A Tale for the Time Being, by Ruth Ozeki

Just before Christmas, I finished A Tale for the Time Being, by Ruth Ozeki (a Zen Buddhist priest, writer and filmmaker). The POV characters in the novel are Ruth (is the novel semi-autobiographical?) — a Japanese-American author who lives with her husband in retirement on a remote island off the coast of British Columbia — and Nao Yasutani, a sixteen year old girl who spent her young formative years in California; but, for economic reasons, her family moved back to Japan.

Ruth finds a waterproofed package on a beach, and the package contains Nao’s diary and other artifacts that pertain to Nao’s tale. The novel unfolds with alternate sections; Ruth’s portions are presented in a third-person narrative, while Nao’s sections are her journal as translated by Ruth, presented in a first-person narrative. Nao’s name is pronounced Now, and time is a crucial theme (Proust’s In Search of Lost Time is mentioned several times).

Death is a significant theme, as is suicide, war, bullying (in all its forms: intimidation, harassment, oppression, torment, ganging-up, etcetera), diversity, Alzheimer’s, anthropology, philosophy, origami, Buddhism, the relationship between author and reader, and several others…

The time being (from the Japanese, uji, translated from The Time-Being, by Eihei Dogen) refers to an eternally present moment, and also indicates a being that lives within time; hence, the time being must someday perish. I don’t want to say anything more about the book, but it was a wonderful voyage.

I was trapped, as a time being, for several weeks between its pages. But that was in the past…

“The past is weird. I mean, does it really exist? It feels like it exists, but where is it? And if it did exist but doesn’t now, then where did it go?” [A Tale for the Time Being, p. 95]

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Steely Dan; Katie Lied

Steely Dan‘s exceptional album Katie Lied (their fourth, in 1975) was released during the second half of my high-school graduation year (it seems like another lifetime…). It was the second Dan album I’d heard (after their 1972 debut, Can’t Buy a Thrill; for some reason I’d missed Countdown to Ecstasy (arguably their best album) and Pretzel Logic). Katie Lied amazed me at the time and, through the years, I’ve learned to appreciate the album’s depths even more. Several notable musicians appear on the credits, including Rick Derringer and Larry Carlton on guitars, and Phil Wood on tenor sax. I just listened to the CD; the sound is a bit muddy, so I’ve decided to buy the remastered version (are you listening Santa?). Today, three of the songs caught my attention:

Black Friday. While Walter Becker and Donald Fagan were on Marian McPartland’s Piano Jazz NPR show (the album was released in 2005), Fagan confirmed that the song’s meaning is steeped in the miasma of the great depression (some have suggested that it gazed into the future).

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Doctor Wu. According to Brian Sweet (from his 1994 book, Steely Dan: Reelin’ in the Years), Fagen said that the song is about a love/dope triangle involving a girl who is attracted to someone with a dangerous lifestyle. The dope habit is personified as Dr. Wu (Are you with me Doctor Wu?/Are you really just a shadow/of the man that I once knew?). The girl comes under the domination of someone else and the previous relationship is ended or altered. The album’s title is echoed in the lyrics:

I went searching for the song
You used to sing to me …
Katy lies;
You could see it in her eyes

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Your Gold Teeth II. Among other things, this song is an echo of my favourite Dan song (Your Gold Teeth, a seven-minute tribute to hard bop from Countdown to Ecstasy):

Who are these children
Who scheme and run wild?
Who speak with their wings
And the way that they smile?
What are the secrets
They trace in the sky?
And why do you tremble
Each time they ride by?

For me, the album assembles a cloud of nostalgia, but it brings new impressions each time I listen.

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Hakuin Ekaku Zenji

What is the sound of one hand clapping?

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Hakuin Zenji, also known as Hakuin Ekaku (1685-1768), was a master, and reformer, of the Rinzai school of Zen Buddhism. Before Hakuin’s reformation, the Rinzai school had been eroding since the fourteenth century;  in particular, the practice of zazen (sitting in absorption) had been obscured by over-intellectualization. Hakuin was instrumental in the organization of koan principles and redirection of the Rinzai  school’s momentum by reaffirming the value of zazen practice. He started painting in his sixties and practiced the art-form until his death at eighty-four. His painting subjects were varied, but his most famous are those of Daruma.

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[Zen, for those who may not know, is the shortened form of zenna, the Japanese form of Ch’an-na (ch’an), which is the Chinese form for dhyana (sanskrit), the discipline of developing concentration.]

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As with water and ice, there is no ice without water;
apart from sentient beings, there are no Buddhas.
Not knowing how close the truth is,
we seek it far away
— what a pity!
Hakuin Ekaku Zenji

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The other

An odd moment occurred while I was out for my morning walk; I attempted to dismiss it as a phantasm, or the day-dream of a chap who’d read too much popular theoretical physics, Jorge Louis Borges, and speculative fiction, but I couldn’t shake the event from my consciousness.

I was tired; I’d slept in and I had to force myself to get outside for fresh air. About half-way around my usual walk, I came to a fork in the path; I could cut back to the right, a short-cut through the park, or I could continue left, as usual. I felt an odd shimmer deep in the centre of my being; I turned to follow the left-hand path, but he — the other — turned right. He soon vanished into the ethereal space of another world, but I saw him clearly for a moment. He was favouring his left leg, probably due to our sore hip. He turned around, smiled, and said something before he faded into obscurity. His words were swallowed  quickly, as if absorbed in water, but I think he said, “Take care.” He looked exhausted, like he carried a great weight; there were lines of fatigue etched on his face, but he radiated kindness. My heart went out to him, and I wished him well as I continued on my way.

I felt light, energetic, and my mood had risen; I’ve been somewhat moody for the past few weeks, and I suddenly wondered why. I think the other had taken a load of my suffering with him. My hip felt better and my soul was cleansed. He hadn’t taken it all; that would be unfair, but his altruism was stunning.

I wonder how his future will unfold; although he enriched my life, I think his actions raised him to another level. I wish there was something I could do for him. And maybe there is: I can acknowledge his gift by spreading his kindness. I hope I’m equal to the task.

I hope our paths will converge again someday; it would be fun to regale each other with the stories of our separate lives.

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John Cleese’s Last Time To See Me Before I Die

I saw John Cleese’s Last Time To See Me Before I Die show on Tuesday night (at the Vogue Theater in Vancouver); if you’re a fan, I’d recommend it.

He shared biographical details about his family and colleagues, pictures, and short clips of some of his favourite sketches, including material from well before the Monty Python days, Python skits, and clips from Fawlty Towers and A Fish Called Wanda.

It was an informal, but entertaining show and I learned a few things, including the fact that I’ve been mispronouncing his last name: I’d always pronounced it to rhyme with geese; however, it actually rhymes with cheese, which is, in reality, his family name. His father changed his name from Cheese to Cleese when he entered the service during WWI because he was tired of being teased.

It was a pleasant way to spend an evening.

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Laird of Fintry Single Malt Whisky

I just received a bottle of single malt whisky in the mail (yes, it is a wonderful world!); there were only two-hundred and sixty-four bottles in the batch, and I was fortunate enough to acquire one of them.

Before I divulge any more information, I’d like to share a slice of Okanagan history (and yes, it has something to do with the whisky…):

In 1864 John Cameron Waters was born in England, but was a Scotsman through-and-through and grew up on his family’s estate at Fintry in Scotland. He changed his name to John Cameron Dun-Waters, or J.C. Dun-Waters, after his uncle, name of Dunn, bequeathed him a great sum of money. In 1887 he married Alice, by all accounts a taciturn woman, and in 1909 he moved to Canada and bought 475 hectares of land at Shorts Point on the west side of Okanagan Lake, where he established an apple orchard. He called his estate Fintry, after his home in Scotland. It was, and still is, a scenic section of real estate, which includes  a waterfall spilling over a cliff and into a pool; the water, in the guise of a  creek, ambles out of the pool and down-slope until it commingles with the waters of Okanagan Lake. The waterfall is better-known as Christie Falls in Fintry Estate & Provincial Park, in Kelowna, British Columbia.

J.C. Dun-Waters was fifty years old in 1914 when WW I broke out, but he returned to England and joined the army, seeing action at Gallipoli, Turkey, where he was wounded.

After returning to Canada, and his Fintry Estate, J.C. Dun-Waters decided to bring curling to the area and he built a rink. One day, when a neighbor, Angus Gray, watched J.C. Dun-Waters proudly walking to the rink, Angus called out: “Aye, lads! Here comes Laird of Fintry.” And the name stuck.

J.C. Dun-Waters decided to have a large shipment of Scotch whisky shipped to his estate, and the whisky bottles had special Laird of Fintry labels affixed to them.

And that is the background to the name of the whisky that arrived by post today…

The first batch of Laird of Fintry Single Malt Whisky (from the Okanagan Springs Craft Distillery) consisted of only two-hundred and sixty-four bottles (small batch distilling, and probably many wee samples during the crafting), and there was a lottery for the opportunity to purchase a piece of the distillery’s history; only two-hundred and ten bottles were available to the public, and I’m the proud owner of bottle #169.

According to the distillery’s website, “The Laird of Fintry has been crafted from 100% B.C. malted barley, fermented and double-distilled in a copper-pot still. After six years of barrel ageing in French and American Oak, this Single Malt is smooth, non-peated and combines solid forest notes of toasted oak with more delicate tones of vanilla, plum, raisins, caramel and spice.”

I’m enjoying a dram right now, while listening to Brahm’s String Sextet in B-flat major (Op. 36): the whisky is a nice accompaniment to the music; pleasantly smooth, well-balanced, displaying all the fine attributes of French and American Oak. The nose is gentle, opulent — I can almost detect a sherry note that surely isn’t there (?); at first, prunes dominate the taste, soon joined by vanilla, toffee, and a hint of spice; the finish is delicate, but rich — the symphony of flavours sampled in nose and taste resonate. Quite delightful: very little alcohol burn in nose, taste, or finish (its smoothness is reminiscent of a well-crafted, triple-distilled Irish whiskey, but the depth of flavour is more akin to a single-malt from Scotland). Hats off, and a respectful bow to the craftsmen; I can hardly wait until next year’s batch (I wonder if they will soon offer a peated single malt?).

The Okanagan Spirits has other products for sale (Liqueurs, Absinthe, Marc (Grappa), etc.), and their next batch of single malt whisky will be released in 2014, when they promise to have substantially more product for public consumption.

Sláinte!

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For more information on John Cameron Dun-Waters:

An Okanagan History Vignette

 

 

 

Walking; wonderful moments

A while ago, while out for my daily walk, I saw a Buddhist monk walking toward me.

It was a clear, crisp morning; an ephemeral mist hugged the earth. It was close to zero Celsius, but I was quite warm; I’d been walking at a good clip for over thirty minutes.

The monk looked cold: he was walking very slowly, meditatively.

I was dressed in jeans, t-shirt, sweatshirt, baseball cap, and sandals. The monk was dressed in robes the colour of paprika and cumin. His outer robe (I believe it’s called the sanghati) was pulled high on his body and he used part of it as a scarf, covering his chin, mouth, and ears. His legs were bare and he was carrying something in his hands; it was palm-sized, black and smooth. I wondered if it was a heated stone to keep his hands warm.

I thought about stopping and starting a conversation, but wasn’t sure it was appropriate and I decided that a visit to the Buddhist temple would be the proper etiquette. I’ll probably never go; it seems intimidating, although I’m sure I’d be welcomed.

As I approached the monk, I nodded my head and said, “Good morning.”

He smiled, pressed his palms together in front of his chest, bowed slightly, and said something back to me.

Holy beings are surrounded by a remarkable aura of peace and equanimity. I’d made only a fleeting connection with the man, but he was fully engaged for that moment. We passed each other, and for the remainder of my walk I felt lighter, my feet seemed to barely touch the earth. Something warm and beautiful stirred my soul. I couldn’t quite set it free — I think I tried too hard — but it is there, incubating, sure to find its way someday.

Since then, while on my walk, I smile, nod, and say hello to anyone I pass; usually, I get a stunning smile back. What a wonderful moment.

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Update: finding the slim man inside

A couple of months ago I posted about the beginning of a journey to find the slim man inside of me.

Since then, I’ve been walking everyday, practicing qigong, and generally trying to eat a more healthy diet. My goal was to lose weight gradually, but noticeably.

I’m beginning to recognize the man who looks back at me in the mirror, someone I haven’t seen in years. It was difficult at the beginning, but I’ve managed to form healthy, habitual behaviour.

I’ve lost a little over seven kilos (more than 15 pounds) and I feel better than I have in a long time. I’m just now realizing how much extra weight I’ve been packing around, because I’d like to lose another 5 kilos, if not more.

When I began my journey I assumed that, if I spent an extra hour a day exercising, I’d find less time to do the things I enjoy; in particular, reading. And I was right, but in a way I hadn’t envisioned. I’ve spent more time doing other things I enjoy, like writing a novel, and organizing our home: things I’d been ignoring for far too long. Who would’ve thunk?

Anyway, if your interested, I’ll let you know how I’m doing in 2014, after my annual Christmas/New Year gluttony period. For a while, I was worried about the winter weather and how it may put obstacles in the path of my walking regime, but I’ve decided to prepare for that by starting a serious foray into a tai chi chuan form (the 108 posture Wu style, with Yang influences) that I was taught over twenty years ago, a magical exercise that I can adapt to the confines of our condo.  If one pathway is blocked, other avenues open.

Life is filled with twists and turns, an amazing journey.

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Love Is All Around

Perhaps it was because this is the first day of a long weekend (Canadian Thanksgiving), perhaps it was due to the lovely autumn day with multi-coloured plumage bathing in luminous sunlight, or perhaps it was  Cannonball Adderley’s Autumn Leaves (Miles’ solo, just under a minute in, is when the magic begins). Whatever the preamblulatory reasons were, when  the quote below popped into my email (courtesy of Tricycle Daily Dharma), and I read it, I was inspired to adopt a wondrous mood.

“As adults, we need to become newly aware of the love that has infused our lives all along, to turn our attention to it afresh with the eyes of a child. To do so is to become conscious of the tremendous capacity for love that even now permeates our being — to open to it, to be healed by its life-giving energy, and to participate in its power to renew our world. We can awaken to the deepest goodness in ourselves and others. We can learn to recognize and commune with the blessings that have always been pouring forth.”

from  John Makransky’s article, Love Is All Around

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Glitch Art

I was listening to the radio on the way home from work and Phil Stearns was discussing Glitch Art with the Host of the show (Nora Young, on CBC’s Spark). I’d never heard of the art-form before, so I did a little digging when I got home.

Phillip Stearns is an artist who works “with electronics and electronic media.” Mr. Stearns, and other glitch artists, find a fascination with those moments when a screen goes black, blue, or green, or when images pixelate and freeze. These artist insist that there is beauty in these glitches, and they not only capture the images for posterity, but work to create ‘defective’ digital images.

I visited a site where anyone can create their own glitch art; a do-it-yourself image glitch experiment. It’s fun, but I found it somewhat frustrating: I couldn’t manipulate the image quite like I wanted, but maybe that is a function of the random element of the art-form. I played around for quite a while until I ‘created’ my finished work.

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