Good Morning, Vietnam

I woke up this morning in Ho Chi Minh City, and turned to the window of my hotel room to check out the view. Well, it's nothing spectacular, but I'm happy to have made it over here. A harrowing taxi ride gave me plenty of excitement last night, but it was also great to see the city by night, when the air is a little cooler. Saigon reminds me of parts of Chinese cities, and the traffic is equally confusing, even at 12:30 AM. I won't say any more because I've seen so little. After today, hopefully I'll have a different picture of the city.

Beautiful Clouds in Korea

The keyboard which I'm typing at now has the Korean hangul alphabet on it, which means, I suppose, that I've ended up in Seoul safe and sound. The airport here is particularly clean and well-maintained, and it has fantastic views of the green hills and blue mountains which seem to encircle the runways and terminals. The clouds are also very beautiful here, and the sun is still quite high in the sky at 5:00 PM local time.

I must confess that I love long plane flights. I enjoy the opportunity to sit in one spot (apart from getting up to go to the bathroom every hour) and just focus on reading. I'm in the middle of an admirably good book, "The Gods Drink Whiskey," which chronicles a year spent in Cambodia by a young Chicagoan professor of Buddhism. Although unsettling at times, his reflections on his experiences in Phnom Penh reveal the complexities of life there more than an objective text ever could. And as much his opinions and observations challenge my preconceptions, his tone is warm and endearing, and it puts the fears I have of living in Cambodia in a better perspective.

Because I received a vegan meal on the plane, one of the flight attendants knew my (sur)name and proceeded to call me "Mr. Walker" for the rest of the flight. This I found rather amusing but reminded me of the unexpected kindness we receive from people we only see once in our lives. A couple of months ago, a friend and I discussed such moments that occur in our everyday lives, where we interact with total strangers, like bus drivers, waiters, clerks, shopkeepers, or just people on the street, who greet us warmly and with kindness without expecting anything in return. And when we, too, reach out with kindness in such momentary and singular relationships, then we are suprised by the enduring good-heartedness of others. These encounters, however brief and seemingly inconsequential, are vital to a healthy society. Of course, in urban settings we cannot trust others so easily, a fact I am sure to encounter in Saigon and Phnom Penh. But when there is warmth and honesty between strangers, then human life becomes real again.

I'm soon to be boarding a plane to Ho Chi Minh City, where the weather will be much hotter. Even though I haven't arrived in Vietnam, it is truly exciting to be on the other side of world, and I am ever thankful to all of you that have made this adventure possible for me. Best wishes to all.

And He's Off

This is my last day at home for about thirteen months. Tomorrow, I board an airplane for Seoul, Korea, which stops there for a few hours before moving on to Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. I'll spend a couple of days there in Vietnam before boarding a flight to Phnom Penh, Cambodia, where I'll be, probably, until September 2006.

I'm going to Cambodia as an intern for Cambodian Living Arts--a division of World Education Fund-- which works to help preserve and reinvigorate traditional Cambodian performing arts. I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to be doing there at the moment, but I expect to study the Khmer language, study a Cambodian instrument and/or musical genre, and conduct some research on particular aspect of the connection between religion and music education in Cambodia.

Over the past few days I have been packing and preparing to leave. It's an interesting exercise to consider which items are essential for a trip and which are not. As it turns out, very littleis essential, and part of the joy of leaving home is findinga a new set of material expectations--that is, finding out how little we actually need.

It's been harder to say goodbye to those who I won't be seeing for a while. But I've noticed that when people realize that they won't see each other the next day, their thoughts are more sincere and more honest-- this is something I've really appreciated lately.

I hope that with this blog I will be to share my experiences with all of you. Please also email me if you have questions or would like to hear more.

Last Ride on BART

Even though I am still in my home country, everything suddenly seems fresh and new. Every moment here is a moment to appreciate, every breath is a breath to take care of , to cherish. My seat on BART is well-worn, with a subtle and thick fragrance. I don't know anybody aboard--I haven't met them--but I smile at their prescence, and pause to wonder what their worries are.

I don't try to listen with my ears; the heart knows better. The heart knows my mistakes and their mistakes, and it forgives. The heart does not say much, so I listen to its listening. When I pay attention to the heart, the thoughts of the mind don't matter so much. I laugh at myself for the silly things I worry about.

I enjoy feeling my two feet on the floor--to touch the Earth, even on a moving train, fills me with peace. And I ask myself, "Am listening? Am I listening? Am I listening?" And I ask myself again, "Who's listening?"

Who, indeed, is listening? Who is it that is sitting on this train? I have no idea who I am, how I got here or where I'm going or who this "I" is. And that's okay, for the most part. To not know such things confuses me, amazes me and fills me with wonder. To not know turns me inside-out, but it also opens me, frees me. And in a moment of stillness, where sound and listener and listening merge as one, it's okay. It's really quite okay not to know who I am or where I came from. It's really quite okay just to sit here on this BART train and let wonder open into wonder.

Living in God's House

I'm speaking at the Presbyterian Church in Chinatown this Sunday (August 7th). Below is a general outline of what I will be saying.

Good morning! This summer I lived at Cameron House as part of the summer staff, where I worked as the coordinator for the 3^rd and 4^th grade department of the Cameron Ventures Program. This year, our department was blessed with ten wonderful leaders and over thirty highly energetic kids.

I graduated from high school in San Francisco three months ago and this was my first summer at Cameron House. I found out about Cameron House from my experience here at PCC, to which I first started coming as part of a research project during my senior year.

When I was in high school, I never thought I would end up attending a Christian church, much less working at a place like Cameron House. As a Buddhist, I never had much interest in the Christian faith of my ancestors. I found spiritual fulfillment in the Buddhist tradition of meditation and mindfulness; I had little interest in Christianity.

However, my experience at PCC changed my view. This church introduced me to an open-minded, socially aware, and justice-seeking model of spirituality which really appealed to me. I don't mean to say that I am now less of a Buddhist than before, but I now feel comfortable living with the two religions side by side in my heart.

And so, today I'd like to speak about my experience this summer in terms of what it means to live in God's house. One meaning of what it is to live in God's house is simply living in a Christian community, a community where we make a conscious and explicit commitment to live honestly before God. To live honestly means that we take responsibility for all of our actions, words and attitudes, and to live before God means to live humbly, in respect and wonder. I'd lived in other spiritual communities before, but I'd never lived in a Christian community before coming to Cameron House. I am not without my qualms about Christianity—about evangelism, for instance—and I don't hesitate to say that I would probably feel uncomfortable in many other Christian congregations in this country. But there are aspects of the Christian life at Cameron House that I have come to appreciate very much.

At Cameron House's youth programs, we work to create an environment that balances and fosters physical, mental, social and spiritual development. These four aspects of growth are outlined in the Gospel of Luke, and the expectation is that we model our lives and our development on that of Christ. So much of our media-saturated, hyped-up, heart-broken and suffering world lacks this principle of balance, and our children are not encouraged to grow into their full potential, especially in the spiritual realm.

My time with the kids and high school leaders this summer gave me the chance to encourage their balanced development by working on devotions—spiritual lessons—for the kids and working with the leaders to develop creative and meaningful devotions of their own. I encountered a fair amount of resistance, from the kids, from the leaders, and even from myself, in making these devotions a part of every day. And it forced me to step away from my own perspective and get into the heads of the kids and youth, and see what was meaningful and relevant—spiritually relevant—to them.

Let me offer you an example. A couple of weeks ago, my department was struggling, and the problems were not with the kids, but between my leaders and me. In the end, everything worked out, and to the credit of my leaders, they were able to transform their negative actions into positive lessons for themselves, for me, and for the kids. They accomplished this by creating devotions that spoke to the choices they had made and the lessons they had learned, and I was impressed and moved by their sincerity and thoughtfulness. This sort of transformation is, in my eyes, the essence of the Christian life, that our unwholesome thoughts and deeds may be transformed into what is wholesome and good, through our will and that of God. And I am thankful that we worked out our mistakes in the context of a Christian community, because it was our shared life in God's house that made everything possible.

However, beyond the simple fact of living in a Christian community, there is a further meaning of what it means to live in God's house that I learned about over the summer. For me, God’s house is the wealth of peace, joy and contentment that is available—through the grace of God—in the present moment. To live in God’s house means to live in gratefulness—mindfully, lovingly, slowly but dearly—so that the wonder of life, the wonder of being alive, is fully available to us. The door to God’s house is always open—it is only through our self-centered wills and desires that we cannot find it.

I cannot live this way very well. I find it difficult to slow down and truly appreciate the people who are around me. It’s hard to for me to remember to live mindfully, to live humbly, in wonder. Usually I’m carried away by worries about the past or the future or simply desires and emotions in the present—I rarely can just take a breath and appreciate the whole breath, or listen without judgment to every word someone is saying. But this summer I have learned that when I do take the time to enter the present moment, offer thanks for what I am blessed with, and let God take me in to God’s house, then everything works out better.

This summer, I was called to find resources of patience with the kids that I didn’t know I had. I was called to find energy and enthusiasm to make each day fresh and new. I was called to reconcile conflicts that I struggled to identify with and understand. And much of the time, I didn’t succeed at these things. But remembering to live gratefully in God’s house was a source upon which I could rely to see and care for the kids and leaders more clearly and more carefully. Living in God’s house—in touch with the Holy Spirit—allows us to be in touch with God’s unconditional love and the seeds of unconditional love in ourselves. When we are aware of God’s unending love for us, we begin to see God in other people and appreciate them in their highest potential.

Let me offer you another example. Over the course of the summer, I ended up spending a good portion of my time at Cameron Ventures with one of the kids in my department who really struggled with his anger. I often encountered him fighting with the other kids or physically expressing his frustration on the leaders. Often, together with one of my leaders, I sat him down outside the group and had a conversation with him about his behavior. These conversations were difficult, but they revealed to me that he knew he was struggling with his emotions as much as we were. Moreover, I realized that if I was angry or showed any frustration myself, we wouldn’t be able to move forward. Each day had to be a clean slate, without making judgments about him from his past behavior. And I noticed that when I took the time to remember that God’s house is always here, that the present moment is always here, that each and every person is overflowing with God’s love, we were able to reconcile his behavior and come to a solution. It seemed that when we let ourselves return to God’s house and took refuge there, God took care of the situation in a way that no forcing or extra effort on my part could ever do.

A couple of hours before our Parent’s Night, an annual celebration of the kids and their talents at BYP and Ventures, the same kid stormed out of the room where we were rehearsing and proceeded to shout at me and the leaders. He refused to perform that night and was threatening to break things. It took a long time to reach him, to really communicate with him and have a conversation about why he was so angry. I began to ask him about his anger: where he felt it, what color he thought it was, what shape it had, and other physical qualities of his anger. He said it was a deep, deep red and in the shape of the Devil. He was an exceptionally gifted drummer, so I asked him what the beat of the Devil was. Confused, he said it was just random rhythms, not conforming to a particular beat. Eventually, he worked through his anger and performed with great gusto and enthusiasm that night.

However, for me the real miracle came the next day, when he came running up to me with a big smile on his face, saying, “Trent! Trent! Remember when yesterday you asked me what beat the Devil had? Well, I just figured it out. It goes like this: umph chick chick ahhh boom boom, umph chick chick ahhh boom boom…” I was deeply touched by this kid in that moment. The day before, I was barely able to understand his emotions, much less work with him and his anger constructively, but the next day he inspired me with his radiant wonder and excitement. I was overjoyed, and I felt thankful for not passing judgment on him the day before, but instead letting myself enter God’s house and letting the Holy Spirit transform the situation. Working with kids at Cameron House has constantly reminded me that every person has something to offer that is unique, inspiring, and infinitely precious.

I feel exceptionally fortunate to have spent the summer at Cameron House, and to have become familiar with a Christian community, one that is welcoming, vibrant, and socially engaged. And I am thankful to have worked and grown together with a wonderful group of kids and leaders. Most of all, however, I am grateful that God’s house opens its doors every moment of every day, that peace and transformation are indeed possible, and that the Holy Spirit can be present in our lives. May the peace of Christ be with us and may God’s house always be our refuge and our strength. Amen.

the scent of summer in the homeland

I breathe in and joy washes through me. The scent of summer--a mix of dust, dry grass, ocean winds, pines and wildflowers--reminds me I am home. I revel in the majesty of the landscape, the sweep of the green hills and the blue mountains in the distance, the dry heat, the ants that are crawling across the page and up and down my spine; they, too, are my friends, my compatriots.

I sit outside on the side of the road because this is my homeland, and in less than twenty days I leave for Cambodia. As Dogen Zenji says, "Time moves from present to past"--I already miss this place, this moment. The weeds and rocks here are dear to me. They call me back to my childhood and the wonder of being alive. A handful of dry grass is infinitely precious, irreplacable.

What will it be like to depart from familiarity for a year? I stare at the sun and sneeze.

Crickets sing on one side of me while a river of cars flows past on the other. I sit at the edge of certainty. Here, I know what a summer day is, when the sun rises and when the sun sets. But I don't know a monsoon, much less monsoon season.

I place my hand on the Earth and feel her warmth. Geologic time stretches fault lines and gopher holes into a landscape that rests peacefully in the present moment.

Worries now seem so distant, so useless. I touch the unexpectedly tender leaves of a sticky green weed. The stickiness lingers on my fingers as a momento of my country. I love my country but most of all I love my county, San Mateo, overfull with the history of the Miwok, the Franciscan monks, and white-tailed deer. And native plants, too numerous--too wonderful--to mention.

At home I'm packing my bags, my mind full of Cambodian history and Khmer phrases and anger and frustration about my work and great joy about my work. But here in the fresh air and with scores of ants crawling all over me the joy and frustration and Kampuchean battlefields are one. A sheriff just pulled over to check on me. Sometime I take a breath, feel the Earth beneath me, and realize that I'm having a wonderful day.

Les Haiku de Ryokan

some english translations from the french versions by joan titus-carmel (Paris: Editions Verdier, 1986)


aomitaru
naka ni kobushi no
hanazakari

in the green brush
a single magnolia flower
in full bloom

aki hiyori
senba suzume no
haoto kana

clear autumn sky
ten thousand sparrows fly
the sound of their wings

ake mado no
mukashi o shinobu
sugare yume

the open window
the whole past returns to me
better than a dream

ame no furu
hi wa aware nari
Ryokan bo

days of rain
flooded with sadness
the monk Ryokan

ara ike ya
kawazu tobikomu
oto mo nashi

the new pond
a frog jumps in
no sound at all

iza saraba
ware mo kaeran
aki no kure

let's go, it's over!
I, too, am running away--
autumn dusk

uguisu ni
yumesama sareshi
asage kana

Ah! the rooster
his song thrusts me from a dream
morning rice

oi oo ga
mi wa sama ni uzu
yuki no dake

a very old man
his body seized by the cold
bamboo under snow

ochitsukeba
koko mo Rozan no
shigure kana

a great peace
here, just as in Rozan
autumn mist

onajiku ba
hana no moto ni te
hito yonen

right at this spot
beneath the blossoming cherry
sleep the night through

kakitsubata
ware kono tei ni
yoi ni keri

an iris
not far from my hut
intoxicates me

kakimogi no
kintana samushi
aki no kaze

picking persimmons--
my golden spheres seized
by the autumn wind

knon miya ya
kobushi no hana ni
chiru sakura

in this sanctuary
fallen on the magnolia--
cherry blossoms

koraya kora
kora ga te o toru
tsutsuji kana

children, let's go!
but these azalias offer themselves
to their hands

shiba taite
shigure kiku yo to
nari ni keri

burning some dead wood
with evening comes the sound
of autumn rain

Suma tera no
mukashi o toeba
yamazakura

Suma temple
that we may know it's story--
wild cherry trees

tsuto nisen
Yoshino no sato no
hanahatami

so that I recall
the country of Yoshino
a basket of flowers

tetsubachi ni
asu no kome ari
yuusuzumi

tommorow's rice
in this iron bowl
evening freshness

hibi hibi ni
shigure no fureba
hito oinu

day after day
the falling of gentle rain
oh! how we grow old

Summer Reflection

Life is endlessly suprising. I've spent the past six weeks living and working at a Christian social services organization, an environment I never thought I would find myself in. Few experiences in my life have required me to give up my conceptions of myself and of the world as this has. And right in this letting go, this giving up of old conceptions and habits, lies great joy and freedom.

When I first started coming to Sunday Worship at the Presbyterian Church in Chinatown (PCC) as a part of a research project, I never expected that I would end up living at (Donaldina) Cameron House, a Christian social services and youth ministries organization which was founded as a mission branch of the Presbyterian Church, a few months later. I had grown comfortable with the Christian environment at PCC and when the opportunity for a job at Cameron House came up, I was genuinely excited about living in a spiritually grounded place. Several months after the initial decision, I am still grappling with the consequences.

I felt welcomed and accepted from the beginning, so I can't say I really have felt uncomfortable, but the sheer unfamiliarity of the situation bears a certain psychological weight. This weight is not really a burden, but it tranforms my mind, my emotions, my sense of self.

The first week was the biggest shock. In my current position, I am responsible for the care, leadership, and training of ten high school volunteers, who in turn lead a group of about 30 3rd and 4th graders in day camp activities, including games, songs, crafts, devotions and field trips. In the first week, my task was to train the high schoolers to be effective day camp leaders. My main teaching experience was co-teaching a sophmore health class once a week, so I was poorly prepared to teach seven hours each day. My lesson plans were pretty shabby, and I struggled to earn the respect and trust of the leaders. But I can think of no better way to learn to be a better teacher. By the end of the week, I finally felt like I knew what I was talking about, and in my mind I pretended I was ready for the first day of camp.

The kids were actually a whole different story. They are an energetic, easily distracted, and highly likeable bunch. For the past five weeks, my interaction with them has been limited, but highly rewarding. During the day, my main responsibilites are to attend to first aid situations, encourage the leaders to stay on task, and work out discipline issues with the kids. This last bit has been especially challenging, and has forced me to call upon all my resources, which, as it turns out, mostly consist of other people. I have learned greatly from consulting with my peers and other co-workers, but I found the most important resource in dealing with a kid who struggles to cooperate or follow the rules is the kid himself. Most of the time, the kid knows the solution more than I do, and the best course of action is to let her find it for herself. I find this requires more patience, trust, and open-mindedness than I possess, and thus I am forced to grow.

The living situations teaches me a great deal as well. I notice that whatever bad, unhealthy, or otherwise unwholesome habits I have at home have tended to disappear when I live in close promixity or cooperatively with others. I can't say I do the dishes, make lunch, clean up after myself, or take out the recycling very often at home, but when I'm at Cameron House I do these things without even thinking. I really love this part about living with others, and it fills me with more energy and vigor than I have at home. Furthermore, I'm living in the city, where everything seems close at hand, and in Chinatown, a district of which I knew very little of before this year. It is an amazing feeling to wake up and walk out the door and myself in a local temple or in a local church, places that once seemed so far away.

There are other aspects of my life here that equally rewarding, but a great deal more confusing, because they relate to two parts of my identity, my race and my religious practice. As an organization that almost entirely serves Chinese Americans, Cameron House represents a very different environment from the one I have grown up in. At Cameron House, I am not particularly aware of my own whiteness, but I certainly notice when another white person is present. I really have no idea how others change their behavior around me because of my race, but living here forces me to reexamine my own perceptions about race. The answer that comes up for me, time and again, is that I judge people based on their ethnicity very often. I can't claim to understand what it is like to be in the racial minority in American society, but I feel I have a better sense of how ingrained racism is in our society and in our collective consciousness.

The spiritual side of my experience at Cameron House continues to shake and stretch me in new ways. Living in a Christian community where Christian values are appreciated, and to some extent, practiced by young people is inspiring to me as a Buddhist. From my experience at PCC, I have grown comfortable observing and participating in Christian spirituality. What is confusing and unsettling (though ultimately rewarding) for me is that at Cameron House, I am expected to teach not only Christian values, but also faith.

During the first week, I led prayer frequently with my high school leaders. Some were clearly not interested in prayer, but followed along anyway. I also pushed my leaders to do more devotions (activities and lessons drawn from the Bible or Christian spirituality) with the kids, and I worked with them frequently to develop and deepen these devotions. With my red, sunburned skin, plaid shirts, and Texas Rangers hat, I sensed that they thought of me as a "Bible thumper," which, I concede, is a pejorative label. Whether or not this was true, I still did not feel entirely honest propagating Christian teaching to them while hiding my Buddhist practice. Last week, I had a conversation with my high school leaders about this, and I heard a general sigh of relief from them that I was indeed not trying to convert them to a form of evangelical Christianity.

Nevertheless, prayer and devotions are something that I now love, and I have a deep respect for the Christian life. I don't identify as a Christian, but in full honestly I would still say that I am a Christian. I take the life of Jesus as an example of how to live a life of compassion, devotion, and peace-- in this sense I am a Christian. This doesn't mean I am less of a Buddhist, but it does mean that I realize that labels such as "Christian," "Muslim," or "Buddhist" are less important than we make them out to be. During this summer so far, my intention has been to help the kids and the leaders in their spiritual growth and development, whether it be Christian or agnostic or otherwise. I want to instill in them the joy of life, the beauty of the nature, and a sense of graditude for all that they have been given, whether they see God in their lives or not. As I move into the final two weeks of the program, I hope and pray that their lives may be filled with happiness.