vaga #1/32 rudder stroke
Part XXXII
Partial photo inside a Buddhist temple in Kayosan Japan, the town of a thousand monasteries. It was an enclosure about 60 by 20 metres and inside, it only consisted of three narrow corridors with these lanterns from floor to ceiling and by all the adjoining walls above head height. It was located inside a large forest with Sofia we had been walking for more than an hour somewhat numb since it was snowing. We took off our shoes and entered this sacred place. My breath caught, I just felt my heartbeat and nothing else, I was paralysed. Never in my existence had I experienced something of that mystical intensity, sublime in every sense of the word something like being in front of a great work of art. This cube of only lanterns with a warm, cosy, dim light, in its perfect intensity, neither too low nor too bright, a light that was orange trees and yellowish at the same time. Immersed and walking into space was a sensation of floating. A floating space of light in absolute silence, we were the only ones. We were both touched on some fibre of the soul. The closest to heaven I've ever been.
I chose this photo for this chapter because in the end it is associated with the story, it is not the outside that determines your life but the inside. In this photo, I see a perfect, pure interior space magically created by the monks.
THIS IS BLOG NUMBER 100 THAT I HAVE PUBLISHED ADDING ALL "VAGA" "0,1,2,3,4,5,6,7" AND PHOTO GALLERY
"Rudder Stroke," I wrote the draft in March 2020, a very important detail because I published it 15 months later, it happened like this, there is no other reading, but it coincides with an important blog number.
First, I am going to refer to a couple of things that go around in my head. Traveller, starting in 1975 in Colombia, and it was the door that opened me to the world. I have had the opportunity to get to know so many cultures, ethnicities, be they Asian, European, American, even some African and that have been sticking to my skin.
In my last years as a vagabond, in my wandering, only experiences have accumulated, and I continue to be surprised by the diversity of ways of living, believing, eating ... Costa Rica, Guatemala, in the beginning, then Japan, Vietnam, Myanmar, Nepal, Sri Lanka, Indonesia, Laos and Cambodia until my enemies kicked me out, the visas, in many I have returned a couple of times. With long residencies like in the US and Thailand and shorter ones in Paris, Florence and Switzerland. In recent years the great part of East Asia. A distant, mysterious, incognito, unknown world where everything is new, disturbing, challenging, intriguing to me. I knew nothing, not basic geography, histories, religions, cultures, absolutely and almost shamefully nothing, and I hadn't had any concerns about knowing them either. Until I flew ...
So as the years go by, the thing about comparisons comes into force, and it would be my first point: one unconsciously begins to compare. Everything lived, seen, learned, laughed and suffered goes and is piled up on the same hard disk. One does not consciously select what is recorded, and everything is recorded mixed, a particular moment, an impression or information and not another, subtleties that you had not paid attention to, emotions, reasoning…... A great well overflowing with information. Only information, no judgment and that information led me to comparison. Between countries, cultures, rites, architecture, stories, religions, foods, clothes, landscapes, smells, colours, writings…. All countries have something peculiar, unique, their own and recognisable. At this point, with vast baggage of years of accumulation on the hard drive, it is impossible for me not to compare. And there is more and more to compare with. Then I catch myself saying - ah !! here too, - the same religion, but something different in its rites- ah !! the same holiday, but different at the same time, the marriage rite how different in Thailand, with that of Bali, or with ours, or this artisanal fabric is also made on the other side of the world almost the same ... how curious… compare Buddhism between different countries, or, between Florentine, Japanese, Thai, Nepalese palaces and… it goes on and on….
As a support to the text, I am going to graph it in photos, it is only an example:
The horizontal Buddha image represents the day that Buddha decided to rest and go to Nirvana. This sculpture and the symbol have the name "Parinirvana", and it is always represented as a female figure. Buddha, after 50 years of preaching, arrived in Kuhinara, in northern India almost on the border with Nepal, where he chose to rest while waiting to reach Nirvana. A clear comparison the image of the death of Jesus his face is of pain and that of Buddha of fullness…. I do not get into religion the reasons are below, I only see what I see...
Comparing the sculptures, I see how the same image is reproduced in different countries, or how in cultures of great reigns versus austere or isolated ones. How to not compare their expressions. I compare that of that country with that of the cave in the other, I do not judge which is more beautiful and valuable, I only learn more. How for example about the reigns of Thailand that were exquisite in aesthetics, architecture, extraordinary refinement versus Laos being neighbouring countries could not be more opposite. Laos was never a strong reign, rather it was the victim of conquests for centuries by China, Thailand, and Vietnam and its artistic expressions are precarious, not only in materials but in aesthetic refinement. It is just an example, for me, it is a fascinating subject, unconscious to compare and never ending… … to find out the reason for the differentiation.
the support with the hand one more comfortable than the others, others uncomfortable, or impossible, subtle, refined, inspiring images and others rough where one does not stop long to contemplate it.
The other point that turned me around a while ago is that of losing the capacity for astonishment, and it is not less. How the level of exaltation begins to drop, you no longer hallucinate so much or for so long, or unexpected things are almost already expected. I think about it, and I reason that, for example, I already manage comfortably in any unintelligible language, or I no longer know what type of transport could impress me when travelling; flying in a helicopter in extreme risk, other extremes of high risk in a simple rickshaw (transport by bicycle) until riding an elephant bareback down a river, of course, something curious will always come out there ... but more and more in the distance. Almost the entire blog of "Eyes of the vagabond" has been to relate extreme experiences with my emotions of the moment which I have lived intensely and that has prompted me to share them.
I am somewhat concerned to know what will happen from now on, what else may surprise me…. How will I take the new adventures, with less emotion? less intensity? I have been stranded for 18 months on the island of Koh Tao, Thailand, due to the pandemic and I do not think I will be back on the road for another year, because I do want to resume wandering as soon as the planet improves in its health. I have a concern.
A couple of examples and I can apply them to so many other cases.
The motorcycles: pufff the first ride on one in Vietnam, unforgettable … What an adventure !!!, what a thrill !!!!, so much so that I described them in a couple of blogs in "vaga # 4 of Vietnam", from the first time I got on to one .... or funny situations like for Novi and Ari's marriage in Bali, I with my silk suit on a motorcycle to attend the wedding, I have never had a silk suit in my life, and it was a situation of total incoherence to see me there, or with Peter, we rented a motorcycle in Bali, he learned to drive right there, and that first day we had a terrible storm of rain and winds that I do not know how we survived.
About 5 months ago I bought my own motorcycle, a Honda, “la Panchito”, and I drive without any papers, nor do I have a driving document, I only have one key and I will sell it one day with the key. I took the neighbour’s dog for a ride…... Yes, it was a tremendous thrill to buy one at 63 years old and a lot of nerves to drive it. I have not driven cars in years and even less driven on the wrong side of the road, like the English, add the strokes, that is why driving is completely forbidden. It was out of strict necessity, not because of looking for more challenges or adrenaline in my life, I have plenty of those, it was because of my foot that has not yet managed to improve at all. Today I am cool with the bike, I confidently move, and it has rejuvenated me by gaining lost ground in terms of handling and confidence. How I see motorcycles is no longer a matter of astonishment. By the way, I complain because this one uses too much petrol.
"The brooms" that caught my attention here in Asia are even described in the blog "vaga # 1 obsession 2", nowadays and how I have a witch in me, so I use a broom with a helmet in the city or with a Panama hat around the islands to move. I have had my own broom for over a year and use it every day. I still like them, but I don't need to be stealthily taking photos of them, I have them everywhere, and I also don't even take photos of them, the capacity for astonishment here is also over.
It worries me to think of losing the capacity for astonishment, although I have doubts in some way. I am amazed at a new and beautiful sunset in the sea that I see every day from my balcony. Nature always amazes me, but they are the experiences, the exaltation with which I have been living and enjoying these years. I think that when I get fledged again, they will hardly be discharged from the planetary pandemic and if my paw allows it, I will go in other directions. Curiosity is ahead and constantly pulling me and always ready for new experiences and knowledge. Let's see how the capacity for astonishment is given to me.
I end this writing with the "rudder stroke":
A friend from Chile, Carola, a month after leaving the country sent me this poem by email, I read it quickly, I did not know it, and it did not leave any impression on me, my mind was blinded to discover many things to come. Now with the time of the journey and with my forced and grateful pause because it is difficult for me to take my foot off the accelerator and with time I reread it a week ago, and it made a lot of sense to me. It gave me light, something that described me and that I did not clearly know how I felt. Passed to relate.
“The story of Ulysses and his return to his homeland Ithaca, from the moment the Trojan War ended, after 20 years after a very long journey, a journey full of adventures and experiences. In Ithaca his wife and son awaited him, she was the beautiful and patient Penelope who did not stop weaving. Odysseus is also known as Odysseus. The well-known work "Odyssey" narrates the adventures of Ulysses on his return trip to Ithaca. ... that's where the popular saying was inspired, "it has been quite an odyssey". "
I copy the poem, "Ithaca" from the Greek poet, Constantine Cavafis (1863 - 1933) he wrote it based on the Odyssey after millennia:
Ithaca;
When you start your journey to Ithaca
It asks for the path to be long,
full of adventures, full of experiences.
Do not fear the Laystrygians or the Cyclops
nor to the angry Poseidon,
such beings you will never find on your way,
if your thinking is high, if you select
It is the emotion that touches your spirit and your body.
Neither the Laystrygians nor the Cyclops
nor the wild Poseidon you will find,
if you don't carry them inside your soul,
if your soul does not raise them before you.
It asks for the path to be long.
May there be many summer mornings
in which you arrive - with what pleasure and joy! -
to ports never seen before.
Stop at the emporiums of Phenicia
and get beautiful merchandise,
mother-of-pearl and coral, amber and ebony
and all sorts of sensual perfumes,
the more abundant sensual perfumes you can.
Go to many Egyptian cities
to learn, to learn from their wise men.
Always keep Ithaca on your mind.
Getting there is your destination.
But never rush the trip.
Better that it last for many years
and dock, old man, on the island,
enriched by how much you earned on the way
without putting up with Ithaca to enrich you.
Ithaca gave you such a beautiful journey.
Without it you would not have started the journey.
But he no longer has anything to give you.
Even if you find her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you.
So, wise as you have become, with so much experience,
you will already understand what the Ithacas mean.
"Rudder stroke", or a new understanding of what I had been intuiting, and now it takes shape. Now I do understand this poem and not before, and it is because I had to experience it first, it is not understood without having worn the soles of the shoes before. (in my case the sandals haha)
"Do not fear the Laestrygons or the Cyclopes, or the angry Poseidon, such beings you will never find on your way, if your thinking is high, if selected is the emotion that touches your spirit and your body."
And it makes sense that on many occasions it is our own demons that hinder us in the process of achieving what we want. I see those monsters that could be losing health, material insecurity, loneliness. Keep your thoughts high
" Do not rush the trip at all better than it lasts many years and when you are old, you arrive on the island, rich with what you have earned on the way, without waiting for Ithacas to give you riches."
Do not rush the trip, the most important thing is not to arrive, the trip is more important than the goal. Enrich yourself along the way, with adventures and knowledge, gain wisdom as you walk….
"Always keep Ithaca in mind / Getting there is your destiny."
The journey to Ithaca is the journey of life itself, reaching its destination, old and wise. Ithaca is not a physical place, it is a place within oneself, to return to the essence and this how to be my best friend, my companion of joys and sorrows, of boredom, uncertainties and even of rage, a friend of my silence, be compassionate towards oneself and others, observe the surroundings, attentive, open, always learning. A process of personal growth and I wish that there be many summer mornings, but not every day is summer, so usually, I give thanks at dusk for the day lived.
