I’m thinking nutrition
And colors and spice
Cuz making and serving and cleaning up all grow love
I’m thinking bout the belly of this ship on the sea
We all inhale and exhale perpetually, but
We’ve specialized our labor so that only some folks
Take care of the rest of us, our rooms and our throats
That lead to our bellies and I’m not sure that’s best
For the full humanity of each of our chests
So I wonder just how to pitch in to the plan:
I want to serve a fine dinner to each woman and man
There’s babies bellies That wiggle when you change them
They poop and they pee cuz its part of the ring
We need to take in our food and our air
But the second big truth is eliminating [Belly breath] Whew
1st verse
Chorus
Dear Reader: I need you to participate with a belly breath 2/3 of the way through the song. To do a belly breath you start by having your belly extend open drawing air into the lower part of the lungs, then fill the lungs up high and begin to exhale from the top down, finishing by drawing the belly in to push the air out.
This song starts with the appetizer to invite you into the meal. Then we move into the soup kitchen so to speak. The chorus, Food is love, is like the sorbet that is meant to cleanse your pallet. Then we hit the main dish complete with cows, sheep, fruit and veg. Then we stop eating and watch thoughtfully as the dishes are cleared. After watching we get a selection of cheeses, metaphorically represented as the baby that poops and peas, (perhaps an image of Ryder and each one of us as babies) served so that we can think about the cycle of inhaling and exhaling, taking food in and eliminating food. After the cheese, dare I say cutting the cheese, take the belly breath, where you sit back and feel happy and try to make some room for dessert. The song finishes where it began –the first verse --followed by the chorus, the final sorbet.
I’m thinking bout the belly of this ship on the sea
And I’m thinking bout the belly ‘neath the throat in me
And I’m thinking bout the belly of the folks on this earth
And I’m thinking bout the belly of the woman who gives birth
I’m thinking bout the belly of the folks in my town
Only 8000 people
We can move food round
And I’m thinking bout the belly
When it’s hungry just right
And I’m thinking bout the belly too hungry at night
Cuz food is love
Food is love
My Dad told me so at his brother’s funeral
We watched folks bring dishes and bowls and casseroles
And my Dad whispered to me food is love
And my Mom showed me daily food is love
Have you grown a fruit?
Have you grown a veg?
Have you grown a cow or a sheep?
How close are you to the growers of your food
Cuz the growers of food grow love
I’m thinking about folk who cooked the food on my plate
I’m thinking bout people who serve it to me and away
I’m thinking of doing so with style and care
I’m thinking nutrition
And colors and spice
Cuz making and serving and cleaning up all grow love
I’m thinking bout the belly of this ship on the sea
We all inhale and exhale perpetually, but
We’ve specialized our labor so that only some folks
Take care of the rest of us, our rooms and our throats
That lead to our bellies and I’m not sure that’s best
For the full humanity of each of our chests
So I wonder just how to pitch in to the plan:
I want to serve a fine dinner to each woman and man
There’s babies bellies That wiggle when you change them
They poop and they pee cuz its part of the ring
We need to take in our food and our air
But the second big truth is eliminating [Belly breath] Whew
1st verse
Chorus
After throw ball we loaded up in our vans to head to the nearby Dalit village where we were greeted with a three man drum band that paraded us through the small streets of the village, past cows scratching themselves under the shade of trees, with hay stacks nearby that they nibbled from, past small thatched huts with cement pads on which we saw people cleaning their clothes, hauling their water, eyes us with some humor, and sharing the glory of looking at the digital pictures that shone from our cameras. We danced to the drums, held children in our arms, teased and played with the children, taking dozens of photos that we will send back as hard copy photos for the village. I was recalling what it was like when I brought Dad’s slides of Huslia from the late 1950s back to Huslia in 1986. The people of Huslia were delighted to see the photos. I hope very much that we can provide the Dalit village with a historical record that might matter to them.
That night the local school that serves casted children as well as dalit children hosted us for a grand show that included two people in horse costumes, walking on stilts and blowing flames while hoop dancing while thrilling us with tricks. The local boys acrobat troupe leapt, jumped and pyramided for us, before turning to flames—at least that’s what this picture looks like! When the performance was done and the children returned to their homes, Dr. Henry gathered our troupe into one of the school rooms to light candles and have a non-denominational meditation together. It was a wonderful conclusion to our busy, busy day as he had us focus on the power of a flame, asking us to discover what way our own creative flames might direct us to social justice work.
We grew drowsy as night fell, and hungry though we had only box suppers of crackers and cookies from the ship waiting for us. We all slept on the cement floors of the open-door classrooms or out under the stars on the performance platform, now smelling of flamethrower juice (as does the towel and blanket I had brought to sleep on). Thanks to my friend Julie for her mosquito netting. I’m taking malaria medicine but the real trick is trying not to get bit in the first place.
Through the night we heard many voices but still I think I slept well enough. We awoke the next morning to finish off the food in our boxes and then returned to the Dalit village after everyone had a refreshing trip to the squat toilet at the school. The students were troopers.
Back to the village, after letting the ox cart go by, we visited more and shared as many words between us that we could—mostly smiles. We were then treated to sweet tea from the Delta Dalit Center in the small church building that marks the entrance to the Dalit village. After tea we gathered and sang “You Are My Sunshine” to the villagers who were still lingering with us, and then piled back into the vans with several students who had made commitments in their mind to continue working with Dr. Henry when they returned home.
The rickshaws are open-air vehicles and after the first day I started to wear a face mask to protect myself at least a little from the thick black smoke sputtering out from most of the two-stroke diesel engines. With six vehicles for every two lanes of traffic, bicycle-driven rickshaws and auto rickshaws and little battered cars and a smattering of fancy SUVs jockey for position at every light.
More Dalit Village, India
Here you see one of the traditional dancers from the nursing school, a group of the students as we all watched together, the throwball team--not bad uniforms for a bunch of hard throwing athletes, eh? And a group of singers that sang a song that Arvind Bharataji wrote just for our visit. He is a musician activist who has written songs about children's human rights, the value of girl children, and promoting peace. I have a disc of his wonderful music.
Back to India for catchup
When we arrived at the Dalit Liberation Education Trust in Kodalure Village, we were greeted by the welcome signs painted out in sands on the grounds in front of three different buildings—hours of work must have gone into their creation. We were warmly welcomed by Dr. Henry Thiagaraj, Convener of the Human Rights Education Movement of India and Managing Trustee of the Dalit Liberation Education Trust, a non-profit organization devoted to the work of liberating Dalit men and women from the bondage of Dalit discrimination. The training center includes a school of nursing for Dalit women, a primary school and summer camps that provide for the life of the mind to open Dalit communities to their own creative potential. After greeting ceremonies that included performances of classical and folk dance, we had a marvelous dinner with Gee Masala, Nan cooked fresh over the rounded griddle, rice and spaghetti bolognase (for those who just didn’t do Indian). There was fish and chicken and chips (fries) too.After lunch those of us feeling brave enough to take on the school of nurses in their beautiful silvar kameez played throw ball—volleyball with no bumping or setting. We made the whole nursing school laugh as we tried to figure out how and when to rotate through the twelve of us.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Taoism, Malaysia style
As you head to the Taoist temple, you first pass by Ganesh--the Hindu divinity of good luck! In Malaysia you have an incredible rainbow of cultures due in part to the ancient history of shipping that had brought Arabs down from the Arabian Peninsula as well as their goods coming overland with spice traders, Indians from India riding the annual winds that blew East and then returning home when the winds changed and blew West. From China the ships were following the same winds, creating a cycle where Indians were leaving as the Chinese were arriving. Adding to those old established cycles was colonialism and the development of a strategy by colonial powers to divide labor and management between different groups of people, counting on each culture to stick to itself and not unite against the colonizers. Malaysia has been a Muslim country since . . . I don't have my notes with me at this cafe so I'm trying to remember if it was 13th c. Tolerance for other traditions has been a big part of culture throughout this history. So here at a Taoist Temple, indicating the Chinese roots, we have out front Ganesh. No wonder Ganesh travels well between traditions. It's hard not to like a divinity with the head of an elephant who brings good luck.As you approach the temple you pass this simple and rustic altar to the spirits that take life. Offering them a glass of Guiness just makes sense, doesn't it?
And finally, you arrive to one of three altars--three is good luck so many things are in threes. Each of the figures has a story behind how wise or compassionate that person was and why they have become narrative figures for Daoist seeking to follow the way--the Dao. The Dao can be thought of as the vital life force of the universe, connected to most richly by connecting with the wisdom of nature. Water is a particularly important symbol for Daoism -- water follows the law of gravity, water gives way in the short term, parting around the rock, but in the longterm carves its gentle, rounded way according to the laws of nature. The yin-yang symbol comes from Daoism. It symbolizes the balance between different forces that is needed to create and sustain life, as epitomized by male and female. Taoism's philosophy is that opposites are not opposites. Rather, the seed on of the other is at the heart of the one. The human is in balance when male and female are in balance, but also when the male recognizes the feminine in its heart. The female is in balance when she recognizes the masculine at her center. Without the pair, neither can exist independently.
Here are pictures from the Thai Buddhist temple that sits across from the Burmese Temple. These two countries have a long history of fighting, and the British government provided the space for the two to be together as they orchestrated the "peace" of the working people in the colony. The reclining Buddha is massive and behind him is a wall of urns where people can bring the cremated remains of their families. We were there near Soul's Day so we saw people bringing many gifts to display before the urns. More on that soon.
Let's arrive in Penang
Malaysia had beautiful mists in its mountains as we approached in the early morning. for this port we docked in the bay and dropped two of our lifeboats that "tendered" us to the dock.
Temples and Mosques in Malaysia
Still catching up as our ship makes its way through heavy fog toward Kobe where we will dock in the next few hours. Out of the fog come other ships also heading to port, from huge container ships to big fishing boats. Fishing boats looking more modern than those we saw in Chennai, Malaysia, Hong Kong (where there are still Sam Pam villages), and Quindao. As we head to our last major port we head out of developing to developed country but I will keep my eyes out for little fishing boats.
Here's some cheeky news from Malaysia--I did keep writing but I didn't get things posted.
Penang Temples and Mosques
Hey guys,
I've had so little opportunity to connect in the last month that I'm grabbing a moment right now as the thunder and lightning gods over Penang throw a show that reflects off the lights of the harbor here in Georgetown. Had a tour today of Thai, Burmese, and Chinese Buddhist temples, Hindu temples where the sarong clad priests gave puja to Shiva and Muruga while the drummer and the horn player accompanied, and I received my red ashes when I prayed for the prosperity of Sloan's new digs. Had great food with tofu, mushrooms, ginger, chilis, noodles, soy, bok choy and Chinese tea.
Things to know: Ganesh, the son of Shiva and Parvati, is the fix-it god with his elephant head and human body. Puja to Ganesh to solve your problems. He likes sweet food and incense.
Pray to Kuan Yin, the female Buddha of Mercy and Compassion. If you are in a Taoist temple with Kuan Yin, raise your lit incense to your forehead and your heart three times asking for her compassion. Then visit the herbalist demi-god and repeat the ritual, and then the warrior demi-god. And as you leave the temple, perhaps you leave a glass of guinness to the spirits who take life away from people. And then go to the corner where Ganesh is garlanded in beautiful flowers and seek his help to fix troubles and bring you good luck. Who wouldn't feel better after an immersion in this prayerful, material devotion? Incense taking your wishes and cares to the powers that guide.
If you have sinned, free a bird at the temple gates. (If you need to make money, cage birds for people to set free at the temple.)
Souls Day is coming up--April 5. A good time to buy a paper house or ornate paper trunk and fill it with paper goods--shoes, clothes, cars, Rolex, laptop, food--and bring it to the grave of your ancestors and friends. Build a very hot fire, call the person's name, sprinkle water around the fire to keep other spirits away, and then offer your gifts to the fire where it will be burned and sent to the ancestor to show them your continuing devotion.
Here's some cheeky news from Malaysia--I did keep writing but I didn't get things posted.
Penang Temples and Mosques
Hey guys,
I've had so little opportunity to connect in the last month that I'm grabbing a moment right now as the thunder and lightning gods over Penang throw a show that reflects off the lights of the harbor here in Georgetown. Had a tour today of Thai, Burmese, and Chinese Buddhist temples, Hindu temples where the sarong clad priests gave puja to Shiva and Muruga while the drummer and the horn player accompanied, and I received my red ashes when I prayed for the prosperity of Sloan's new digs. Had great food with tofu, mushrooms, ginger, chilis, noodles, soy, bok choy and Chinese tea.
Things to know: Ganesh, the son of Shiva and Parvati, is the fix-it god with his elephant head and human body. Puja to Ganesh to solve your problems. He likes sweet food and incense.
Pray to Kuan Yin, the female Buddha of Mercy and Compassion. If you are in a Taoist temple with Kuan Yin, raise your lit incense to your forehead and your heart three times asking for her compassion. Then visit the herbalist demi-god and repeat the ritual, and then the warrior demi-god. And as you leave the temple, perhaps you leave a glass of guinness to the spirits who take life away from people. And then go to the corner where Ganesh is garlanded in beautiful flowers and seek his help to fix troubles and bring you good luck. Who wouldn't feel better after an immersion in this prayerful, material devotion? Incense taking your wishes and cares to the powers that guide.
If you have sinned, free a bird at the temple gates. (If you need to make money, cage birds for people to set free at the temple.)
Souls Day is coming up--April 5. A good time to buy a paper house or ornate paper trunk and fill it with paper goods--shoes, clothes, cars, Rolex, laptop, food--and bring it to the grave of your ancestors and friends. Build a very hot fire, call the person's name, sprinkle water around the fire to keep other spirits away, and then offer your gifts to the fire where it will be burned and sent to the ancestor to show them your continuing devotion.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Hey--Here's photos of baby greenback turtles at the Malaysian sanctuary before I got stung. My friend daun saunders, economics prof. extraordinaire, and our guide Budan!
Hey--Here's photos of baby greenback turtles at the Malaysian sanctuary before I got stung. My friend daun saunders, economics prof. extraordinaire, and our guide Budan!
Vietnam ramblings
Oh my goodness! I just received an Easter photo of Conall and Russell in their handsome Easter shirts and I can hardly believe how grown up and brotherish they look side-by-side. I am so proud of them and with everything that I do on this journey I think about it in terms of what I would do with them. I have been in Vietnam for four days now and the days are running together so I want to try and answer the question that Conall always asks when we talk on ichat as we did two nights ago.: What have you been doing? My hand has me slowed down to half day trips so I haven’t managed to go to the Mekong Delta, Cu Chi Tunnels or Cao Dai Temple as I had hoped to, but every evening I hear tales over big bowls of Vietnamese noodles from the people who have gone. If I get to bring the boys here someday I will try to go out to the Mekong Delta for a ride on three different kinds of boats, wearing conical hats, and seeing the beautiful countryside. I would also probably try to do a service visit where we bring our smiles and compassion to a YMCA where children might hope to play with some newcomers for awhile. It will be a challenge because there are children here who are still dealing with the lasting effects of American war policy,(Agent Orange and other toxic chemicals). My experience so far is that reaching out is always rewarding and makes one incredibly humble, as well as determined to work and play for structural peace in our time. Goodness knows these kids have paid the price for waging war.
I also went to the war remnants museum which is perhaps one of the few war museums that tells the story of war from the perspective of those people whose civilians suffered most from it. Let’s become very good at thinking about war. We have got all the history we need to learn about human shortcomings in the waging of war. I am so highly motivated by this journey to work for structural peace. I want to keep my eyes on at least three things: 1)Global warming – how will each of us contribute to a reduction in the American production of Green house gasses that shows that we can bite the bullet and participate in a global effort; 2) Grow food locally and pay growers living wages while improving our nutrition; 3) Create social justice. That’s all. Did I remember play?
When I get back to Cody I want to start with a city-wide book discussion of George Monbiot’s “Heat: How to stop the Planet from Burning Up.” If the old-timers could pull together in electrical coops I really think our generation with our cell phones ought to be able to develop a sustainable county plan that tackles the issue of our production of greenhouse gasses.
I guess I am finding myself in Saigon Port and back home today, as is so often the case on this trip. My world is bigger for watching women ride bicycles through congested streets with their vegetables goods balanced on their shoulders and their face masks on at the same time that my heart is in my throat looking at a picture of the boys being brothers. My hand is half numb while my head wants to build structures for social justice and the health of all children—children who we won’t be handing a global warming crisis to and who might have their basic health needs met. Children not running from bombs.T I’m reading Hent de Vries’s “Religion and Violence” and then reading Uncle Ho’s lifestory while eating coffee ice cream in an open air café on a sticky, humid day with children looking closely at my every move and daring to smile. I’m seeing burgeoning capitalism in a desperately displayed, endless sidewalk mall—Madame—good price for you, come see_- frenzy while the Thai military cadets move past like a navy school after placing a wreath at the Ho Chi Minh memorial. There are beggars on the streets disfigured by napalm or white phopherous or land mines, There are whopping big bowls of Vietnamese noodles with a mango shake for $2.00. Every book or CD or DVD collection is here for pennies and I think of Ho Chi Minh’s travels to Europe to learn about liberty, equality and brotherhood. The Keegans and the Kellers and all the kinds of families that I love and miss seem both close and so far away. Peace, MLK
I also went to the war remnants museum which is perhaps one of the few war museums that tells the story of war from the perspective of those people whose civilians suffered most from it. Let’s become very good at thinking about war. We have got all the history we need to learn about human shortcomings in the waging of war. I am so highly motivated by this journey to work for structural peace. I want to keep my eyes on at least three things: 1)Global warming – how will each of us contribute to a reduction in the American production of Green house gasses that shows that we can bite the bullet and participate in a global effort; 2) Grow food locally and pay growers living wages while improving our nutrition; 3) Create social justice. That’s all. Did I remember play?
When I get back to Cody I want to start with a city-wide book discussion of George Monbiot’s “Heat: How to stop the Planet from Burning Up.” If the old-timers could pull together in electrical coops I really think our generation with our cell phones ought to be able to develop a sustainable county plan that tackles the issue of our production of greenhouse gasses.
I guess I am finding myself in Saigon Port and back home today, as is so often the case on this trip. My world is bigger for watching women ride bicycles through congested streets with their vegetables goods balanced on their shoulders and their face masks on at the same time that my heart is in my throat looking at a picture of the boys being brothers. My hand is half numb while my head wants to build structures for social justice and the health of all children—children who we won’t be handing a global warming crisis to and who might have their basic health needs met. Children not running from bombs.T I’m reading Hent de Vries’s “Religion and Violence” and then reading Uncle Ho’s lifestory while eating coffee ice cream in an open air café on a sticky, humid day with children looking closely at my every move and daring to smile. I’m seeing burgeoning capitalism in a desperately displayed, endless sidewalk mall—Madame—good price for you, come see_- frenzy while the Thai military cadets move past like a navy school after placing a wreath at the Ho Chi Minh memorial. There are beggars on the streets disfigured by napalm or white phopherous or land mines, There are whopping big bowls of Vietnamese noodles with a mango shake for $2.00. Every book or CD or DVD collection is here for pennies and I think of Ho Chi Minh’s travels to Europe to learn about liberty, equality and brotherhood. The Keegans and the Kellers and all the kinds of families that I love and miss seem both close and so far away. Peace, MLK
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Malaysia
Penang, Malaysia
Muruga festival:
http://www.tourismpenang.gov.my/article.cfm?id=18
National Park
http://www.tourismpenang.gov.my/article.cfm?id=93
Muruga festival:
http://www.tourismpenang.gov.my/article.cfm?id=18
National Park
http://www.tourismpenang.gov.my/article.cfm?id=93
Penang
Penang Temples and Mosques
Hey guys,
I've had so little opportunity to connect in the last month that I'm grabbing a moment right now as the thunder and lightning gods over Penang throw a show that reflects off the lights of the harbor here in Georgetown. Had a tour today of Thai, Burmese, and Chinese Buddhist temples, Hindu temples where the sarong clad priests gave puja to Shiva and Muruga while the drummer and the horn player accompanied, and I received my red ashes when I prayed for the prosperity of Sloan's new digs. Had great food with tofu, mushrooms, ginger, chilis, noodles, soy, bok choy and Chinese tea.
Things to know: Ganesh, the son of Shiva and Parvati, is the fix-it god with his elephant head and human body. Puja to Ganesh to solve your problems. He likes sweet food and incense.
Pray to Kuan Yin, the female Buddha of Mercy and Compassion. If you are in a Taoist temple with Kuan Yin, raise your lit incense to your forehead and your heart three times asking for her compassion. Then visit the herbalist demi-god and repeat the ritual, and then the warrior demi-god. And as you leave the temple, perhaps you leave a glass of guinness to the spirits who take life away from people. And then go to the corner where Ganesh is garlanded in beautiful flowers and seek his help to fix troubles and bring you good luck. Who wouldn't feel better after an immersion in this prayerful, material devotion? Incense taking your wishes and cares to the powers that guide.
If you have sinned, free a bird at the temple gates. (If you need to make money, cage birds for people to set free at the temple.)
Souls Day is coming up--April 5. A good time to buy a paper house or ornate paper trunk and fill it with paper goods--shoes, clothes, cars, Rolex, laptop, food--and bring it to the grave of your ancestors and friends. Build a very hot fire, call the person's name, sprinkle water around the fire to keep other spirits away, and then offer your gifts to the fire where it will be burned and sent to the ancestor to show them your continuing devotion.
Hey guys,
I've had so little opportunity to connect in the last month that I'm grabbing a moment right now as the thunder and lightning gods over Penang throw a show that reflects off the lights of the harbor here in Georgetown. Had a tour today of Thai, Burmese, and Chinese Buddhist temples, Hindu temples where the sarong clad priests gave puja to Shiva and Muruga while the drummer and the horn player accompanied, and I received my red ashes when I prayed for the prosperity of Sloan's new digs. Had great food with tofu, mushrooms, ginger, chilis, noodles, soy, bok choy and Chinese tea.
Things to know: Ganesh, the son of Shiva and Parvati, is the fix-it god with his elephant head and human body. Puja to Ganesh to solve your problems. He likes sweet food and incense.
Pray to Kuan Yin, the female Buddha of Mercy and Compassion. If you are in a Taoist temple with Kuan Yin, raise your lit incense to your forehead and your heart three times asking for her compassion. Then visit the herbalist demi-god and repeat the ritual, and then the warrior demi-god. And as you leave the temple, perhaps you leave a glass of guinness to the spirits who take life away from people. And then go to the corner where Ganesh is garlanded in beautiful flowers and seek his help to fix troubles and bring you good luck. Who wouldn't feel better after an immersion in this prayerful, material devotion? Incense taking your wishes and cares to the powers that guide.
If you have sinned, free a bird at the temple gates. (If you need to make money, cage birds for people to set free at the temple.)
Souls Day is coming up--April 5. A good time to buy a paper house or ornate paper trunk and fill it with paper goods--shoes, clothes, cars, Rolex, laptop, food--and bring it to the grave of your ancestors and friends. Build a very hot fire, call the person's name, sprinkle water around the fire to keep other spirits away, and then offer your gifts to the fire where it will be burned and sent to the ancestor to show them your continuing devotion.
Life in Vietnam
Hello good people, I am typing with one fuzzy hand at a nice hotel in Ho Chi Minh (Have I spelled that correctly?) City. I went through a ringer in Malaysia after tangling with a jelly fish--sorry no pictures--but I heard from one of the students tonight that it was a Portuguese man of War so the legend is growing! Now I have the symptoms of someone with bad carpal tunnel so hopefully all will calm down soon. I hope to get to the Cu Chi tunnels in the next day or so and have been catching up on work having missed three days of teaching to my highly recomended drugs. I'll get serious with pics soon and thank you for all the prayers. Wishing I could risk my life with you crossing thestreets here! mlk
Sunday, April 8, 2007
worried
Hey Sailor Woman, I am worried about you, so you can now stop worrying. As you know I have many honorary degrees in worrying. I would have gone to earned degrees, but I was too worried if I would do well. Strange, sometime around the time you decioded to go I read an artical on the dangerous jellyfish of Asia. I once had a boat I was towing swamp and I went over board to bail it out and I got stung all over with Chesapeake Bay jellies. It was uncomfortable, but only lasted about half a day. There was a fairly heavy sea, but I did get the boat floating again. Any way I am plenty worried about you---so you can now get better quick---er that's quickly. (Oh I guess you remember that M.I.T. wanted me to teach advanced worry, but I was too worried about how to teach it, so I didn't accept.) So if you decide to go swimming again, E-mail me first so I can worry beforehand. Love, Sailor Dad
Saturday, April 7, 2007
This is from SWMBO aka Connie Keller. Tom spoke with Mary yesterday- April 6. She was dealing with an adverse reaction to being stung by jellyfish. I suspect she will not be posting for a while. She is currently between Malaysia- where she was stung- and Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam. The medical care on the ship is good. They feel the stings probably caused a new episode of the fibromyalgia which is a part of her life. I pray that the pain and dis-ease she is experiencing will soon be better.
Sunday, April 1, 2007
Headed to the Dalit village
Dalit village Overnight, March 28-29, 2007
We headed south out of Chennai in three vans and a car on our way to the Dalit village overnight. Dalit is a term that means oppressed, broken people, people put aside and alienated. Dalit is the term that is widely chosen by the people themselves who exist on the lowest possible social rung of Indian culture. “Untouchable” is the term that most people in the States might be familiar with for this “un-casted” group of people.
We crossed over the tidal Aria river, a huge river perhaps during the monsoons, but a huge mud flat at this time of year. There are squatter villages along the banks and those villages have no sewers and no services, so the worst of urban poverty lines the shores. Urban poverty seems like the meanest poverty there is. In the midst of the incredible colors and patterns of the saris and silvar kameez that even the poorest women wear, the sight of mothers sleeping on their sides on the sidewalk with children crawling about them brings to mind the phrase “mean streets” and I wish for them to have some ground to sleep on, or some trees to sleep under until their poverty is relieved. We have talked on board about micro-credit and the Grameen bank, and also the shortcomings of that approach to the alleviation of poverty. We have studied the ways that the British Raj orchestrated the dependence of the Indians upon British textiles, salt, and cash crop production. We have studied how Gandhi proposed a grass-roots return to self-sufficiency while Nehru proposed an industrialization to lead the new India forward. But looking at the innerds of the industrial city of Chennai, solutions seem a long time coming.
The experience of witnessing the poverty of my human brothers and sisters was intensified by seeing cows and goats tethered near heaps of trash that they were nibbling and nosing through as the craziest traffic in the world careened past. Goats with kids would wander dangerously close to the traffic, the dogs didn’t have a chance except for their clever brains, and the brahma bulls pulled carts of bricks while every vehicle on the road honked and beeped at them, and drove within centimeters of the animals. This city, to my eyes that see the eyes of the animals as the eyes of sentient beings, was no place for these animals, and I wished they could be un-tethered in the night to walk themselves out of the city.
We headed south out of Chennai in three vans and a car on our way to the Dalit village overnight. Dalit is a term that means oppressed, broken people, people put aside and alienated. Dalit is the term that is widely chosen by the people themselves who exist on the lowest possible social rung of Indian culture. “Untouchable” is the term that most people in the States might be familiar with for this “un-casted” group of people.
We crossed over the tidal Aria river, a huge river perhaps during the monsoons, but a huge mud flat at this time of year. There are squatter villages along the banks and those villages have no sewers and no services, so the worst of urban poverty lines the shores. Urban poverty seems like the meanest poverty there is. In the midst of the incredible colors and patterns of the saris and silvar kameez that even the poorest women wear, the sight of mothers sleeping on their sides on the sidewalk with children crawling about them brings to mind the phrase “mean streets” and I wish for them to have some ground to sleep on, or some trees to sleep under until their poverty is relieved. We have talked on board about micro-credit and the Grameen bank, and also the shortcomings of that approach to the alleviation of poverty. We have studied the ways that the British Raj orchestrated the dependence of the Indians upon British textiles, salt, and cash crop production. We have studied how Gandhi proposed a grass-roots return to self-sufficiency while Nehru proposed an industrialization to lead the new India forward. But looking at the innerds of the industrial city of Chennai, solutions seem a long time coming.
The experience of witnessing the poverty of my human brothers and sisters was intensified by seeing cows and goats tethered near heaps of trash that they were nibbling and nosing through as the craziest traffic in the world careened past. Goats with kids would wander dangerously close to the traffic, the dogs didn’t have a chance except for their clever brains, and the brahma bulls pulled carts of bricks while every vehicle on the road honked and beeped at them, and drove within centimeters of the animals. This city, to my eyes that see the eyes of the animals as the eyes of sentient beings, was no place for these animals, and I wished they could be un-tethered in the night to walk themselves out of the city.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Sunday at work in Chennai
My first day in India and I thought I would just stay on the ship grading, making sure I get my work done before I leave for the Dalit village overnight on Wednesday. With two classes of 35 students who handed in their field work papers and their Hinduism quizzes in the past two weeks, I have oodles of work to do. The spirit possession class also handed in quizzes, and that’s a class of 17 students. When we leave Chennai we begin galloping compared to what we have just come through, so I’d like to have my head on my shoulders for the ride. We have two days of classes before we arrive in Penang, Malaysia for 4 days, then three days of classes before Ho Chi Minh for five days, then three days to Hong Kong for a two day visit, then two days of no classes as we travel from Hong Kong to Quingdao, China (most people travel across China to meet us at Quingdao, so we don’t hold classes on the ship) then two days of classes getting to Kobe, Japan, then eight days of classes getting to Honolulu, then finals for four days, a day of packing, and we arrive in San Diego.
So, when my friend Judyie called to ask if I wanted to try getting into town I said “Sure!” and we headed off with another traveling buddy, Sean, who left behind her toddler to go fly through Chennai in a little auto rickshaw—a two stroke engine on a glorified golf cart frame. It was so marvelous to travel with these women, taking in the thrill of the journey, the crazy driving, the persistent presence of hard-living folks on the streets, the canny dogs (only a smart dog could survive these streets), the political and consumer billboards, the fish market (90 degrees Fahrenheit and you travel down a crazy, crowded, crammed little street with bicycles, people sitting along the street, walking along the streets, cars pressing against each other in two directions, dogs, and un -refrigerated fish spilling out of baskets onto tarps on the ground. To be with smart women who had significant travel experience under their belts and shared interests in seeing and doing things together was marvelous. Sean helped me bargain down some gifts I bought, Judyie found beautiful jewelry to sit down and try on and leave behind (28 kt gold with rubies, emeralds, and South Indian design . . .). For you Professor Judyie I have very good price today. Discount for Sunday, today, and discount for beauty . . .
We went to a restaurant recommended in the Lonely Planet travel book that was perfect. We had Poori Masala first—a super thin bread that is deep fried and puffs up like a puffer fish with two side dishes, one with potato and the other a deep red with all the spices that one hopes to find in a great Indian dish. Then we each got a Samosa-a wonderfully spiced potato dumpling wrapped in an Indian type of tortilla and deep fried that came with a sweeter red sauce and a tangy green hot sauce. We were in heaven. We couldn’t drink the water they gave us—we have been warned a thousand times over not to eat fresh veg (washed in water), drink water unless it is a bottled, international brand, or use the silverware. Luckily, the rule of thumb is to eat with your right hand anyway so that we did. Next time I’ll make sure I have hand sanitizer with me too, since my hands had been clutching every available bar on the rickshaw as we flew through Chennai. (Editorial note: When I type rickshaw my word program keeps offering to insert Rick Stonehouse. Hold her Newt—you’re headin’ for the fish market).
We have been studying poverty in India for the past week, and I’ve had the wise counsel of my good friends who do field work in India going through my mind. Today’s introduction was not as tough as I will see before I leave. Back on ship tonight I heard from students who went to the train station today and saw beggar children they will never forget, with broken limbs, and adults with missing hands or legs. I could hear the students trying to use the frameworks from our study to make sense out of the feelings generated by seeing people who live in extreme poverty, the people that Fanon referred to as “The Wretched of the Earth.” The layers the conspire to create this scenario are so deep, from the deeply embedded caste system to the systematic violence of the British Raj that took Indians away from their subsistence lifestyles and turned them into disposable people, to the ways that capital works for those with capital, leaving poverty to be the greatest generator of further poverty. These children are our children. These people our people. Until they are out of poverty, we are not out of our own wretchedness. Images of Mother Theresa come to mind, though I am winging past these people, my driver Suresh and his brother beeping the horn to get by. I’ll be sending a contribution to an orphanage run by the Missionaries of Charity, the religious order founded by Mother Theresa, in honor of Mary Keegan’s birthday when my friend Tony leads a field trip to the orphanage as I head off to the Dalit village. And tomorrow—our driver Suresh will be waiting for us at 9:00 a.m. to bring Judyie and I to the headquarters of the Theosophical Society, followed by a trip to an emporium where Kardee cloth clothes are sold—the cloth that is hand spun and hand woven that was the symbolic lynchpin of Mahatma Gandhi’s strategy for a new independent India. Again we will see families of two to four traveling on motorcycles, weaving between the cars. I’m really not sure why they paint lanes on the roads here. We’ll jostle at every light with a dozen other rickshaws, and then watch people drive the wrong direction down our lane because they see a parking spot on the other side of the street. The busses will spew out diesel smoke into our open-air transport. Maybe tomorrow I will be brave enough to wear a face mask because I sure wanted one today. Respiratory infections are not an uncommon result of a stay in these coal-burning cities. How amazing is this? Oh yeah, and I graded four papers tonight.
So, when my friend Judyie called to ask if I wanted to try getting into town I said “Sure!” and we headed off with another traveling buddy, Sean, who left behind her toddler to go fly through Chennai in a little auto rickshaw—a two stroke engine on a glorified golf cart frame. It was so marvelous to travel with these women, taking in the thrill of the journey, the crazy driving, the persistent presence of hard-living folks on the streets, the canny dogs (only a smart dog could survive these streets), the political and consumer billboards, the fish market (90 degrees Fahrenheit and you travel down a crazy, crowded, crammed little street with bicycles, people sitting along the street, walking along the streets, cars pressing against each other in two directions, dogs, and un -refrigerated fish spilling out of baskets onto tarps on the ground. To be with smart women who had significant travel experience under their belts and shared interests in seeing and doing things together was marvelous. Sean helped me bargain down some gifts I bought, Judyie found beautiful jewelry to sit down and try on and leave behind (28 kt gold with rubies, emeralds, and South Indian design . . .). For you Professor Judyie I have very good price today. Discount for Sunday, today, and discount for beauty . . .
We went to a restaurant recommended in the Lonely Planet travel book that was perfect. We had Poori Masala first—a super thin bread that is deep fried and puffs up like a puffer fish with two side dishes, one with potato and the other a deep red with all the spices that one hopes to find in a great Indian dish. Then we each got a Samosa-a wonderfully spiced potato dumpling wrapped in an Indian type of tortilla and deep fried that came with a sweeter red sauce and a tangy green hot sauce. We were in heaven. We couldn’t drink the water they gave us—we have been warned a thousand times over not to eat fresh veg (washed in water), drink water unless it is a bottled, international brand, or use the silverware. Luckily, the rule of thumb is to eat with your right hand anyway so that we did. Next time I’ll make sure I have hand sanitizer with me too, since my hands had been clutching every available bar on the rickshaw as we flew through Chennai. (Editorial note: When I type rickshaw my word program keeps offering to insert Rick Stonehouse. Hold her Newt—you’re headin’ for the fish market).
We have been studying poverty in India for the past week, and I’ve had the wise counsel of my good friends who do field work in India going through my mind. Today’s introduction was not as tough as I will see before I leave. Back on ship tonight I heard from students who went to the train station today and saw beggar children they will never forget, with broken limbs, and adults with missing hands or legs. I could hear the students trying to use the frameworks from our study to make sense out of the feelings generated by seeing people who live in extreme poverty, the people that Fanon referred to as “The Wretched of the Earth.” The layers the conspire to create this scenario are so deep, from the deeply embedded caste system to the systematic violence of the British Raj that took Indians away from their subsistence lifestyles and turned them into disposable people, to the ways that capital works for those with capital, leaving poverty to be the greatest generator of further poverty. These children are our children. These people our people. Until they are out of poverty, we are not out of our own wretchedness. Images of Mother Theresa come to mind, though I am winging past these people, my driver Suresh and his brother beeping the horn to get by. I’ll be sending a contribution to an orphanage run by the Missionaries of Charity, the religious order founded by Mother Theresa, in honor of Mary Keegan’s birthday when my friend Tony leads a field trip to the orphanage as I head off to the Dalit village. And tomorrow—our driver Suresh will be waiting for us at 9:00 a.m. to bring Judyie and I to the headquarters of the Theosophical Society, followed by a trip to an emporium where Kardee cloth clothes are sold—the cloth that is hand spun and hand woven that was the symbolic lynchpin of Mahatma Gandhi’s strategy for a new independent India. Again we will see families of two to four traveling on motorcycles, weaving between the cars. I’m really not sure why they paint lanes on the roads here. We’ll jostle at every light with a dozen other rickshaws, and then watch people drive the wrong direction down our lane because they see a parking spot on the other side of the street. The busses will spew out diesel smoke into our open-air transport. Maybe tomorrow I will be brave enough to wear a face mask because I sure wanted one today. Respiratory infections are not an uncommon result of a stay in these coal-burning cities. How amazing is this? Oh yeah, and I graded four papers tonight.
Arrival in Chennai
Chennai, India
Arrival in port is always an amazing production, and here at Chennai we had some great things to watch today. These pictures begin with our positioning up to our quay, getting close enough to see the military personnel and hear the band with its two, haunting, big and jiggly oboe-esque horns and two drums that were hit on the bottom with a stick and hit on the top with the hand, on which they had thimble-type coverings on their fingers. You can see the family that dropped mom off to work on their motorbike. There were sweepers picking up the thick diesel dust that comes off the giant crane, and then the crane made its way right past us on deck five so that we were exchanging greetings with the drivers of the crane, and watching as the crane nearly swiped the descending gangplank. The musicians ended up underneath the crane for several minutes as it crept along, and I hoped very much that their feet were o.k. You can see staff Captain Kostas out on his platform directing the maneuvers, and the men on the dock who secured the ropes, everybody shouting lots and lots of advice. And finally you see the gangplank being pulled into position, after which the immigration officers came up and the entire shipload of us had to have a face to face check of our passports and receive our landing and customs cards. On our way from the ship out to the road and pressing bastions of rickshaw drivers, we were instructed to write our signatures in the customs book, only to be told to go on by a man having his lunch. We crossed over the tracks of the electric train between high walls that created the corridor for the train, a corridor baking with the smells of the trains and with the sights of detritus from the wake of the train.
Rainbow Culture Religions of Mauritius
I led a field trip to Mauritius, but I'm just saving the space for now until I can add images and text.
Cape Town to Mauritius--From seasick to paradise
Pitching and rolling. The people who live in the lower decks near the front of the boat experienced the steady steep rising and then steep fall followed with a huge bang as the prow crashed into the rough seas. Even from my 5th deck room I spent the night awakened by the bang of the hull and the regularly shifting of drawers that tapped forward and backward restlessly. I stuffed envelopes and t-shirts into the drawers as best I could, but was also feeling so sick much of the time that I dozed through the worst two nights, arriving at classes where students looked green. Many of them had to excuse themselves during class only to return twenty minutes later feeling slightly better. I found that I felt better lecturing than I did sitting, but that the trip from the aft of the ship to the front of the ship was enough to send me to the loo. Time moved nightmarishly along and I began to doubt that I could ever consider doing this trip again. How sick or well would the boys be if they were here? Why would I ever want to bring them into this possible experience?
We were dodging a cyclone that hit Mauritius and then moved over to Madagascar. In dodging it, we had to add an extra half day of sea time, so our 8 a.m. arrival turned into a 1600 hr estimated dock, but ultimately became a 1200 dock. I nearly cried when they announced the 1600 hr dock time. I longed for land. We had taught for five days straight since leaving Cape Town. A friend of mine had her ethnomusicologist friend arrive in Cape Town to travel with us, and then he spent the first three days sick, sick, sick. By the final three days he was doing much better and starting to jam with the shipboard musicians (we have many), and the three of us plus one other couple hit the gangplank running when we arrived in Port Louis. We hired a taxi and headed North along the coast past Grand Bay to a small beach where we dug into the white sand, swam in the beautiful green water, ate freshly cut pineapples. O.K. Maybe I can do this journey again with the boys in coming years. Maybe once more. If we’re lucky.
Here are pictures from my friend Julie who went scuba diving for a day in Mauritius, one of the great coral reef sites of the globe.
We were dodging a cyclone that hit Mauritius and then moved over to Madagascar. In dodging it, we had to add an extra half day of sea time, so our 8 a.m. arrival turned into a 1600 hr estimated dock, but ultimately became a 1200 dock. I nearly cried when they announced the 1600 hr dock time. I longed for land. We had taught for five days straight since leaving Cape Town. A friend of mine had her ethnomusicologist friend arrive in Cape Town to travel with us, and then he spent the first three days sick, sick, sick. By the final three days he was doing much better and starting to jam with the shipboard musicians (we have many), and the three of us plus one other couple hit the gangplank running when we arrived in Port Louis. We hired a taxi and headed North along the coast past Grand Bay to a small beach where we dug into the white sand, swam in the beautiful green water, ate freshly cut pineapples. O.K. Maybe I can do this journey again with the boys in coming years. Maybe once more. If we’re lucky.
Here are pictures from my friend Julie who went scuba diving for a day in Mauritius, one of the great coral reef sites of the globe.
Kaaga Kamma Game Reserve and Rock Art
Here are some of the pictures taken by a student in my world religions class who was at the Kagga Kama Game reserve. These images were made by the San people who used to travel huge areas of this region of Africa nomadically, but suffered the fate of many indigenous people under conquest when they were prevented from continuing to live off the land as nomads. I hope someday to relate the rock art of the San to the rock art of Wyoming's Native Americans.
AIDS research and school/orphanage
These two pictures were taken by one of my students when she went on Operation Hunger--a program that brings nutrition science as well as food into the townships.
One trip that I was unable to take was to an HIV/AIDS research center and its associated orphanage. We try to prioritize the kids being able to take these trips, and so when the trip was oversubscribed, Dr. Malotte had to drop some people, including his colleagues. Nevertheless I sent along some of the contributions that people had given me for this type of experience, and Dr. Malotte gave the gifts to the research center and school/orphange including notebooks, pencils, t-shirts from Cody, a $100.00 contribution from my favorite anonymous donor, and a DVD of the Plains Indian Museum Pow Wow for the school library. Dr. Malotte is an international expert on AIDS and he taught me through his presentation to the ship community before we arrived in Cape Town that he and I are both living with HIV/AIDS. All of us are living with HIV/AIDS. Like polio and smallpox and SARS, we are part of the human family and we all have work to do as we live with this disease in our world. A terrible tragedy as the New South Africa was getting its feet under itself because Nelson Mandela did not prioritize the fight against AIDS, and it was in those early years of determined work to peacefully transition the country that the AIDS epidemic soared grossly out of proportion in South Africa. Mandela’s successor, Thabo Mbeki, an economist and long-time extremely effective activist against apartheid, Quixotically sought the counsel of a crazy American academic who advised Mbeki that poverty was the cause of AIDS and therefore he should not pursue any policies of providing anti-retroviral drugs to South Africans. Until activists in South Africa successfully won a legal suit against the government’s ban on these drugs, years of inaction and disinformation guided the South African people’s perception of the disease. So I’m living with HIV/AIDS to such an incredible degree in South Africa because us humans are sometimes so deeply tragic in our ways. What we can say is those bright green and blue notebooks, shiny pencils and contributions arrived as the country swings into a significant mobilization of education and treatment, coupled with a more significant effort to provide support from the international community, including the U.S. The brilliant and determined people of South Africa who dismantled apartheid and who tirelessly worked to bring their country around to an effective response to HIV/AIDS deserve our admiration and recognition. Like the children in the school/orphanage, we are living with HIV/AIDS and we need to reach across to them to live with HIV/AIDS together as a community of humans.
Cape Town Safari
During the Cape Town stay, many of the voyagers realized a lifelong dream—to go on safari. For most that meant a flight to the northern parts of South Africa for four day tours to places like the Kagga Kamma Private Game Reserve, or to Kruger National Park or Methethomusha Game Reserve. These safaris offered people the opportunity to take game watching trips in the early hours of dawn, at dusk, and some night drives. I’ve borrowed some pictures from the ships public folder where many of the students share their photos with the shipboard community when they return. I received some very interesting field trip reports based on peoples’ experiences, particularly talking with their guides. I heard about one guide who fled the genocide in Rwanda after losing his entire family, and managed to walk his way through the Kruger National Park without becoming lion food. Other guides had left the big cities of South Africa to find a place in the economy where they could return in some way to a land-based lifestyle. Many of these conversations took place around campfire cookout dinners at the lodges. The voyagers were thrilled with their experiences as you can imagine when looking at these pictures.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Logistical Pre-port
Every night before we dock we have a logistical preport where the Executive Dean tells us wise things, the "voice" -- the man who makes announcements twice a day to tell us our longitude and latitude as well as everything else that we need to know--tells us about clearing customs, and the rules for the port. Then the Dr. gets up to tell us about things we need to know--in this case everything from the pork tape worm to Malaria to Chukungunya virus. This time I played the straight guy, with new research to present to the shipboard community on the Kama Sutra (Google it) regarding the application of DEET on your close friends, how to squat without splattering, and why taking Pepto leads to enlightenment. It gives me great pleasure to be part of this crazy effort to get serious info across to 700 students who'd really like to get away from the professors sometimes, and I think tonight we did a good job. We said good-bye to two interport students who literally thrilled us with their classical and contemporary Indian dance, as well as our interport lecturers, a husband and wife team of environmental policy (Dad) and astro-physicist (Mom), and their two sons who accompanied us from Mauritius and taught us so much on the way.
Satellite troubles--I'm headed to Chennai
Dear family and friends,
I've got safari photos to send, photos from Mauritius, but after trying for several nights to get the images uploaded, I'm here to tell you that the satellite is not working well for any ships out here in the Indian ocean and I can't do a thing. The experiences have been amazing, and I'll try to start sending posts to catch you up. Here's a shout out to you as I head to India with Pepto Bismol, Malaria medicine, and a strong heart, ready to see my fellow humans living in some tough straits.
With love,
Mom, Mary
I've got safari photos to send, photos from Mauritius, but after trying for several nights to get the images uploaded, I'm here to tell you that the satellite is not working well for any ships out here in the Indian ocean and I can't do a thing. The experiences have been amazing, and I'll try to start sending posts to catch you up. Here's a shout out to you as I head to India with Pepto Bismol, Malaria medicine, and a strong heart, ready to see my fellow humans living in some tough straits.
With love,
Mom, Mary
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Here's looking at you!
Hey,Sailorkid, how be ye. Your last was truely quite wonderful! Of course they all have been, but the last had held the most interest for me. The pictures are special! Your thinking is large and encouraging. Have you found out what engines drive your ship? with what fuel? How does she behave in a a seaway. Most comfortable with a following sea? quartering? into the wind? Etc.? Sailor Dad
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
How did Cape Town bury its dead?
On Saturday, I met the Rev. Michael Weeder, an Anglican minister, and we toured an area of Cape Town where he was born, but from which his family was moved when he was very young, the area called District Six. When he began writing his Master's Thesis for a Masters from the University of Cape Town, he returned to the place where his family had once lived and began researching its even deeper history to discover that the area had once been the graveyard district with graveyards for the early Dutch settlers. As he noted, once a people begins to bury its members on the land, they begin to feel they are part of the land. I think settlers in Wyoming also shared the sense that the Dutch had that they had become the people of the land even though they were forcefully moving the original inhabitants off the land. I think that S. AFrica and Wyoming have some common sensibilities and perhaps some common challenges based on the settler experiences of our pasts, and the need that some of us feel to try to remember the indigenous people of both places more honorably in our present imagination of who we are.
Rev. Weeder found the area where the Dutch, the Anglicans, and the Catholics once buried their dead, near the colonial centers and the cathedrals of the growing city. He found that the old Anglican graveyard was lined with trees and was a place where people would go to stroll. He also found the records for the graveyards for the "slaves and heathens"--his ancestors. His ancestors included slaves that were brought over from Asia, particularly India, and hence Rev. Weeder had experienced his life as a "colored" member of the apart-ness policies of South Africa. He discovered that the old row houses where he had been raised were literally built over the slave graveyards, and he recalled that most people in the row houses had ghost stories about spirits that haunted their flats. While the graveyards had once been valued very highly by the people of Cape Town, (the slave graveyards were of course less valued and were farthest from the center of town) but with the increased value on property that accompanied the industrial revolution, the graveyards were then covered over by the foundries that built ships and the housing for the coloureds. And now today, now that newer bigger buildings are being built and deeper foundations are being dug, the New Cape Town is again revisiting the question of what value they place on the bodies being found.
Rev. Weeder and a group of other activists tried to preserve a section of the slave graveyard when a new high rise unearthed bodies, but in the end the rights of property held greater sway in the eyes of the law, so the bodies were all exhumed. He is still raising money to build the memorial to the slave burial ground that all parties involved in the dispute are on board to support. In the language of my friend David Chidester who teaches at U Cape Town, there is a new urban sacred in Cape Town and it is property.
Rev. Weeder found the area where the Dutch, the Anglicans, and the Catholics once buried their dead, near the colonial centers and the cathedrals of the growing city. He found that the old Anglican graveyard was lined with trees and was a place where people would go to stroll. He also found the records for the graveyards for the "slaves and heathens"--his ancestors. His ancestors included slaves that were brought over from Asia, particularly India, and hence Rev. Weeder had experienced his life as a "colored" member of the apart-ness policies of South Africa. He discovered that the old row houses where he had been raised were literally built over the slave graveyards, and he recalled that most people in the row houses had ghost stories about spirits that haunted their flats. While the graveyards had once been valued very highly by the people of Cape Town, (the slave graveyards were of course less valued and were farthest from the center of town) but with the increased value on property that accompanied the industrial revolution, the graveyards were then covered over by the foundries that built ships and the housing for the coloureds. And now today, now that newer bigger buildings are being built and deeper foundations are being dug, the New Cape Town is again revisiting the question of what value they place on the bodies being found.
Rev. Weeder and a group of other activists tried to preserve a section of the slave graveyard when a new high rise unearthed bodies, but in the end the rights of property held greater sway in the eyes of the law, so the bodies were all exhumed. He is still raising money to build the memorial to the slave burial ground that all parties involved in the dispute are on board to support. In the language of my friend David Chidester who teaches at U Cape Town, there is a new urban sacred in Cape Town and it is property.
In both of these pictures you can see some of the SAS students in the foreground while the school kids are in their red, white and blue uniforms in the background. We met them in their school auditorium and the kids directed us through some of their favorite theater training games. One young girl laughed at one point and told me to loosen up! Later on she apologized, but we just laughed and hugged. I invited everyone to Cody so maybe some day some of these kids will teach us about their New South Africa.
Catching up on Cape Town
I’ve learned some wonderful things about the Miracle that happened when Nelson Mandela was freed from prison and a new South Africa was born. One of my friends on the ship, Judyie Al-Bilali, is a theater performer, playwright, and producer and it was through her eyes that I developed much of my appreciation for Cape Town. She is the woman in white wearing jeans and looking toward us in the center of the picture. For those of you familiar with Toni Morrison’s novel “Beloved,” Judyie has a close connection to the play titled “It’s Morning” written by Shirley Du Bois that was an inspiration for the plot of Beloved. The play by Du Bois is a tragedy as fierce as Beloved, perhaps fiercer, and producing the play was Judyie’s first task as a graduate student and one of the Du Bois children attended the performance. It would be a possible read for Play Readers. It has been amazing to talk with Judyie about the work of W. E. B. Du Bois and his wife Shirley as I have been busy with the finishing touches on the edited collection on Du Bois work that should be being published this week by Mercer University Press. These threads of connection have made working with others on the ship all the more interesting.
Professor Judyie was in Cape Town doing theater work a few years after the elections of 1994, the first set of elections in which people like Archbishop Desmond Tutu were allowed to vote. She was interested that when she talked to “black” and “coloured” South Africans—those were the legal titles given to groups of people by the apartheid government—they rarely used the word apartheid as they discussed their recent history. While many academics and newspapers and such use the phrase “Post-Apartheid South Africa” to discuss life after the apartheid system was dismantled, the theatre participants she worked with and the people she spoke to “did not even want to say the word anymore—did not want to have the word in their mouth” (I’m paraphrasing closely here). She discovered that instead they would hesitate, there was a pregnant pause, and they would then say something like “after Nelson Mandela was free” or “after the elections.” She applied for a Fulbright grant to study the pregnant pause and what it meant for the vision of a New South Africa in the eyes of the majority population of Cape Town (i.e. the black and coloured populations). From her experiences during the Fullbright have grown several schools of theater that share the name “Brown Paper Studio.” These studios are found at an elementary school in the Glendale Township, the AZAAD youth services program (AZAAD is an Arabic word that means freedom), and the University of the Western Cape (what used to be the coloured University). The skills developed at Brown Paper Studios are the skills to see each other as fully human no matter what one’s previous designation had been, to receive and create expressive action between people who always work in the circle of a human community, and to forge a creative consciousness for the New South Africa that concludes its work sessions with writing on the brown paper taped up around the studio walls. Hence, students of all ages start their sessions with sound and games that require eye contact, quick invention, re-eneactments of other people’s gestures followed by the quick invention of one’s own gesture to be passed on quickly to the next person who must mimic you and then invent a new gesture which they pass on to the next person. They move into more developed tableaus.
Judyie draws from many schools of theater training to develop games and challenges for each session. She is a master of theater traditions from Greek to contemporary, and to be with her in a classroom or workshop is to be in the presence of an incredible, creative force. But as she also intimates at great moments in the studio, when she laugingly places her hand on my shoulder after a particularly wonderful moment and says "How hard is this?" She has pared down the basic elements of human engagement and knows how to develop those very skills. She also sees culture very clearly and argues that hip-hop culture has created for the first time ever a universal language that holds open the opportunity for a global youth culture that can speak to each other through innovations on a music they can all recognize. As with hip-hop, the spoken and written word are also important to Judyie’s work, so each session concludes with writing. My experience in working with her on this ship and in Cape Town was that indeed her art is opening the door for the creation of a new consciousness for the New South Africa, and the skills she develops are skills that could build confidence and humanity between people anywhere. Brown Paper Studio in Cody?
Sunday, March 4, 2007
Monday in Cape Town
Today we lose our interport lecturer, an oceanographer who travelled with us from Brazil to Cape Town, and he brought us much information and fun. He works for NOAA, the science association for oceanographic studies in the federal government. NOAA and Semester at Sea have an agreement where we carry their scientists to deploy study probes that go up and down in the ocean taking measurements of water temperature and other good stuff. The children of faculty on the ship got to write their names on one of the probes and then deploy it over the edge of the boat with Gustavo! I wish every kid could have that opportunity. Our next interport lecturer will help us get historically informed about the East Indian ocean as we head to Mauritius. We will also have an interport student from Mauritius that will help us to get to know her home.
I hope to get to the top of Table Mountain today with some friends. It is the big mountain from the photos that looks like a table! This evening I have been invited to be interviewed for a radio program that does music and talk--a bit like "Desert Island Discs" where the host will play some relevant music and then explore issues around religion in the world today. My friend Julie, the ethnomusicologist who specializes in African music will come with me. She introduced 30 of us to some of the most amazing Cape Town jazz last night. I'll get some names for those of you music buffs who might want to have a listen to Cape Town's current scene. While we were at the show we spoke to the club owner, and he also has a radio program. He is very interested in the role religion is playing on the globe right now, so we'll try to chew on that tonight.
Here's to the Table!
I hope to get to the top of Table Mountain today with some friends. It is the big mountain from the photos that looks like a table! This evening I have been invited to be interviewed for a radio program that does music and talk--a bit like "Desert Island Discs" where the host will play some relevant music and then explore issues around religion in the world today. My friend Julie, the ethnomusicologist who specializes in African music will come with me. She introduced 30 of us to some of the most amazing Cape Town jazz last night. I'll get some names for those of you music buffs who might want to have a listen to Cape Town's current scene. While we were at the show we spoke to the club owner, and he also has a radio program. He is very interested in the role religion is playing on the globe right now, so we'll try to chew on that tonight.
Here's to the Table!
Saturday, March 3, 2007
Edgar--Head Bartender
Edgar Garcia is behind Alma in the picture below. He's the good looking guy. Alma says that he is her mentor and a very best friend. He is also a really good boss. He has been floating for twenty years and because he loves adventure this has been a great line of work. He loves world travel, but he especially loves Mexico. This is his 17th voyage with Semester at Sea because he enjoys working for this experiment in education. He finds the SAS people to be friendly and kind bosses too. He is also from the Phillipines and has five sisters, two brothers, his own family includes his wife and four children. I have invited him and Alma and Riza to come to visit us in Cody and I told them we could show them what Yellowstone is like.
Hello everyone!! im Alma from the Philippines!!! im a bartender on board explorer - the "floating university"..
life onbOARD has its advantages and disadvantages.... i got to see a lot of beautiful places and experience their different cultures.. in exchange for all this, i have to be away from my family... its a once in a lifetime experience.. as you all can
see im travelling for free.. hehe.. who can beat that... travelling is one of my passion thats why i just follow my dreams, exploring new perspective in life and having fun.... spend....spend....and party.. just want to reach out to all of you that working on a ship is a serious business because you have to take care of yourself because no one else will takecare for you..
so for all those who would like to be on a cruiseline industry you better grab this oppurtunity because it will make you a better person and it will prepare you to be strong and make intelligent decisions in the future.. so goodluck and hope to cruise with you soon...
Here is the beautiful city as night falls. I had a wonderful hike today around an old section of the city where an Anglican priest has recently researched the burial grounds of the city, studying how Capetonians have buried and remembered their dead in this city. His name is Rev. Michael Weeder and he was the Director of Project Vote--the national effort to register and educate the newly enfranchised people of the country during the 1994 election--I believe the first election where the Archbishop was allowed to vote!
We've studied the history of this city, especially its policy of "apart-ness" called Apartheid. We've studied some of the wonderful and rich traditions of the African people as well as they can be remembered from art and story, and we've studied the way that AIDS has hit this country. It is a cruel story because just as the country was transitioning from Apartheid to a full and free democracy for all, its leaders did not listen to its health care professionals and they did not develop an effective, nationwide response. As the country tried to get its feet under it, the virus passed like wildfire, and now infects 1 in 9 South Africans. In a tour through the townships, many of the shacks carry the graffiti of the AIDS ribbon.
Amidst the miracle that was the largely peaceful transition of power to a democratically elected government and the people who are still reeling with AIDS, and indeed a new chapter will be written by Rev. Weeder that will have to discuss how this country can bury so many who have died from AIDS, we have entered an amazing reality. Here's to the future and the World Cup in 2010--people are very proud and excited for that.
Coming in to Cape Town
As we neared port, we went through a floatilla of fishermen's boats, filled to the gills with fishermen!
Once we got to port, we found the beautiful new Waterfront disctrict, which both shows the pride of this young country but also invites us in to a very familiar kind of mall space. Better get past the first malls if you want to find Africa.
Looking to the back you can see the harbor at work and looking to the front you can see, well, um, you can see the Archbishop Desmond Tutu! He was so happy and proud of his city as we entered and he was delighted to be reunited with his wife who will accompany him for the rest of the journey.
Africa--here we come! DNA--view your homeland!
With oodles of early morning students, I think most of the students were wrapped up and out on the deck for our early morning approach with the sunrise, coming up to the tip of this beautiful continent. Hello Africa! Wake up DNA--do you remember?
Candomble in Brazil
The beautiful girl in the photograph below was at a Candomble temple where we went to learn about these New World religious communities. With strong and vibrant links to the Yoruba traditions of Western Africa (Nigeria and environs), and with a huge influx of Yoruban slaves in the 1850s leading up to emancipation in 1888, the traditions survived the Middle Passage (the journey across the Atlantic in abominable conditions in the slave holds of ships), and were firmly instantiated in the New World though often undercover of Catholic folk saint veneration. This young woman is an initiate of the orixa (Yoruban goddess of fertilitity, family, and the whirlwind).
Some thoughts about Brazil
About Salvador, Brazil
We arrived in Salvador, Brazil today, around 5:30 a.m. Parallel parking a boat with 7 decks is quite a feat! There are crew members who extend a platform from the 5th deck, and then harness themselves in as they erect the gangplank panels. due to the tides here, the gangplank will move from the second deck to the 5th deck, adjusting for the height differences.
As we have approached Brazil, we have learned about its deep geography--where are the tectonic plates that have impacted the mountains, and what kinds of seismic activity there is. Brazil is pretty darn stable. We learned about tropical climates and how tough it is to develop sustainable agriculture in tropical climates. We learned about the Amazon forest, and how three groups of people are in conflict over the development of the rain forest: indigenous people who have lived within the ecology of the rain forest system on the one hand, poor or landless peasants who are slash and burn farmers, cutting and burning a section to farm, and then when the ground becomes infertile, cutting the next section. (Without the canopy of the forest, the land in tropic zones can't maintain its nutrients.) And finally, the extremely wealthy landowners of Brazil who want to develop swathes of the forest for cash crops like beef (where did your hamburger come from?). If you use googlearth and zero in on the edges of the amazon, you can see a network of roads (called fishbones!) that are nibbling away very steadily at the "integrity" of the forest.
We also learned that Salvador has the largest population of African descendants outside of Africa due to the wave of slaves that were brought to Brazil as the sugar economy boomed in the mid 1800s. After their emancipation from slavery, they built a strong, cohesive society that maintained steady communication and travel with their home communities in Africa.
I have been lecturing in my classes about the African religious roots that are still thriving in this city, and how those roots have mixed with Catholicism in very powerful ways. After I go to the Candomble temple today I'll tell you some more about that. The human demand for sugar is one of the central forces that drove the history of the entire Atlantic, an Atlantic that many scholars call The Black Atlantic. More soon.
Back to Salvador
Back to Salvador and then on to Cape Town.
Here is another shot of our talented circus instructors. Because they spoke Brazillian Portuguese, we had some trouble communicating, but as you'll see in the next pictures, we talked our way through some good fun.
Friday, March 2, 2007
Catching up Blues!
I have so much to tell you, and tonight was my big night to catch up, but I spent the entire evening trying to hire an indexer for the book I'm editing! The amazing thing--I think I found an indexer and I think the book is going to happen. But I have been up and down this evening trying to turn this manuscript around with the press drumming on the door. And my backdrop? A nearly full moon rising over Cape Town, S. Africa, one of the most beautiful ports in the world.
Highlights of the journey from S. America:
Captains dinner and getting to sit next to the Chief Engineer--sorry Dad, I can't answer all the questions you would have asked him, but we had a wonderful time learning about his work with international crews.
Archbishop Desmond Tutu came into my World Religions class, after we had read an article about one of the big marches he led during the anti-apartheid struggle, and then told us all about that march and what it meant for him.
Neptune Day: The Captain wearing only a hula skirt, a long, silvery wig, and green body paint, waiting for us to kiss his ring after we had been doused in sour milk, pushed into the pool, and kissed a big fish with teeth that looked like they were going to grab on my lips and hold. This is to celebrate crossing the equator.
The Premier of West Cape Town spoke on the ship to welcome us today. As a devout Muslim he spoke of his joint ministry with the Archbishop, and spoke so eloquently of what solidarity will need to mean in the coming century. He was an intellect and a religious leader as well as a politician.
Today I walked the streets of Cape Town with a woman who teaches theater, and who has her own theater company. She is a survivor of Hodgkins and so my dear friend Liz was nearby in my thoughts especially, and we raised a toast to her from the Botanical gardens.
It was only upon returning to the ship that I found out that the index needed to be produced in days and I turned back into a rat at my computer. Tomorrow I lead a field trip, and on Sunday I go to church at the church in the township where Archbishop Tutu first began his ministry. I will hike Lion's Head mountain that afternoon.
So much more to say--I love the sweater that my sister Kathryn gave me for Christmas and I wear it often and think of her. I love having one sweater. I wear the macaroni necklaces that Conall and Russell made with their Aunt Mary Pat at Sesame Place in Pennsylvania whenever I am especially missing them. I have money and school supplies from friends, some of which I will leave here at an AIDS orphanage sponsored by the Archbishop and the rest I will bring to India and the Dalit village where I will spend a night.
I have more pictures to upload, but it has grown so late tonight that I will leave that and hope for a lovely cup of tea and the room to write again tomorrow.
Highlights of the journey from S. America:
Captains dinner and getting to sit next to the Chief Engineer--sorry Dad, I can't answer all the questions you would have asked him, but we had a wonderful time learning about his work with international crews.
Archbishop Desmond Tutu came into my World Religions class, after we had read an article about one of the big marches he led during the anti-apartheid struggle, and then told us all about that march and what it meant for him.
Neptune Day: The Captain wearing only a hula skirt, a long, silvery wig, and green body paint, waiting for us to kiss his ring after we had been doused in sour milk, pushed into the pool, and kissed a big fish with teeth that looked like they were going to grab on my lips and hold. This is to celebrate crossing the equator.
The Premier of West Cape Town spoke on the ship to welcome us today. As a devout Muslim he spoke of his joint ministry with the Archbishop, and spoke so eloquently of what solidarity will need to mean in the coming century. He was an intellect and a religious leader as well as a politician.
Today I walked the streets of Cape Town with a woman who teaches theater, and who has her own theater company. She is a survivor of Hodgkins and so my dear friend Liz was nearby in my thoughts especially, and we raised a toast to her from the Botanical gardens.
It was only upon returning to the ship that I found out that the index needed to be produced in days and I turned back into a rat at my computer. Tomorrow I lead a field trip, and on Sunday I go to church at the church in the township where Archbishop Tutu first began his ministry. I will hike Lion's Head mountain that afternoon.
So much more to say--I love the sweater that my sister Kathryn gave me for Christmas and I wear it often and think of her. I love having one sweater. I wear the macaroni necklaces that Conall and Russell made with their Aunt Mary Pat at Sesame Place in Pennsylvania whenever I am especially missing them. I have money and school supplies from friends, some of which I will leave here at an AIDS orphanage sponsored by the Archbishop and the rest I will bring to India and the Dalit village where I will spend a night.
I have more pictures to upload, but it has grown so late tonight that I will leave that and hope for a lovely cup of tea and the room to write again tomorrow.
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