Be Willing to be Touched by Others

There is a place I noticed called, Blind Massage. The blue sign would be darkened, the shades drawn, and I would exhale deeply at the missed moment. I was drawn to this place like a magnet, because I like to find things that are in plain sight. The title intrigued me, a new mystery for me to discover, that seemed to taunt me on my evening walks.

Sometimes, you forget things when the door appears to be closed, and it just seems like a missed opportunity. On one night, I peered in because I just couldn't let this place go. Every time, the same scene; a strange foreign girl (me) peering in at the massage tables...only three of them...and a darkened room. Blind Massage seemed like a strange name. I would have easily forgotten it, had it been named something else. I could have gone anywhere else, but I would look at the glitzy spas and just keep walking. The young women dressed more like call girls, rather than masseurs. Long red lacquered nails and gowns with furs that said nothing of any deeper ability. Sure, I shouldn't judge them. I don't. I just kept thinking of a little place where only the locals frequented.

After, I returned from teaching today, I decided to take my walk earlier. My messages to friends and family could wait, after all I was filled with thoughts of a lecture I had just given on our need to create and to imagine. It was a strange walk, one of those walks where I just felt like everything was magic. Those too happy moments, that tend to irritate people. I was in a strangely great mood on a Monday, a day that everyone hates, and I always have loved (yes, I love Mondays). Mondays were a day were I would think about how I could improve on something, during the week...an attitude, a belief, a habit gone wrong - in short, a day of new beginnings. Instead of once a year, I got 52 opportunities to recreate my life. That was the way I used to view Mondays...the placebo effect worked, because that mindset spread to everyday.

A PhD student was staring at me in class, and he apologized, "I'm sorry, I just realized you are beautiful." Every teacher with gray hair should be so lucky to hear that from a student, let alone from a culture that doesn't believe Western women are 'hot'. I went into a store and found a pair of pants I liked, but they were too long. "Wait, try them on and I can shorten them for you in 20 minutes." Ah...OK? Yes, look at the map...ah...yes, I am in China. I went down the block a little further, and there was a make up store...ladies...I can't tell you how hard it is for me to find foundation...yes, foundation in this country...I have been looking for 3 months. A lady was making up a young girl. I smile, and look around, and then pull out my compact...and let her know what I need..."Oh, of course we have that here..." REALLY? I went through a search of at least 50 stores...not a one...OK... The next, had a scarf I was looking for...the right fabric too.

It's Monday...a special day. And the blue light was on. Blind Massage was open. Oh, no, this was tooo good. Not for a moment did I hesitate or even worry that I might be turned away. I walked in and there was a line, but oh, just enough space for me to sit down. I didn't know any Chinese, but I saw with my own eyes...why...the blind were giving massages. I was excited...and became willing to be touched and not just touch.

I pulled out my practice script, and showed a lady my limited ability...and was encouraged by them. "Look...she's learning..." I took a picture and realized what I was seeing. I learned how to stop seeing when it was my turn and closed my eyes and surrendered to feeling. A massage with my clothes on...that felt like I had been invaded with healing fingers. A man articulated every muscle and I realized the journey in that moment.

A beauty that surpassed the girls I walked away from, to the beauty of their sighted hands in this little place. I felt I learned how in this moment to be touched by people who are normally either stared at or walked away from. I was the first foreigner that had ever come into their business, who wasn't afraid to be touched by their hands.

The Doorway Had A Smile

Greetings from the land of tomorrow otherwise known as China...

As I think of those of you who will be reading this across the different timezones around the world, I am smiling and have gone through some of the images I have taken since the last time I posted. The upload time takes a while from my end, so in the end, I hope you receive the message I have decided to write with warm intentions.

China has had a very surprising impact on my life. One that goes beyond being a tourist in this nation. I live here. I work here. I have fallen in love with the people here. I have found a transformation that has been a positive one for me. One that put me in touch with what it means to have purpose in life. A purpose that started with a smile.

You should be amazed with these shots, because the Chinese shun the camera, specifically when a foreigner has one. All of these wonderful people opened their hearts to me as I set out on a new mission to touch one person a day. The first day, was just to go out and try to provoke a smile. I walked around feeling like my heart was going to explode with my efforts to smile at people. It was contagious. It felt like I was walking around with bottled joy.

The smile then led to contact. Helping people with a load, a bike hatch that wouldn't properly close, a reassuring touch or perhaps something a little more practical, as I would see a need. This opened invitations that would not have been there for me. The observation of a private lesson with a little girl, all because the music drew me. I was astonished to be invited in and allowed to hear the master and the student work together.A crepe maker thought I was funny, and allowed me to photograph her as well. Her outdoor stand was flush with her hard work and because I stood there and was willing to eat there more customers came who were of the paying sort.

The little things along the day that illustrated total joy. The total joy of just touching someone. We are indeed creatures of habit, so on my next journey I decided to be brave and go by myself into the heart of Nanjing. I just got on a bus and let it take me to a place where I just felt like getting off, and I walked from there. It was on this day I was shown the other side, the side that tourists don't see. The ones you find when you go through the side streets where the people of the city live.

I saw a man with mangled legs and a begging bowl. He was in obvious pain, but did his best to smile for me. I reached down to his level and grabbed his hand and pressed his palm not with coins, but with something more substantial. I thought he was going to cry and soothed him by stroking his arm and looked into his eyes. To really see the person as a person and not walk by in a vain rush.

I had a day where I went out and simply found people in need and gave. I set a budget and just looked to touch these people. A foreigner with blue eyes and a smile. When I came home I wept. Not because I couldn't help all of them, no, but because I realized something far more profound. How our fear keeps us from giving. I had written an earnest post on my blog about touching one life a day. So many missed the intention and only thought of their tight wallets. It wasn't about giving money. It was simply about giving without expectation. If we touched one life a day, within a year, you would have touched 365/6 people. A simple observation that made me look at it in an achievable way. I thought, don't even think about pay it forward. This is the kind of giving that is anything in a natural authentic way based on love extended to a total stranger to be free. That is real freedom. A smile is free. A hug. An acknowledgement of a homeless person, but oh, we are so so afraid of being asked to help. We are afraid of need and even more afraid of being needed. Don't misinterpret my message as trying to guilt you into doing anything. The number one mistake we all make is comparing our journeys to each other. We all have our own road. We have our own life lessons. There is no doing or not doing to even worry about.

So what place does this kind of post have here? Perhaps because this is a blog about giving. This is a blog about giving support to each other as we share our adventures. This is our little community and in a way I am just sharing with you my journey along the way and trying to take you with me.

If you haven't figured it out yet, I am really not trying to tell you something you all don't really know for yourselves. What I am finally getting as well, is that in order to allow something or someone into your life, you have to make room for it to appear. For me, this journey began by clearing out my old life so I could have this life. Everything material gone. I am not doing any of this for religious or spiritual reasons. I don't believe in heaven or hell. There is nothing in it for me, except to grow. We all die. We take nothing with us. However, this is what we leave behind, a memory of love. In the palace of my mind, China has filled me with immense treasures I would never have found had I been too afraid to walk out the front door.

Life is magic right where you are. Feel it.

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Blogger of: The Lotus Sutra Chronicles documenting my journey along the way. I keep it simple so readers feel comfortable and at home, after all, it is a blog about my myopic view of the world at times. Greetings to all those who are new posters here and a fond hello to those faithful posters that have been here from the inception of this haven.

A Post from Marilyn in China

Marilyn, a writer on this blog, is behind the great Firewall of China where blogs are apparently forbidden (Can you imagine?) She sent this to me in an e-mail and asked me to post it here.

Shanghai was full of the heat of the day as I arrived. The year of the Tiger approaches and the
superficial fears of all of the unknown seemed to melt away with the snows. I looked out my window
into the yellow haze. Not a word of English welcomed me. I was the only caucasian woman on the
flight. That wasn't the moment I realized I was in China.
Alone, in one of the largest cities in the world, I breezed through customs, my passport was stamped
and I stood there realizing I was on a different pace than the rest of the world around me. I did the
usual things a person does. I changed currency, went through the duty free, and collected my baggage
with nothing to declare except my arrival. I paced and sought out some coffee to begin my day. It was
just after 9 in the morning and I was trying to calculate how much further I still had to go. I could have
immediately exhausted myself by looking back at how far I had already come. However, my instincts
silenced those thoughts as I looked for transportation to the train station.
I was guided over to a bus, number 5, that was a direct shot over to the center of where it all happens in
Shanghai. 'Just get on the bus, we will take care of your baggage.' A short woman barked over at me,
marshaling the crowd. 'I receached for my wallet, 'No, just sit down, go find a seat.' the further
instructions flew at me. I looked around, and walked to the very back of the bus, settling in. Looking
around me and seeing no one like me, and I smiled, but not quite. I watched as the capacity grew to
standing room only and we broke away from the curb. It was then I saw passengers reach for their
fares as the grand marshal pushed her way to the back of the bus to collect the fares. I watched my
fellow passengers model the exact amount and I mirrored the same.
This little act of being prepared made the woman smile as she took my fare and stuffed it into her
money belt and ripped off a ticket handing it to me. 'She-she' were the only words she said. I had not
known that those were the first words I would learn in Chinese. The words of gratitude. I sat
surrounded by conversations of clipped words and phrases of a flat staccato that was so unlike the
Korean words I was accustomed to. I listened for the rate and pace of the people, the sighs and
vocalized pauses. The sound of verbal marching was what I heard. My eyes drifted to the window.
The large spaghetti strings of concrete expressways, that weaved their intricate patterns. Along the
highway I could see the stark poverty as the clothelines were strung out in the dirty breeze.
Two hours of seeing the haves and the have nots of Shanghai as I tried to comprehend the gap of the
Han Chinese and the rest of the world. I noted the construction of buildings for hotels and shopping
buildings. My mouth dropped open at the size of the new Louis Vuitton building, which would dwarf
the one I had seen on the Champs Eysees in Paris. I saw the world of capitalism had come to Shanghai
and wondered if I was witnessing the end of Communsion here. This new religion of money that
seeped in and starting taking root.
I saw families under overpasses under the shadow of huge complexes of wealth and western
establishment. The images of Orwell's Animal Farm came to me, 'Some animals are more equal than
others.' My first images of China were far beyond what I had expected. We arrived at a huge
intersection that would have terrified most people. The cross walks had their own order and I had the
task of managing my luggage, which I had pared down to 20 kilos. The letting go of most of my
material life as I quickly learned what were necessary tools for this life. One carry one, and one
oversized bag, that I try to mask as a purse. Still carrying too much, but the material world seemed like
a past life for me, like bricks to tie you down. Though I was at my target destination, I saw a green
facade that caught my eye. “China Post”, beakoned to me and I, without hesitation, drug everything
through the maze of traffic, focused on one thing. I had no paper, no pen, but I was determined to send
out word to my dear friends. The security guard looked at my expression, and in haste put me to the
front of the line. Without a word of Chinese, or they possessing a word of English, I motioned to my
needs as if I was on a mission. Envelopes and paper were produced. A pen was loaned to me. A desk
where a person was sitting at was cleared away by the guard, and I was motioned to sit, and allowed to
compose my thoughts. I wondered for a moment if my friends receiving this letter could comprehend
the efforts of the story to even them reading those words of those tangible evidences of my care. My
initial thoughts scribbled effortlessly, as I felt I could have filled volumes with the floodgates of my
mind opened up. I sealed up my letter with tape. Another line for postage and each letter carefully
registered.
Off I went to navigate my way, through the streets of Shanghai to finally go through the gauntlet of the
train station. All alone, I had picked up a phone card that I couldn't make function, so there I was,
making a journey by faith. I managed to sort out my train ticket, and take the train from Shanghai to
Nanjing. During the New Year travels when people were making their annual migrations home.
I found my track holding area, which seemed to hold the complete capacity of Gare due Nord just in
one holding area. I watched how the guards managed the flow. The gate would be carefully unlatched,
and the throngs would push through to make the journey down to the tracks. I mentally rehearsed the
scene for myself as I anxiously waited for the go-ahead.
Again, I was in a sea of people. However, one woman approached me and in perfect business English
this young woman and I conversed. We spoke of hopes and dreams after a time. Her dream, to work
for a business corporation in Shanghai. She had made the journey from Nanjing for an interview, and
she was progressing through a series of them. She verbally coached me on what to expect, how fast to
walk, and rendered the assistance I needed with my luggage down to the track. Often, when we travel,
we don't realize the helpless position we are placed in. Those periods of sweet vulnerability that make
us open up and trust another person.
In my journey to Nanjing, I sat on the train, going at high speeds, 300 kilometers passed in two hours.
Night had fallen early and the climate returned to winter. The summer of my arrival came and went in
a flash. I went to a call center and a woman assisted in placing the call. Not once did I doubt that the
phone wouldn't be answered. Not once did I doubt during my entire journey that I wouldn't be
successful. All thoughts of self sabotage had been eliminated. All fears and second guessing pushed
away.
These were my small beginnings, as the taxi took me to my hotel for foreign visitors. As I went
through my day, I realized no one bowed, they shook hands. I was stared at with suspicion, and
brokered them down into a smile. I was strangely free. I was disconnected from all I had known and
the world around me was without wires, without sound. I began to see the world in a different way. I
began my quest to really look at freedom.
“You either get busy living or you get busy dying.” Andy said those words to Red in the Shawshank
redemption. Prison is what you make it. The walls around you, they grow funny. You hate them, then
you grow accustomed to them, and then it grows to depending on them. That is being institutionalized.
That dialogue echoed in my head. In what ways had the West institutionalized me? Better yet, had I
taken the better path and learned how to be free no matter where I was?
The realization of the change came just a few days ago when I finally was able to go on-line. No social
networks and no blogging. My blog is now a monument of what was. A twinge of a pain, a pain I had
not expected, hit me I a watched link by link get blocked. All of the feeds went away. I saw the words
of my friend's go last..'All you need is love.' With that in mind, I love you all. My journey is just
beginning, but it always has been underway

More Pictures of China from Marilyn

Marilyn, a writer on this blog, is behind the great Firewall of China, where blogs are forbidden. She asked me to post these pictures.

As Fate Would Have It Or You Would Have It?

In Korea, it seems there are the Christians, the Buddhists, and those that profess no belief in anything. I am amazed with the many who rely on superstitions and fortune tellers to confirm their choices, like finding a floating message in a bottle. In many different versions of belief systems, there is much written about the importance of having a clear mind and vision for yourself. You are the result about what your think about.

In Korea, I have been fortunate enough to do nearly everything on my list, save one thing. That was to visit the artist and writer's colony in Andong. I am so close to it, and yet so far away, the problem is, I can get there, but I have no way to get back. So I chose not to go. That kind of bit me in the butt, cancelling twice because of transportation. However, I can't really be too upset over this. Instead of a week up at Andong, I wrote my little heart out during my 'vacation', which was more like being fused to my keyboard, having writing marathons that left me with as little as two hours of sleep. When I get those 'brain fevers' I loose comprehension of time and sometimes you manage to scrape together some jewels out of the whole journey.

There was a time where I was obsessed with misspelled words, messages on t-shirts that seemed to scream at me to take action. Some of these messages pushed my internal buttons, igniting rages of thought and writing. My own explorations into what I perceived as a deadening of our brains. I was enraged. Had we, as a human race, lost our ability to imagine anything anymore? Even the tag, got under my skin. The contradictions in our society, "Be your own brain; Take to Trend" made me want to start a revolution within myself. How can a writer be original if they only follow trends? Imagination is the most underrated ability we can possess.

Today, I felt like the picture above, "Spew Out Your Worries". Today, I received my working papers for China. I have been officially hired by a University to start teaching in February. I have tried and mostly succeeded in couching those worries. My chief worry, was not about the job. My chief worry was being to continue my writing on my blog, The Lotus Sutra Chronicles, and the other writing projects I have agreed to do. It was with immense relief that I found several other expatriate blogs based in China. I still managed to jump up and down with excitement holding these "work papers". I know what this journey is going to mean for me. I made a huge leap of faith and caught on to the cliff's edge and I am going for it.

The way I look at it is simple. We can line up waiting to have our fortunes told, putting our faith in a complete stranger's words. The other option is to stop and listen to ourselves. The truth about who we are is already inside of us. Spew out your worries and realize that no one else can tell a story the way you can. I don't want to encourage anyone to follow my path. There is an incredible beauty in your own path, and yes, that means spewing your guts once in a while to have courage. Not through fate, but through faith (and hard work).