Thursday, May 30, 2013

Stare-down in the sacred tree

Yia sas!  Mom and I spent our second day in Athens exploring The Acropolis, The Acropolis Museum, and walking through the National Gardens.


While it was fascinating to see the Parthenon up close and personal, Mom and I both really enjoyed  learning about The Erechtheion, a smaller temple located near the Parthenon.  Although both buildings were built to honor Athena (the Patron God of Athens) the Erechtheion was considered a particularly holy and significant site.

Greek legend claims that on the site where the Erechtheion was built, Poseidon plunged his trident into rock, producing a spring of water.  At the same site Athena planted a simple olive tree. The olive tree produced the fruit that became the staple of Greek agriculture, and judges declared Athena the winner.  To this day an olive tree is planted on the west wall of the building to honor the legendary competition and Athena's victory.

While we were drawn to the temple because of the unique architecture, Mom and I both walked away bemused by what we discovered when we passed by.  A cat was perched in Athena's sacred tree, and at the base a stray dog was vigilantly staring down the feline, taking in its every action.  I'm pretty sure the epic stare-down garnered as many pictures from tourists as the temple itself!

Mom and I wrapped up the day with a glass of wine on the rooftop of our hotel, taking in all of Athens.  What is most fascinating about the city is the blend of antiquity with modernity.  If you consider the recent turmoil and protests Greece has endured, it adds an even more interesting layer to the history of this ever-evolving city.

Mom and I spent the past four days in Santorini, but they have mostly consisted of beach-bumming, seafood consumption, and reveling in the beauty of the craggy island.  I'll write more on that tomorrow!
{Mom in the rooftop bar of our hotel}

*Note: picture of Erechtheion is via interwebs: https://www.google.com/search?q=erechtheion&client=safari&hl=en&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=0_umUeD9EOHt0gWb14HoDA&ved=0CAoQ_AUoAA&biw=768&bih=928&sei=2PumUfS1M5Go0wW2i4CQBw#biv=i%7C4%3Bd%7CuxnFB8SvbZ_WLM%3A

Friday, May 24, 2013

efharisto

*Note: for an abbreviated way to hear about our trip, watch: McBrooHahas gadabout: Barb and Ellie's Video Journal: http://youtu.be/V6iXadgjw9I
------
"What does efharisto mean?" Mom asked me twenty hours into our trek to Greece.

"Not sure, you'll have to ask someone" I said as I brushed off her question as a distant, and perhaps incomplete memory being drawn on.

The word, however, stuck with Mom.  Today she asked a (Greek!) friend and he told us it means 'thank you'.  He was impressed by Mom's memory, as I quietly meditated on how it's such an apt phrase to draw on.

After over thirty hours/four separate flights (what was three-months ago Ellie, thinking?!) Mom and I finally made it safely, soundly, and exhaustedly to our hotel in Athens.  Post-crashing and resting up, we spent the afternoon with our friend, Thomas, who made the trek from a town north of Athens to show us around.  We walked through Monastiraki Square, saw the changing of the guards at Syntagma Square at ate a delicious Greek lunch at a popular Athenian restaurant.  After saying goodbye to Thomas and catching a late-afternoon nap, we went up Mt. Lycabettus to see the sunset over Athens.  All in all, our first day of sightseeing has been an excellent blend of rest, venust, and fellowship.

And now for a broader reflection on our trip thus far: Mom is in constant awe of all things new and beautiful, and I am in constant awe of Mom.  I captured more of this sentiment in my journal tonight: "I love exploring and the independence of autonomous travel; combine this with Mom's patience, joyful spirit, and constant awe and excitement in all that is new around her, and I feel confident that this trip is going to be a defining moment of richness that we will carry throughout our lives."

With that in mind -- I am grateful for all who are supporting us with prayers and well-wishes, airport rides, and holding things down on the home front in our absence (and on and on I could go).

Signing off with a heartfelt 'efharisto' to all family and friends, all around the world.

{blurry IPad shot of the patio-view of the Acropolis that greeted us when we arrived to our hotel room early this AM}

Friday, March 1, 2013

and then I bought a pipe.

**disclaimer: don't read this clip if you haven't read all of East of Eden. Instead, pick up the book this Spring or Summer and read the whole thing. It's worth it -- I promise.
John Steinbeck, East of Eden
“Do you remember when you read us the sixteen verses of the fourth chapter of Genesis and we argued about them?”
“I do indeed. And that’s a long time ago.”
“Ten years nearly,” said Lee. “Well, the story bit deeply into me and I went into it word for word. The more I thought about the story, the more profound it became to me. Then I compared the translations we have—and they were fairly close. There was only one place that bothered me. The King James version says this—it is when Jehovah has asked Cain why he is angry. Jehovah says, ‘If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him.’ It was the ‘thou shalt’ that struck me, because it was a promise that Cain would conquer sin.”
Samuel nodded. “And his children didn’t do it entirely,” he said.
Lee sipped his coffee. “Then I got a copy of the American Standard Bible. It was very new then. And it was different in this passage. It says, ‘Do thou rule over him.’ Now this is very different. This is not a promise, it is an order. And I began to stew about it. I wondered what the original word of the original writer had been that these very different translations could be made.”
Samuel put his palms down on the table and leaned forward and the old young light came into his eyes. “Lee,” he said, “don’t tell me you studied Hebrew!”
Lee said, “I’m going to tell you. And it’s a fairly long story. Will you have a touch of ng-ka-py?”
“You mean the drink that tastes of good rotten apples?”
“Yes. I can talk better with it.”
“Maybe I can listen better,” said Samuel.
While Lee went to the kitchen Samuel asked, “Adam, did you know about this?”
“No,” said Adam. “He didn’t tell me. Maybe I wasn’t listening.”
Lee came back with his stone bottle and three little porcelain cups so thin and delicate that the light shone through them. “Dlinkee Chinee fashion,” he said and poured the almost black liquor. “There’s a lot of wormwood in this. It’s quite a drink,” he said. “Has about the same effect as absinthe if you drink enough of it.”
Samuel sipped the drink. “I want to know why you were so interested,” he said.
“Well, it seemed to me that the man who could conceive this great story would know exactly what he wanted to say and there would be no confusion in his statement.”
“You say ‘the man.’ Do you then not think this is a divine book written by the inky finger of God?”
“I think the mind that could think this story was a curiously divine mind. We have had a few such minds in China too.”
“I just wanted to know,” said Samuel. “You’re not a Presbyterian after all.”
“I told you I was getting more Chinese. Well, to go on, I went to San Francisco to the headquarters of our family association. Do you know about them? Our great families have centers where any member can get help or give it. The Lee family is very large. It takes care of its own.”
“I have heard of them,” said Samuel.
“You mean Chinee hatchet man fightee Tong war over slave girl?”
“I guess so.”
“It’s a little different from that, really,” said Lee. “I went there because in our family there are a number of ancient reverend gentlemen who are great scholars. They are thinkers in exactness. A man may spend many years pondering a sentence of the scholar you call Confucius. I thought there might be experts in meaning who could advise me.
“They are fine old men. They smoke their two pipes of opium in the afternoon and it rests and sharpens them, and they sit through the night and their minds are wonderful. I guess no other people have been able to use opium well.”
Lee dampened his tongue in the black brew. “I respectfully submitted my problem to one of these sages, read him the story, and told him what I understood from it. The next night four of them met and called me in. We discussed the story all night long.”
Lee laughed. “I guess it’s funny,” he said. “I know I wouldn’t dare tell it to many people. Can you imagine four old gentlemen, the youngest is over ninety now, taking on the study of Hebrew? They engaged a learned rabbi. They took to the study as though they were children. Exercise books, grammar, vocabulary, simple sentences. You should see Hebrew written in Chinese ink with a brush! The right to left didn’t bother them as much as it would you, since we write up to down. Oh, they were perfectionists! They went to the root of the matter.”
“And you?” said Samuel.
“I went along with them, marveling at the beauty of their proud clean brains. I began to love my race, and for the first time I wanted to be Chinese. Every two weeks I went to a meeting with them, and in my room here I covered pages with writing. I bought every known Hebrew dictionary. But the old gentlemen were always ahead of me. It wasn’t long before they were ahead of our rabbi; he brought a colleague in. Mr. Hamilton, you should have sat through some of those nights of argument and discussion. The questions, the inspection, oh, the lovely thinking—the beautiful thinking.
“After two years we felt that we could approach your sixteen verses of the fourth chapter of Genesis. My old gentlemen felt that these words were very important too—‘Thou shalt’ and ‘Do thou.’ And this was the gold from our mining: ‘Thou mayest.’ ‘Thou mayest rule over sin.’ The old gentlemen smiled and nodded and felt the years were well spent. It brought them out of their Chinese shells too, and right now they are studying Greek.”
Samuel said, “It’s a fantastic story. And I’ve tried to follow and maybe I’ve missed somewhere. Why is this word so important?”
Lee’s hand shook as he filled the delicate cups. He drank his down in one gulp. “Don’t you see?” he cried. “The American Standard translation orders men to triumph over sin, and you can call sin ignorance. The King James translation makes a promise in ‘Thou shalt,’ meaning that men will surely triumph over sin. But the Hebrew word, the word timshel—‘Thou mayest’— that gives a choice. It might be the most important word in the world. That says the way is open. That throws it right back on a man. For if ‘Thou mayest’—it is also true that ‘Thou mayest not.’ Don’t you see?”
“Yes, I see. I do see. But you do not believe this is divine law. Why do you feel its importance?”
“Ah!” said Lee. “I’ve wanted to tell you this for a long time. I even anticipated your questions and I am well prepared. Any writing which has influenced the thinking and the lives of innumerable people is important. Now, there are many millions in their sects and churches who feel the order, ‘Do thou,’ and throw their weight into obedience. And there are millions more who feel predestination in ‘Thou shalt.’ Nothing they may do can interfere with what will be. But ‘Thou mayest’! Why, that makes a man great, that gives him stature with the gods, for in his weakness and his filth and his murder of his brother he has still the great choice. He can choose his course and fight it through and win.” Lee’s voice was a chant of triumph.
Adam said, “Do you believe that, Lee?”
“Yes, I do. Yes, I do. It is easy out of laziness, out of weakness, to throw oneself into the lap of deity, saying, ‘I couldn’t help it; the way was set.’ But think of the glory of the choice! That makes a man a man. A cat has no choice, a bee must make honey. There’s no godliness there. And do you know, those old gentlemen who were sliding gently down to death are too interested to die now?”
Adam said, “Do you mean these Chinese men believe the Old Testament?”
Lee said, “These old men believe a true story, and they know a true story when they hear it. They are critics of truth. They know that these sixteen verses are a history of humankind in any age or culture or race. They do not believe a man writes fifteen and three-quarter verses of truth and tells a lie with one verb. Confucius tells men how they should live to have good and successful lives. But this—this is a ladder to climb to the stars.” Lee’s eyes shone. “You can never lose that. It cuts the feet from under weakness and cowardliness and laziness.”
Adam said, “I don’t see how you could cook and raise the boys and take care of me and still do all this.”
“Neither do I,” said Lee. “But I take my two pipes in the afternoon, no more and no less, like the elders. And I feel that I am a man. And I feel that a man is a very important thing—maybe more important than a star. This is not theology. I have no bent toward gods. But I have a new love for that glittering instrument, the human soul. It is a lovely and unique thing in the universe. It is always attacked and never destroyed— because ‘Thou mayest.’”

the things you think you thought you knew


Tuesday, February 19, 2013

fomo

Lately I have been mentally absorbed with the idea of balance.  In my attempts to counter busyness with intentionality and thoughtfulness, I’ve found myself playing wasted mind games.  I’m constantly questioning my decisions – each minuscule option calls into question my priorities, values and (ultimately) all-things-existential.

It’s absurd, and I want to blame FOMO.  I’m not sure how, or when, or why I started becoming absorbed with the fear of missing out.  I know it’s been a while, as I’ve headed out to countless social engagements, community meetings or service commitments with only a paltry, nebulous, constructed sense of obligation and fear of missing out on the event itself/as well as the possible enrichment/roundedness it can add to my life, as the driving force for my behavior.

I want to strip it away, and get back to brass tacks – assess meaning and values through personal reflection on the front end, as opposed to a back end assessment of ‘how did I spend my week?’ ‘how much meaning did I derive from (xyz) experience?’ as I drift off to sleep each night.  Of course, this whole desire to shift how I allocate time/process/find motivation for how I spend time is looping me back to the need for intentionality, which is driven on some level (currently, at least) by FOMO, which…

It’s a sick cycle, and clearly I can’t articulate it – but it’s real.  It pervades how I calculate the precious time I have to spend with mom, the time I steal away to spend with Charlie, the time I invest in new friendships and spend maintaining the old ones.  Another strange facet is how much FOMO is wrapped up in a culture of privilege and wealth.  In the sea of ‘emerging adulthood’ we (my generation) are constantly making choices based on potential for experience, happiness-maximization, and self.  Which loops me back to need for balance/stepping outside oneself…but which, in some weird, sub-cultural way, seems to loop me back to FOMO…

ack./end