tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17261089752361638652024-03-14T12:31:23.145+08:00James's Blog at JamesBaquet.comSee what's new at JamesBaquet.com.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger166125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-20606626170206078832016-12-10T12:00:00.010+08:002023-12-10T21:41:58.207+08:00My Heroic Dad: A Facebook Memory<p style="text-align: center;"><i>Originally posted to Facebook December 10, 2016</i></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFsn4asm6RD8GsFuvxyIudrk-AOtbbhwaWLIRGDWzEndDfU5g-8VgcniRNne3vMm4Xh19VlvP0hhWe45G49GKnGQ0OV5wgXIHcQtL3y66l8tZ9gj_Jg8fP0YNtPG2YLaDC3GPhMkfXya7-jXaECFC-yr40OBRXahpujG-swr4XQBa4IWZ_5FP71VKv/s640/Dad%20Toytown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="519" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFsn4asm6RD8GsFuvxyIudrk-AOtbbhwaWLIRGDWzEndDfU5g-8VgcniRNne3vMm4Xh19VlvP0hhWe45G49GKnGQ0OV5wgXIHcQtL3y66l8tZ9gj_Jg8fP0YNtPG2YLaDC3GPhMkfXya7-jXaECFC-yr40OBRXahpujG-swr4XQBa4IWZ_5FP71VKv/s16000/Dad%20Toytown.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad more-or-less in those days</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Thinking of my dad this December morning.</p><p>D-Boy broke a pedal on his bike in one of his many spills, and scuffed up the other one pretty bad. They needed to be replaced, so I bought a new pair, but I don't have any open-end wrenches (and my one big crescent is too thick to fit in the space).</p><p>So Vic, the guard across the street, brought his wrenches over to do it for me. As I watched him try to thread the right pedal, I realized he must have the wrong one--left bike pedals are reverse-threaded to keep them from unscrewing. I picked up the other pedal and sure enough, there was an "R" on the end of the spindle; he was trying to put the left pedal on the right side!</p><p>As I continued to watch, I asked myself, "How did I know that?" and I realized I must have learned it from Dad.</p><p>Then a flood of memory came. As I told Vic and D-Boy: When I was in my grade school years, after Thanksgiving Dad would go to "the plant" for the usual workday (in those days on his feet much of the day, before he got a "desk job"), come home for a quick dinner, and then head off to the local toy store, where he assembled bicycles in the back room for people who couldn't (or didn't want to) do it themselves (at an extra charge by the store, of course).</p><p>In this way, he raised the extra $$$ so we could have a better Christmas.</p><p>For most of my life, when I have thought of "sacrifice," I haven't really thought of the grand gestures that we romanticize in literature and film; I've thought of the millions or billions of these small, extraordinary acts that people like my Dad and Mom performed to make the lives of their kids (and others' kids, like with the Scouts and the PTA) a little better.</p><p>Now that Lila and I are responsible for a kid, I "get it" in a whole new way.</p><p style="text-align: center;">* * * * * * * *<br />* * * * * * * *</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-23293503748271963462013-05-11T18:00:00.049+08:002023-11-19T15:34:20.843+08:00Othello: Stray Questions<p style="text-align: left;">[This essay was originally posted to "<a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2012/04/the-third-tale.html">The Third Tale</a>," a blog on Weebly. In transferring it I have updated and made corrections where necessary.]</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0CHJWcMyZflAIwZEbvApXL6tABzus8Zb4qVVZILUP0k_nKUxKzacMm5rW-Di_hKcWfe3849wuPyeS5B3V5yDP_F9kme6EWrzzxsnhosUIejeuWWK_xqs4ZlJKlvrLYjm94dxI0T1Rv81dsOlA9h0KAzuvJP1-_jDkm_m3792d3s8awHoA7iUpdyq5/s466/8801357.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0CHJWcMyZflAIwZEbvApXL6tABzus8Zb4qVVZILUP0k_nKUxKzacMm5rW-Di_hKcWfe3849wuPyeS5B3V5yDP_F9kme6EWrzzxsnhosUIejeuWWK_xqs4ZlJKlvrLYjm94dxI0T1Rv81dsOlA9h0KAzuvJP1-_jDkm_m3792d3s8awHoA7iUpdyq5/s16000/8801357.jpg" /></a></div><p>Here's my first week's effort from my new project: questions about <i>Othello</i>.<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>List all parties responsible for Desdemona's death, in the order of responsibility.</li><li>Some say Iago, not Othello, is the real "hero" of the play. Agree or disagree, and give reasons.</li><li>What drives Iago to destroy Othello:</li></ol><p></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><ul><li>some real or imagined slight (Cassio's promotion, or Othello's infidelity with Emilia)?</li><li>a general sense of inferiority (which some have suggested drove the Columbine and other school shooters)?</li><li>a generally destructive nature?</li></ul></ul><ol start="4" style="text-align: left;"><li>Iago says of Cassio (5.i.20-21): "He hath a daily beauty in his life / That makes me ugly..." How might this feeling (perhaps generalized to all the successful people around him) have driven Iago?</li><li>Why do people (and Iago himself) constantly call Iago honest, when he is anything but?</li><li>In the BBC Shakespeare, Bob Hoskins plays Iago as laughing, gleeful, imp-like (even in his soliloquies) where one might expect him to be grim, morose, sinister. Which sounds more effective and appropriate? Why?</li><li>Othello is a general, a man who knows strategy and tactics. How could a "mere" ensign outmaneuver him?</li><li>Othello believes Iago without seeking corroboration. Why is this?</li><li>Can anyone be as pure as Desdemona seems to be? Is she a believable character?</li><li>What is the basis of the love between Othello and Desdemona? Consider how they met, how the married, and so on.</li><li>Think about the three key women in the play: Desdemona, Emilia, and Bianca. How do they reflect each other? What do they say about Shakespeare's (or the characters') views toward women?</li><li>What role do attitudes of race play in the various characters' views of Othello? Is this a main issue, or incidental?</li><li>Consider Iago's numerous soliloquies and long speeches. What do we learn of him in these?</li><li>Do you agree with Othello's self-assessment, that he is "one that loved not wisely but too well"?</li><li>A creative assignment: Journal the story from Emilia's perspective.</li></ol><hr /><p><b>Categories: </b>Shakespeare</p><hr />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-84909318422145002932013-05-11T12:00:00.021+08:002023-11-19T15:34:54.654+08:00My New Project: Shakespeare's Plays<p style="text-align: left;">[This essay was originally posted to "<a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2012/04/the-third-tale.html">The Third Tale</a>," a blog on Weebly. In transferring it I have updated and made corrections where necessary.]</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSR3MPdT16vikSk7DQ4H2mpS3Tm0RAM83s9-SW8BqG1z-lKwWMv4u9mjPvBkT8mZp-DQ5pcqzh0ggS9u6dzQiKRFsL6xckBR9VN3fcrz0qnVDNpyENYg32ClxExx11YJFg9LCDn26pCEMCZnGbufv7p260l6vHYRoDq9CznDX6eyFAMQaUPI2S7dJB/s466/1368300152.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="466" data-original-width="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSR3MPdT16vikSk7DQ4H2mpS3Tm0RAM83s9-SW8BqG1z-lKwWMv4u9mjPvBkT8mZp-DQ5pcqzh0ggS9u6dzQiKRFsL6xckBR9VN3fcrz0qnVDNpyENYg32ClxExx11YJFg9LCDn26pCEMCZnGbufv7p260l6vHYRoDq9CznDX6eyFAMQaUPI2S7dJB/s16000/1368300152.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p>I've just started a new project: I'll try to read (study, really, with <i>footnotes</i>) one Shakespeare play a week for the next ten months or so, and then watch the BBC production of that play, from back in the '80s. I've downloaded 37 of them (<i>The Two Noble Kinsmen</i> seems not to be included). When time is tight, I may find myself taking <i>two</i> weeks, so this might last a year or so.</p><p>This week <a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2013/05/othello-stray-questions.html"><b>I read and watched <i>Othello</i></b></a>. Each day I read and studied one act, then watched it in the evening, while the reading was still fresh. Tomorrow I may try to watch the whole thing again, time permitting.</p><p>Next week is <i>King Lear</i>; I chose these two mainly because I bought cheap copies at a used bookstore in the Philippines in February. This week I'll need to go seek out copies of more plays in Shenzhen's bookstores.</p><p>Why not just read the online versions? Because a "real book" like the Folger Shakespeare Library series puts the notes on a page facing the text--most convenient. True, you can find nicely-formatted versions online, too, but they're not portable. (To tell the truth, I understand over 90% of what I read; but understanding those rare archaisms and occasional obscure allusions can make all the difference.)</p><p>Rather than blab on (I found "blab" in <i>Othello!</i>) about what I think of the plays, I'll try to post questions that occurred to me; you can then form your own opinions (though sometimes mine may be given away in the very questions).</p><p>So, avaunt! Hie thee to my next post upon the nonce, lest with delay you lose the sense of it. (Anything interesting about that sentence, meter-wise?) I'll let you know on Facebook any time I've posted new stuff. Enjoy!</p><hr /><p><b>Categories: </b>Shakespeare</p><hr /><b></b><div><b><br /></b></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-87038126587149197702012-09-26T12:00:00.030+08:002023-11-19T15:12:04.826+08:00The Heart Sutra<p style="text-align: left;">[This essay was originally posted to "<a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2012/04/the-third-tale.html">The Third Tale</a>," a blog on Weebly. In transferring it I have updated and made corrections where necessary.]</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFOFV485h6gTbEM204-cbTWwPYoVy6r9itSQcUffEI2D9aeYW0bQrrxeouAILNtJkZUBzEwh2LDbrWpry_7G0tGbRJcL5pxD-nschOh7e7DserwQola-4XxWQtPSYrS2-zkuOdkKWkUtHgOMtzdreLWu_n_a0S65FfBRE2-chDNdii7Y-hGlurT5aF/s580/7018174_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="574" data-original-width="580" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFOFV485h6gTbEM204-cbTWwPYoVy6r9itSQcUffEI2D9aeYW0bQrrxeouAILNtJkZUBzEwh2LDbrWpry_7G0tGbRJcL5pxD-nschOh7e7DserwQola-4XxWQtPSYrS2-zkuOdkKWkUtHgOMtzdreLWu_n_a0S65FfBRE2-chDNdii7Y-hGlurT5aF/s16000/7018174_orig.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><i>The Prajna Paramita Mantra</i> in Devanagari characters</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Here's the Heart Sutra as I chant it:</p><p>Maha Prajna Paramita Hridya Sutra</p><p>Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva<br />when practicing deeply the Prajna Paramita<br />perceives that all five skandhas are empty<br />and is saved from all suffering and distress.</p><p>Shariputra,<br />form does not differ from emptiness,<br />emptiness does not differ from form.<br />That which is form is emptiness,<br />that which is emptiness form.<br />The same is true of feelings,<br />perceptions, impulses, consciousness.</p><p>Shariputra,<br />all dharmas are marked with emptiness;<br />they do not appear or disappear,<br />are not tainted or pure,<br />do not increase or decrease.<br />Therefore, in emptiness no form, no feelings,<br />perceptions, impulses, consciousness.</p><p>No eyes, no ears, no nose, no tongue, no body, no mind;<br />no color, no sound, no smell, no taste, no touch,<br />no object of mind;<br />no realm of eyes<br />and so forth until no realm of mind consciousness.</p><p>No ignorance and also no extinction of it,<br />and so forth until no old age and death<br />and also no extinction of them.</p><p>No suffering, no origination,<br />no stopping, no path, no cognition,<br />also no attainment with nothing to attain.</p><p>The Bodhisattva depends on Prajna Paramita<br />and the mind is no hindrance;<br />without any hindrance no fears exist.<br />Far apart from every perverted view one dwells in Nirvana.</p><p>In the three worlds<br />all Buddhas depend on Prajna Paramita<br />and attain Anuttara Samyak Sambodhi.</p><p>Therefore know that Prajna Paramita<br />is the great transcendent mantra,<br />is the great bright mantra,<br />is the utmost mantra,<br />is the supreme mantra<br />which is able to relieve all suffering<br />and is true, not false.</p><p>So proclaim the Prajna Paramita mantra,<br />proclaim the mantra which says:</p><p>gate gate paragate parasamgate bodhi svaha<br />gate gate paragate parasamgate bodhi svaha<br />gate gate paragate parasamgate bodhi svaha.</p><p>--------</p><p><a href="https://kwanumzen.org/teaching-library/2011/02/15/heart-sutra-in-english"><b>Here's an audio version</b></a> (I use Version 2)</p><hr /><p><b>Comment(s):</b></p><p><i></i></p><blockquote><p><i>Harriet:</i></p><p>Thank you for sharing this. What a peaceful feeling it brings...</p></blockquote><p></p><hr /><p><b>Categories: </b>Buddhism, Spirituality</p><hr />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-3688786014825369632012-06-09T12:00:00.024+08:002023-11-19T14:58:59.614+08:00Wellesley High grads told: "You're not special"<p style="text-align: left;">[This essay was originally posted to "<a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2012/04/the-third-tale.html">The Third Tale</a>," a blog on Weebly. In transferring it I have updated and made corrections where necessary.]</p><p>Some common sense for graduates (despite the sensational headline). I have reposted this here because (a) the original cannot be accessed in China at this moment and (b) I like it. A lot.</p><p>(Links at end)</p><p>[Intro and text from the "Swellesley Report"]</p><p>We'd been hearing good things over the weekend about Wellesley High School English teacher David McCullough, Jr.'s faculty speech to the Class of 2012 last Friday. Here it is, in its entirety, courtesy of Mr. McCullough:<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><hr /><p>Dr. Wong, Dr. Keough, Mrs. Novogroski, Ms. Curran, members of the board of education, family and friends of the graduates, ladies and gentlemen of the Wellesley High School class of 2012, for the privilege of speaking to you this afternoon, I am honored and grateful. Thank you.</p><p>So here we are... commencement... life's great forward-looking ceremony. (And don't say, "What about weddings?" Weddings are one-sided and insufficiently effective. Weddings are bride-centric pageantry. Other than conceding to a list of unreasonable demands, the groom just stands there. No stately, hey-everybody-look-at-me procession. No being given away. No identity-changing pronouncement. And can you imagine a television show dedicated to watching guys try on tuxedos? Their fathers sitting there misty-eyed with joy and disbelief, their brothers lurking in the corner muttering with envy. Left to men, weddings would be, after limits-testing procrastination, spontaneous, almost inadvertent... during halftime... on the way to the refrigerator. And then there's the frequency of failure: statistics tell us half of you will get divorced. A winning percentage like that'll get you last place in the American League East. The Baltimore Orioles do better than weddings.)</p><p>But this ceremony... commencement... a commencement works every time. From this day forward... truly... in sickness and in health, through financial fiascos, through midlife crises and passably attractive sales reps at trade shows in Cincinnati, through diminishing tolerance for annoyingness, through every difference, irreconcilable and otherwise, you will stay forever graduated from high school, you and your diploma as one, ‘til death do you part.</p><p>No, commencement is life's great ceremonial beginning, with its own attendant and highly appropriate symbolism. Fitting, for example, for this auspicious rite of passage, is where we find ourselves this afternoon, the venue. Normally, I avoid clichés like the plague, wouldn't touch them with a ten-foot pole, but here we are on a literal level playing field. That matters. That says something. And your ceremonial costume... shapeless, uniform, one-size-fits-all. Whether male or female, tall or short, scholar or slacker, spray-tanned prom queen or intergalactic X-Box assassin, each of you is dressed, you'll notice, exactly the same. And your diploma... but for your name, exactly the same.</p><p>All of this is as it should be, because none of you is special.</p><p>You are not special. You are not exceptional.</p><p>Contrary to what your u9 soccer trophy suggests, your glowing seventh grade report card, despite every assurance of a certain corpulent purple dinosaur, that nice Mister Rogers and your batty Aunt Sylvia, no matter how often your maternal caped crusader has swooped in to save you... you're nothing special.</p><p>Yes, you've been pampered, cosseted, doted upon, helmeted, bubble-wrapped. Yes, capable adults with other things to do have held you, kissed you, fed you, wiped your mouth, wiped your bottom, trained you, taught you, tutored you, coached you, listened to you, counseled you, encouraged you, consoled you and encouraged you again. You've been nudged, cajoled, wheedled and implored. You've been feted and fawned over and called sweetie pie. Yes, you have. And, certainly, we've been to your games, your plays, your recitals, your science fairs. Absolutely, smiles ignite when you walk into a room, and hundreds gasp with delight at your every tweet. Why, maybe you've even had your picture in the Townsman! [Editor's upgrade: Or The Swellesley Report!] And now you've conquered high school... and, indisputably, here we all have gathered for you, the pride and joy of this fine community, the first to emerge from that magnificent new building...</p><p>But do not get the idea you're anything special. Because you're not.</p><p>The empirical evidence is everywhere, numbers even an English teacher can't ignore. Newton, Natick, Nee... I am allowed to say Needham, yes? ...that has to be two thousand high school graduates right there, give or take, and that's just the neighborhood Ns. Across the country no fewer than 3.2 million seniors are graduating about now from more than 37,000 high schools. That's 37,000 valedictorians... 37,000 class presidents... 92,000 harmonizing altos... 340,000 swaggering jocks... 2,185,967 pairs of Uggs. But why limit ourselves to high school? After all, you're leaving it. So think about this: even if you're one in a million, on a planet of 6.8 billion that means there are nearly 7,000 people just like you. Imagine standing somewhere over there on Washington Street on Marathon Monday and watching sixty-eight hundred yous go running by. And consider for a moment the bigger picture: your planet, I'll remind you, is not the center of its solar system, your solar system is not the center of its galaxy, your galaxy is not the center of the universe. In fact, astrophysicists assure us the universe has no center; therefore, you cannot be it. Neither can Donald Trump... which someone should tell him... although that hair is quite a phenomenon.</p><p>"But, Dave," you cry, "Walt Whitman tells me I'm my own version of perfection! Epictetus tells me I have the spark of Zeus!" And I don't disagree. So that makes 6.8 billion examples of perfection, 6.8 billion sparks of Zeus. You see, if everyone is special, then no one is. If everyone gets a trophy, trophies become meaningless. In our unspoken but not so subtle Darwinian competition with one another–which springs, I think, from our fear of our own insignificance, a subset of our dread of mortality — we have of late, we Americans, to our detriment, come to love accolades more than genuine achievement. We have come to see them as the point — and we're happy to compromise standards, or ignore reality, if we suspect that's the quickest way, or only way, to have something to put on the mantelpiece, something to pose with, crow about, something with which to leverage ourselves into a better spot on the social totem pole. No longer is it how you play the game, no longer is it even whether you win or lose, or learn or grow, or enjoy yourself doing it... Now it's "So what does this get me?" As a consequence, we cheapen worthy endeavors, and building a Guatemalan medical clinic becomes more about the application to Bowdoin than the well-being of Guatemalans. It's an epidemic — and in its way, not even dear old Wellesley High is immune... one of the best of the 37,000 nationwide, Wellesley High School... where good is no longer good enough, where a B is the new C, and the midlevel curriculum is called Advanced College Placement. And I hope you caught me when I said "one of the best." I said "one of the best" so we can feel better about ourselves, so we can bask in a little easy distinction, however vague and unverifiable, and count ourselves among the elite, whoever they might be, and enjoy a perceived leg up on the perceived competition. But the phrase defies logic. By definition there can be only one best. You're it or you're not.</p><p>If you've learned anything in your years here I hope it's that education should be for, rather than material advantage, the exhilaration of learning. You've learned, too, I hope, as Sophocles assured us, that wisdom is the chief element of happiness. (Second is ice cream... just an fyi) I also hope you've learned enough to recognize how little you know... how little you know now... at the moment... for today is just the beginning. It's where you go from here that matters.</p><p>As you commence, then, and before you scatter to the winds, I urge you to do whatever you do for no reason other than you love it and believe in its importance. Don't bother with work you don't believe in any more than you would a spouse you're not crazy about, lest you too find yourself on the wrong side of a Baltimore Orioles comparison. Resist the easy comforts of complacency, the specious glitter of materialism, the narcotic paralysis of self-satisfaction. Be worthy of your advantages. And read... read all the time... read as a matter of principle, as a matter of self-respect. Read as a nourishing staple of life. Develop and protect a moral sensibility and demonstrate the character to apply it. Dream big. Work hard. Think for yourself. Love everything you love, everyone you love, with all your might. And do so, please, with a sense of urgency, for every tick of the clock subtracts from fewer and fewer; and as surely as there are commencements there are cessations, and you'll be in no condition to enjoy the ceremony attendant to that eventuality no matter how delightful the afternoon.</p><p>The fulfilling life, the distinctive life, the relevant life, is an achievement, not something that will fall into your lap because you're a nice person or mommy ordered it from the caterer. You'll note the founding fathers took pains to secure your inalienable right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness–quite an active verb, "pursuit"–which leaves, I should think, little time for lying around watching parrots rollerskate on Youtube. The first President Roosevelt, the old rough rider, advocated the strenuous life. Mr. Thoreau wanted to drive life into a corner, to live deep and suck out all the marrow. The poet Mary Oliver tells us to row, row into the swirl and roil. Locally, someone... I forget who... from time to time encourages young scholars to carpe the heck out of the diem. [NB: It was McCullough himself in a previous graduation speech.] The point is the same: get busy, have at it. Don't wait for inspiration or passion to find you. Get up, get out, explore, find it yourself, and grab hold with both hands. (Now, before you dash off and get your YOLO tattoo, let me point out the illogic of that trendy little expression–because you can and should live not merely once, but every day of your life. Rather than You Only Live Once, it should be You Live Only Once... but because YLOO doesn't have the same ring, we shrug and decide it doesn't matter.)</p><p>None of this day-seizing, though, this YLOOing, should be interpreted as license for self-indulgence. Like accolades ought to be, the fulfilled life is a consequence, a gratifying byproduct. It's what happens when you're thinking about more important things. Climb the mountain not to plant your flag, but to embrace the challenge, enjoy the air and behold the view. Climb it so you can see the world, not so the world can see you. Go to Paris to be in Paris, not to cross it off your list and congratulate yourself for being worldly. Exercise free will and creative, independent thought not for the satisfactions they will bring you, but for the good they will do others, the rest of the 6.8 billion–and those who will follow them. And then you too will discover the great and curious truth of the human experience is that selflessness is the best thing you can do for yourself. The sweetest joys of life, then, come only with the recognition that you're not special.</p><p>Because everyone is.</p><p>Congratulations. Good luck. Make for yourselves, please, for your sake and for ours, extraordinary lives.</p><p>David McCullough</p><hr /><p><b>LINKS:</b></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><a href="https://www.huffpost.com/entry/david-mccullough-wellesle_n_1575402"><b>HuffPost article</b></a></li><li><a href="https://theswellesleyreport.com/2012/06/wellesley-high-grads-told-youre-not-special/"><b>Original post</b></a></li><li><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_lfxYhtf8o4"><b>Watch it</b></a></li></ul><p></p><hr />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-83851116837825495382012-04-22T12:00:00.023+08:002023-11-19T14:24:16.629+08:00How to Live<p style="text-align: left;">[This essay was originally posted to "<a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2012/04/the-third-tale.html">The Third Tale</a>," a blog on Weebly. In transferring it I have updated and made corrections where necessary.]</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoDTgxFskKc16c5XHVHcmH0NZzCenRM7oBiKxajl_aZTzSF058FSDvfXEyiaqNtgT64iDD7GPZwHQVDOLhNW2A23OHmMMSRQhJPfy2xgYJNxrPKZjGoUm8oTMf3X5LgxUk-GxImpN_qwQmQ5ehU3s_X9YBvTDhhIQq6LPUlbm_R9d48-8QWRPsPaEQ/s562/5641241_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="562" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoDTgxFskKc16c5XHVHcmH0NZzCenRM7oBiKxajl_aZTzSF058FSDvfXEyiaqNtgT64iDD7GPZwHQVDOLhNW2A23OHmMMSRQhJPfy2xgYJNxrPKZjGoUm8oTMf3X5LgxUk-GxImpN_qwQmQ5ehU3s_X9YBvTDhhIQq6LPUlbm_R9d48-8QWRPsPaEQ/s16000/5641241_orig.jpg" /></a></div><p><i>The Dhammapada</i> is a widely-quoted collection of sayings of the Buddha. I read selections (almost) every day, and have learned some by heart.<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p>The quote above is from Chapter 6, Verse 79. Actually, as the numbers are consecutive throughout the book, it is enough to say just "Verse 79"; but the chapters are thematic, and Chapter 6 concentrates on "The Wise."</p><p>It reads:</p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">Live in peace and joy</div><div style="text-align: center;">Delight in the truth</div><div style="text-align: center;">Behave like one awakened</div><p></p><p>As for the picture, it's a heavily-manipulated version of an original photo of the Great Buddha of Kamakura, Japan. I was fortunate to visit him many times when I lived in Yokohama, and I have dozens of shots. The outdoor location is dramatic, with the hills behind and the ocean in front (said to be good <i>feng shui</i>).</p><hr /><p><b>Categories: </b>Art, Buddhism, Japan, Peace, Photography, Quotations, Spirituality</p><hr /><b></b><div><b><br /></b></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-63217859757290815302012-04-21T12:00:00.016+08:002023-11-19T14:11:28.028+08:00How the Southwest Saved My Life, Part I<p style="text-align: left;">[This essay was originally posted to "<a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2012/04/the-third-tale.html">The Third Tale</a>," a blog on Weebly. In transferring it I have updated and made corrections where necessary.]</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Pzv2Fs0NaYNXEFsDT5Cpqofzwarnl9zaHqJIeer0doIlQnXDV68jvdNsVhGgcP68xCWYp819xC-f9isJfUnhNsaBPaEMNK9pUTu8jzfv1OnU-acbkV0CfxIFM28GkX7NeOLQmEq5z7GKUw6V_EKqkk3tF6pzoMXEDOm98bYz3sHS3foAtmLHdUL_/s700/4986855_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="465" data-original-width="700" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Pzv2Fs0NaYNXEFsDT5Cpqofzwarnl9zaHqJIeer0doIlQnXDV68jvdNsVhGgcP68xCWYp819xC-f9isJfUnhNsaBPaEMNK9pUTu8jzfv1OnU-acbkV0CfxIFM28GkX7NeOLQmEq5z7GKUw6V_EKqkk3tF6pzoMXEDOm98bYz3sHS3foAtmLHdUL_/s16000/4986855_orig.jpg" /></a></div><p>Post-divorce and pre-Japan was a wandering time (as mentioned in <a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2012/04/face-every-day-like-your-hair-was-on.html">my post about Robert Urich</a>). And the wandering place that meant the most was the Four Corners area, especially New Mexico.<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p>The LAND itself was healing; the PEOPLE and the SOLITUDE. The picture above shows me with some Taoseno Indians on the front porch of their home in Taos Pueblo; they and many others accepted me with a kindness that was inexplicable.</p><p>Once I took a group of students to the Pueblos, and at one of them we attended a "rain dance" (they called it a "corn dance," as the rain leads to corn). One of our boys bought smoke bombs at a booth and proceeded to go around setting them off.</p><p>I was livid. This is these people's HOMES, I said. How would you like it if someone did this in YOUR yard?</p><p>As I rode my high-horse, a big--and I mean BIG--dancer (on a break from the heat) came over, sat down in the midst of our group, and asked where we were from. I told him, and then hastily apologized for my charge's behavior.</p><p>"No problem," he said. "We dance for the whole world. We're really glad you're here."</p><p>Wow.</p><hr /><p><b>Categories: </b>Bio, Compassion, Gratitude, Peace, Spirituality, The West</p><hr /><b></b><div><b><br /></b></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-67067894478629449772012-04-16T12:00:00.095+08:002023-11-19T14:11:50.944+08:00"Face Every Day Like Your Hair Was on Fire": Remembering Robert Urich<p style="text-align: left;">[This essay was originally posted to "<a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2012/04/the-third-tale.html">The Third Tale</a>," a blog on Weebly. In transferring it I have updated and made corrections where necessary.]</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpO2z25rgebnTC7Jqht74ZECGfXJ5-ZuVSavrwtPwowpUV-Tt7FJmNMd8bCM6aSfys8gFnj6G_Vdf6zzt8g-QlosmwpxX2fomZV7mYwWxZnqts5S-zstIL0vXRqKn7lT0hgxvFkG0_QHQZSyx_q837NoIYS4J8cDf_ffbTNXvFAS25L0XTLiyqEgBM/s600/6454452_orig.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="431" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpO2z25rgebnTC7Jqht74ZECGfXJ5-ZuVSavrwtPwowpUV-Tt7FJmNMd8bCM6aSfys8gFnj6G_Vdf6zzt8g-QlosmwpxX2fomZV7mYwWxZnqts5S-zstIL0vXRqKn7lT0hgxvFkG0_QHQZSyx_q837NoIYS4J8cDf_ffbTNXvFAS25L0XTLiyqEgBM/s16000/6454452_orig.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Robert took "alone time" whenever he could. He knew the value of working on oneself.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>It's been 10 years since my friend Robert Urich died, and I'm just now beginning to feel I can write about him.</p><p>Calling Robert and Heather "friends" sounds so lame: in Hollywood, someone once said, a friend is "someone you've heard of."</p><p>These two have been so much more than that.<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p>At the lowest time in my life, they took me into their home in Utah. They gave me a space to live in, time to heal, honorable work to do (in tutoring their son Ryan), and their time, friendship, and love.</p><p>They took me on family outings, to church, to their house in Canada. I probably spent more time with Heather--sightseeing, discussing books and movies, helping her with the kids, just hanging around the house. It was her idea to reach out to me, and she is every bit the friend he was, but today I'd like to talk about Bob.</p><p>Robert Urich was a doer. He had a go-getter attitude that was summed up in his delightful misquote of an Indian saying. They said, "You must seek enlightenment like a man whose hair is on fire seeks a pond." Robert's version was more appropriate for his way of living: "Face every day like your hair was on fire."</p><p>Many was the (late) morning when Bob would bang on my bedroom door and call in: "Baquet, are you alive in there? Let's go do something."</p><p>Despite his great success, Robert was still a blue-collar boy, as am I. He was immune to the trappings of fame and stardom, and despite the difference in our worldly status, when we were together we were just "Bob and Jim." He was no snob.</p><p>We'd talk about everything, from movies to family to philosophy to history to reminiscences of childhood. He was a voracious reader, and--not a quick--but a deep thinker.</p><p>One of my favorite things about him was how I'd toss an idea out there (as teachers do), and he'd say, "Aw, that's horsesh*t!" (though he rarely swore), and then we'd talk and talk and talk. Sometimes he'd end up agreeing with me, sometimes I with him, sometimes there was no resolution, but it was always the camaraderie, the being together, that was important, not the conclusion.</p><p>Once at the dinner table he said, "Hey, Heather. Maybe we ought to keep Baquet around after the kids go off to school, and he can teach us all the stuff we should have learned in high school." He even told a reporter later that I was the family's "resident academic adviser." I loved him for his attitude toward personal growth.</p><p>That was January through June, 1995, and I stayed on in the house when they went to Canada for the summer.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIhmhkIjHo-2pd4W2RjPYvb0rjJpRHLnfYqPi_lyGFW2SmTeumlaaNztEtTEe142w-iwaVYRpdaIDG0rxooRc9l3hRbVoTYoOFtvLRnfP8mu_MAEzYef2DfDCkJ2NSfWMW3sVXMiKGo7m1iq9JsfP17QrQlCJTyuU8uUDwDjsKWHlYb9kk4MalK_uh/s600/7423341_orig.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIhmhkIjHo-2pd4W2RjPYvb0rjJpRHLnfYqPi_lyGFW2SmTeumlaaNztEtTEe142w-iwaVYRpdaIDG0rxooRc9l3hRbVoTYoOFtvLRnfP8mu_MAEzYef2DfDCkJ2NSfWMW3sVXMiKGo7m1iq9JsfP17QrQlCJTyuU8uUDwDjsKWHlYb9kk4MalK_uh/s16000/7423341_orig.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Hero on a white horse</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLeAH77sYtPXsNqFsXWywZTW7olupg0fVm4w3LI9Yhq6Myggw4VPBQi-SdPpCxHw265LUwHedLCHDmEwmjHAQBsOAmAjO7Q3EMGoBDlWYRkS9Kr6n_xsHkqU78UXaZqBxrdIn-1RkBYi3tF0TgFCUouFPuERLaO0-ERgCV-E-gbmHQDTQ3S0Ym3gsA/s600/1072736_orig.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLeAH77sYtPXsNqFsXWywZTW7olupg0fVm4w3LI9Yhq6Myggw4VPBQi-SdPpCxHw265LUwHedLCHDmEwmjHAQBsOAmAjO7Q3EMGoBDlWYRkS9Kr6n_xsHkqU78UXaZqBxrdIn-1RkBYi3tF0TgFCUouFPuERLaO0-ERgCV-E-gbmHQDTQ3S0Ym3gsA/s16000/1072736_orig.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">He could fill a doorway</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQKi71ny2__6qNdWeeIFZPZnwbxuWsk6UxVk0DGJaM7d8jFhVkAiNgUKAoEmPe8IBGOersUSEDhyphenhyphensgVYjibrwv_M_uTJsyMJae7nQsDw2col1VRDMyUdBeCZMfsh2P5n_YuQmVfVN6dDFdU5_cEBp5qN08sBI00plimt__EsqN6XTYmIlmK9V5UglU/s630/491412_orig.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQKi71ny2__6qNdWeeIFZPZnwbxuWsk6UxVk0DGJaM7d8jFhVkAiNgUKAoEmPe8IBGOersUSEDhyphenhyphensgVYjibrwv_M_uTJsyMJae7nQsDw2col1VRDMyUdBeCZMfsh2P5n_YuQmVfVN6dDFdU5_cEBp5qN08sBI00plimt__EsqN6XTYmIlmK9V5UglU/s16000/491412_orig.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">How he loved dogs!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Back in L.A. at Christmas, I called to greet the family and Bob asked what I was doing, which wasn't much. "Come up for New Years," he said, "then come to Santa Fe and run lines with me." He was then shooting <i>The Lazarus Man</i>.</p><p>It wasn't long before we discovered that an old pro like him didn't NEED help in learning his lines. But he kept me on as an on-set assistant, which largely meant hanging around with him, recommending books, talking about what we were reading--and occasionally taking a phone call or reminding him of an appointment.</p><p>From our time back in Utah, we had become close enough that we could be "real" with each other. And as Robert was the only weekly character on <i>Lazarus</i>, he carried much of the stress that made the show go. This sometimes manifested itself in--shall we say--a bit of pique? But he never turned it on me.</p><p>One day, he had a radio interview to do, and... I forgot. And we missed it. (Can you imagine the radio host building up to the interview, and then receiving no call?)</p><p>Knowing I had no choice, I prepared to face The Wrath. I went to him and said, "Hey, Chief. I screwed up. We missed the blah-blah-blah interview."</p><p>He looked down for a minute--as I stood there waiting for it--then looked up, and said: "We should probably be more careful about these things."</p><p>Whew!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVLVw2cPj9N_HBfteW5it3_E2XVj-VUAFdKYXjpMhzNKnSEvy6R62HvSOHhyn-JlsYrZoV59w6dRfgPEH7ck0EcGI0jCSoNdz5GsiHMzldKsLA6v1uHbvvouQQZDggF9UYdAynkqSPeCBKPnrbTU7rsdXAPnRsRj-0lch1M0UJY2rx0q8w6O8tOV3b/s600/1613617_orig.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVLVw2cPj9N_HBfteW5it3_E2XVj-VUAFdKYXjpMhzNKnSEvy6R62HvSOHhyn-JlsYrZoV59w6dRfgPEH7ck0EcGI0jCSoNdz5GsiHMzldKsLA6v1uHbvvouQQZDggF9UYdAynkqSPeCBKPnrbTU7rsdXAPnRsRj-0lch1M0UJY2rx0q8w6O8tOV3b/s16000/1613617_orig.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Set-up for a morning filled with back-to-back TV interviews. He LOVED playing cowboy!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Here's where it gets hard.</p><p>Shortly after the season was over and we'd gone back to our respective homes, I called to say hi, and he told me he'd been diagnosed with cancer. They moved to L.A., and over the next few months I went by the house whenever I could. The philosophical discussions we'd had in Utah and New Mexico now took on some depth, some urgency, and I learned a lot from him.</p><p>In February of 1997, with things looking better all around, I left for Japan to teach for a year, but my one year became nearly five.</p><p>On one of my summer visits home, I flew up to Canada to see Bob and Heather. One night when Robert and I had washed, dried, and put away the dishes, he set down his towel, wrapped those giant arms around me, and said quietly, "I love you, Jim."</p><p>It won't surprise you, then, that one of the primary reasons I moved back to the U.S. in late 2001 was to be near the Urichs.</p><p>Regrettably, I only saw them a few times before the news came.</p><p>I was staying at my parents' house in April 2002, having just started a new job. My parents were away, and when the phone rang one morning it was my aunt saying, "I'm sorry to tell you, but your friend died." "What friend?" I asked stupidly. That's how much this took me (and most of us) by surprise.</p><p>I called Robert and Heather's house immediately, and their daughter Emily answered. She told me something that pains me to this day: They had called me the night before to come to the bedside for Bob's last moments. But because it was my parents' phone, not mine, I never got the message.</p><p>No chance to say goodbye. I'm crying again (still) as I write this, ten years later.</p><p>Heather and I are still friends, though I've been in China over eight of the past ten years. I'll always be grateful to her and Robert for their great kindness, their great generosity, their great love.</p><p>I'm sure that everyone who knew him will agree: no one has ever taken his place.</p><p>I miss you, Chief.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsraJg3CkSj11ELpZ54rmClIO8L0GQjRfNpcGWob16Uq4UndrkWIYcKDKDHPyJnHMkRhq7Tutpv3WNQa_bGkq2OasDwNcMhIq9U6nQAeN1wqf06XvqgiZVphT6lgulNWymOgHi_exXWSMpW0sQmd6DjxC_TZ6_l_fEegl1qEIO0CrGl1HG-u89FFZw/s600/1947097_orig.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="486" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsraJg3CkSj11ELpZ54rmClIO8L0GQjRfNpcGWob16Uq4UndrkWIYcKDKDHPyJnHMkRhq7Tutpv3WNQa_bGkq2OasDwNcMhIq9U6nQAeN1wqf06XvqgiZVphT6lgulNWymOgHi_exXWSMpW0sQmd6DjxC_TZ6_l_fEegl1qEIO0CrGl1HG-u89FFZw/s16000/1947097_orig.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Skipping stones across the Rio Grande</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Robert's fighting spirit lives on in the work of the <a href="http://www.urichfoundation.org/">Robert Urich Foundation's</a> efforts to fund cancer research and patient care. Please consider a gift.</p><p>For more about the Urich family today, including details on the newly-released <i>The Sound of Music Family Scrapbook</i>, visit <a href="http://www.heathermenziesurich.com/">Heather's website</a>.</p><p>[Note: Lila and I were blessed to have dinner with Heather and their daughter Emily in New York City in 2015. We didn't know it would be the last time we saw her: she, too, succumbed to cancer, on December 24th, 2017. No words.]</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ngm9-9ufXf34ptfzPVL6vlMFuzIGPEBIhyphenhyphenwVkFP-Ps_pFkYD19REPY9gx7wYfTCmhfQse_R2wTox2nBQ7E-hjx5QY9qBv36Jqp7o4dPnDUaX7GLtUwdzxm0EtVrqDCpZ0MpNhWES-MtrIsaw1FZd84zXFfKWWvm8hikCDQPCkaO5bTb3L3a6ictH/s544/heather.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="544" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ngm9-9ufXf34ptfzPVL6vlMFuzIGPEBIhyphenhyphenwVkFP-Ps_pFkYD19REPY9gx7wYfTCmhfQse_R2wTox2nBQ7E-hjx5QY9qBv36Jqp7o4dPnDUaX7GLtUwdzxm0EtVrqDCpZ0MpNhWES-MtrIsaw1FZd84zXFfKWWvm8hikCDQPCkaO5bTb3L3a6ictH/s16000/heather.jpg" /></a></div><hr /><p><b>Comment(s):</b></p><p><i></i></p><blockquote><p><i>Harriet:</i></p><p>You manifest beauty and love....</p></blockquote><p></p><p>--------</p><p><i></i></p><blockquote><p><i>Kelly Smith Ritson:</i></p><p>He as well as you are truly blessed to have had eachother as we are to have you in our family.</p><p>This was very beautiful, you inspire me.</p><p>now go to peep!!!</p><p>love you Kelly aka. dillis Filler</p></blockquote><p></p><p>--------</p><p><i>Jesse Y. Leal:</i></p><blockquote><p>I was at the service driving friends of the Urich family.</p></blockquote><p>--------</p><p><i>My Reply:</i></p><p></p><blockquote>Wow, Jess. Small world--I was there!</blockquote><p></p><p>--------</p><p><i>Diane Bloom:</i></p><blockquote><p>So beautifully written, he was, and always will be one of my favourite actors...sadly missed :(</p></blockquote><p>--------</p><p><i>jenni mitchell:</i></p><blockquote><p>What a beautiful story of a great man sadly missed</p></blockquote><p>--------</p><p><i></i></p><blockquote><p><i>Karen Lalonde:</i></p><p>Thank you so much for sharing all of those beautiful moments with us and giving us an insight to Robert Urich..the person. All too often we see "celebrities" as larger than life individuals who are leaps and bounds "above" we everyday folk. It is so nice to know that Robert Urich was that "everyday folk"..and a very kind, and generous man. I can only imagine how you do indeed miss him. He left you with great memories and the blessing of being able to call him a true friend. And I am sure..you will one day see him again.</p></blockquote><p></p><p>--------</p><p><i></i></p><blockquote><p><i>Sally Gaines:</i></p><p>I never had the pleasure of meeting Robert in person but in reading your wonderful tribute to him, I feel as if I too knew him. He was everything I thought him to be. Thanks for sharing your memories. I am sure he is smiling down on you...</p></blockquote><p></p><p>--------</p><p><i></i></p><blockquote><p><i>Dave Waldschmidt:</i></p><p>While Bob was filming the Lazarus Man in Santa Fe a long time friend of Heather's introduced my wife & I to Bob & Heather. We had breakfast the next day and Heather & I discovered we were related (had to go back a bit through our Scottish roots). I realized when I met them how important they were to each other (not the Hollywood norm) and how they cherished their relationship. I am honored to have met Bob - and wish I had a chance to get to know him ... he was a gift ...</p></blockquote><p></p><p>--------</p><p><i></i></p><blockquote><p><i>Charles Sizemore:</i></p><p>I never had the pleasure to meet Mr. Urich, but I became Catholic because of him, I think the way he carried himself was an example for me to follow, he may be gone, but he's looking out for us all, We love you Mr. Urich</p></blockquote><p></p><p>--------</p><p><i></i></p><blockquote><p><i>cathy:</i></p><p>yes he was great man and great actor he was one of my favorite and I watch old e runs of Vegas and swat in fact I just found old rerun when he did battle of network star it was great to see him I know that up in heaven but it warm smile and care heart lives in his wife heather and there three children He will also be missed I was shocked when I found out of his passing I will also miss you I wanted a guy just like Dan Tanna.</p></blockquote><p></p><p>--------</p><p><i></i></p><blockquote><p><i>John:</i></p><p>I never met Mr. Urich personally unfortunately, but felt I knew him through his work. He always seemed very down to earth, had everything; good looks, talent, fame and fortune but always seemed down to earth, seemed very approachable, never into his fame and looks like sooooo many celebrieties, seemed very intelligent man and always wanting to learn. May he rest in peace and thank you for sharing your experience. I will always be a big fan of his. A role model for all. Just watching some old Vega$ episodes. Dan Tana was the man!!!! Cheers!!!!!!!</p></blockquote><p></p><p>--------</p><p><i></i></p><blockquote><p><i>Judith:</i></p><p>I have been a fan of Robert Urich for a number of years and was shocked and upset to hear of his passing. Such a lovely man with a great deal of love determination. Nobody knows their destiny, we should most certainly 'Face Every Day Like Our Hair Was On Fire'</p><p>My heart reaches out to all Robert's family.</p></blockquote><p></p><p>--------</p><p><i></i></p><blockquote><p><i>Joseph DuPont:</i></p><p>I was always impressed with Robert Urich.. He was one of those people Darren McGavin who you could not get enough of. He is still missed.</p></blockquote><p></p><p>--------</p><p><i></i></p><blockquote><p><i>Judith A Torr:</i></p><p>As I was dosing off to sleep just the other night, almost in a trance like state, Robert Urich came to mind.</p><p>How I adored him!!</p><p>Then, just today I received this lovely email and website relating to Robert's life, by his good friend.</p><p>Robert is sadly missed. Sending love and prayers to Heather and all Robert's faimily</p></blockquote><p></p><hr /><p><b>Categories: </b>Bio, Compassion, Gratitude, The West</p><hr />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-28625836400787437432012-04-14T18:00:00.028+08:002023-11-19T12:42:55.495+08:00"Religion is the Smile on a Dog"<p style="text-align: left;">[This essay was originally posted to "<a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2012/04/the-third-tale.html">The Third Tale</a>," a blog on Weebly. In transferring it I have updated and made corrections where necessary.]</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik01cm3IJqr2Cv2OOFgtTnxvTo4ycpF1Oqrh-5VhjnJTsxPX4AuNKhqQdOvFldkeKUe9mswmmVWwBn4GA5yoP68uS__CJHoXkctgZCbEXGjO29EHsKXDZJOly9Z38vtldlKYHLLtgvy08_qEsXdaGA7XwRYRSMUQuqMnJF2H7rdpmI5xkTpRa6q3_j/s600/2018085_orig.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik01cm3IJqr2Cv2OOFgtTnxvTo4ycpF1Oqrh-5VhjnJTsxPX4AuNKhqQdOvFldkeKUe9mswmmVWwBn4GA5yoP68uS__CJHoXkctgZCbEXGjO29EHsKXDZJOly9Z38vtldlKYHLLtgvy08_qEsXdaGA7XwRYRSMUQuqMnJF2H7rdpmI5xkTpRa6q3_j/s16000/2018085_orig.jpg" /></a></div><p>Twenty-plus years ago, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edie_Brickell"><b>Edie Brickell</b></a> (who is also Mrs. Paul Simon--did you know?) sang in "What I am":</p><p></p><blockquote>I'm not aware of too many things,<br />but I know what I know if you know what I mean.<br />Philosophy is the talk on a cereal box.<br />Religion is the smile on a dog. (<a href="https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/ediebrickellnewbohemians/whatiam.html"><b>complete lyrics</b></a>)<span><a name='more'></a></span></blockquote><p></p><p>That last line was a topic of discussion at the time; was it a good thing or a bad thing?</p><p>Here's something Ms Brickell has said since (via <a href="https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Edie_Brickell"><b>Wikiquote</b></a>):</p><p></p><blockquote>In a world religion class, everyone was complicating life and existence by over-thinking. I had this sense it's right here, right now. It's who we are and what we feel. It's not this tangled web of psychology and philosophy. I was driving to band practice and started singing that song. I wanted to be real, not adopt some philosophy or role. Instinct is our driving force.</blockquote><p></p><p>There you have it: instinct. We continually get our minds in the way, between what is and what we perceive. Dogs don't have this problem.</p><p>The two above were my teachers many years ago, around the time the song was popular. Ginger (the smiling one) was with us a short time, until one day she had a disagreement with a train. Buster (the serious one) was found on the street, and never lost his savvy. He died of old age on my ex-wife's farm in Tennessee.</p><p>In "<a href="https://allpoetry.com/the-hollow-men">The Hollow Men</a>," T.S. Eliot wrote:</p><p></p><blockquote><p>Between the idea<br />And the reality<br />Between the motion<br />And the act<br />Falls the Shadow</p><p>...</p><p>Between the conception<br />And the creation<br />Between the emotion<br />And the response<br />Falls the Shadow</p><p>...</p><p>Between the desire<br />And the spasm<br />Between the potency<br />And the existence<br />Between the essence<br />And the descent<br />Falls the Shadow</p><p>---</p></blockquote><p></p><p>Could this intervention of thought between "out there" and "in here" be what Eliot means by "the Shadow"?</p><hr /><p><b>Categories: </b>Bio, Buddhism, Mindfulness, Music, Photography, Poetry, Quotations, Spirituality</p><hr />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-86505087296991186102012-04-14T15:00:00.024+08:002023-11-19T09:52:53.885+08:00Stevie Smith, "Not Waving But Drowning"<p style="text-align: left;">[This essay was originally posted to "<a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2012/04/the-third-tale.html">The Third Tale</a>," a blog on Weebly. In transferring it I have updated and made corrections where necessary.]</p><p>You never know what another person is going through.</p><p>Lila and I have often discussed this recently: how a friend who lives far away can suddenly pronounce herself "cancer free," when you had no idea; how you can spend a day in drudgery with someone, only to find out later it was his birthday.</p><p>It makes you realize how important it is to be kind, to create the least trouble for someone as possible, because you never know which straw will break the camel's back.</p><p>This is something I need to get better at.<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p>I found a poem a couple of weeks ago that captures perfectly the idea that people are often suffering silently.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx4OBB31iN9HgTMjbsTVajMVJg3vfVMZodOQXGRUt9gx3fsuRt-gufbUdXOrSghn4zs-R8E8Oiev5bS68rj09am4Ci5RP4VERbrIzT1J7Qu_JNtwdDzrVp1tsFmmLAUzLLoemgquaTMXJ9xzfNc_sx8YcB055n3VFsOycvL40DagFbgjL7hB0-WTR_/s419/1755358_orig.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx4OBB31iN9HgTMjbsTVajMVJg3vfVMZodOQXGRUt9gx3fsuRt-gufbUdXOrSghn4zs-R8E8Oiev5bS68rj09am4Ci5RP4VERbrIzT1J7Qu_JNtwdDzrVp1tsFmmLAUzLLoemgquaTMXJ9xzfNc_sx8YcB055n3VFsOycvL40DagFbgjL7hB0-WTR_/s16000/1755358_orig.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">The poet's hand-drawn illustration of the poem</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">"Not Waving But Drowning"</div><div style="text-align: center;">Stevie Smith (1902-1971)</div><p></p><p></p><blockquote><p>Nobody heard him, the dead man,<br />But still he lay moaning:<br />I was much further out than you thought<br />And not waving but drowning.</p><p>Poor chap, he always loved larking<br />And now he's dead<br />It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,<br />They said.</p><p>Oh, no no no, it was too cold always<br />(Still the dead one lay moaning)<br />I was much too far out all my life<br />And not waving but drowning.</p></blockquote><p></p><p><i>The poet reads her poem aloud and discusses its background<br /></i><a href="http://www.poetryarchive.org/poetryarchive/singlePoem.do?poemId=7089">http://www.poetryarchive.org/poetryarchive/singlePoem.do?poemId=7089</a></p><p><i>More background<br /></i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Not_Waving_but_Drowning">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Not_Waving_but_Drowning</a></p><hr /><p><b>Categories: </b>Compassion, Poetry, Spirituality</p><hr /><b></b><div><b><br /></b></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-90150768272882797932012-04-14T12:00:00.016+08:002023-11-19T09:44:31.844+08:00Heart Stone, La Cienega, New Mexico<p style="text-align: left;">[This essay was originally posted to "<a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2012/04/the-third-tale.html">The Third Tale</a>," a blog on Weebly. In transferring it I have updated and made corrections where necessary.]</p><p>"It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; What is essential is invisible to the eye."</p><p></p><div style="text-align: right;">--from <i>Le Petit Prince</i> by Antoine de Saint Exupery</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBEW3DVNxpbv0LcQbMQuflKiWoA1srU39AS00pzpotBSE0JfbtILjpvkMvpnlEQlRTC26kzvqPZmWr1f086XmqNn3QRvfrBwCrFNo-ZvqsT-CKQ7dWolsAtQxPUAj4IqXz9_mmx91p4ipbkOtvMU6RjD4HH_np_Y8oMko1IptzMT1sCvbZrAO06bhO/s600/5213080_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="387" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBEW3DVNxpbv0LcQbMQuflKiWoA1srU39AS00pzpotBSE0JfbtILjpvkMvpnlEQlRTC26kzvqPZmWr1f086XmqNn3QRvfrBwCrFNo-ZvqsT-CKQ7dWolsAtQxPUAj4IqXz9_mmx91p4ipbkOtvMU6RjD4HH_np_Y8oMko1IptzMT1sCvbZrAO06bhO/s16000/5213080_orig.jpg" /></a></div><p>Every picture is biographical.</p><p>Back in 1996, I was living in Santa Fe. My then-girlfriend and I were out for a drive through La Cienega and (as usual) we were bickering about something.</p><p>As the argument escalated, I suddenly spotted this church up ahead, and the tombstone practically jumped out at me. I took the shot through the windshield.</p><p>We made up.</p><hr /><p><b>Categories: </b>Bio, Photography, Quotations, Spirituality, The West</p><hr /><b></b><div><b><br /></b></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-83475562865407545532012-04-13T18:00:00.011+08:002023-11-19T08:45:14.829+08:00Sunflowers in a Vase<p style="text-align: left;">[This essay was originally posted to "<a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2012/04/the-third-tale.html">The Third Tale</a>," a blog on Weebly. In transferring it I have updated and made corrections where necessary.]</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9tAtRPKe6jIft8_30Vy9ZRxUNswUqXFgRzV4ufv_llhdXBzTbOga_TEOo49cUzRv_DDfTbkikyaUUVKsF1Qi6R4og-fHUeFWDa1e-M5sPHIMiU6dDPzPl97sDkrmhbxM1Qjs5DQX4KQIS42a-SIWApIhAoR_qd008PCWpqJrmNfxU1sf2Cia2TnZ_/s600/5509644_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="489" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9tAtRPKe6jIft8_30Vy9ZRxUNswUqXFgRzV4ufv_llhdXBzTbOga_TEOo49cUzRv_DDfTbkikyaUUVKsF1Qi6R4og-fHUeFWDa1e-M5sPHIMiU6dDPzPl97sDkrmhbxM1Qjs5DQX4KQIS42a-SIWApIhAoR_qd008PCWpqJrmNfxU1sf2Cia2TnZ_/s16000/5509644_orig.jpg" /></a></div><p>This photo was originally a slide shot around 1995. I made a Polaroid neg from it in a slide copier in, maybe, 2001; in I shot that neg onto digital and filed it away.</p><p>Today I pulled out that digital shot, inverted the neg in PhotoShop, tweaked it, "hand colored" it (in PS, with the mouse), ran a filter on the background, and voila! Two hours I'll never get back! (But I'm mighty pleased with the result.)</p><hr /><p><b>Categories: </b>Art, Photography</p><hr />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-75960002107303912942012-04-13T12:00:00.038+08:002023-11-19T08:42:20.648+08:00R.I.P. Dr. Kenneth Locke<p style="text-align: left;">[This essay was originally posted to "<a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2012/04/the-third-tale.html">The Third Tale</a>," a blog on Weebly. In transferring it I have updated and made corrections where necessary.]</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL1YGYt3iCzVf320MBBnpjAyLR9OPA51jNEyBqblAHjuNLvtA7IcSEdp9h2Z-wpimqsTUeEAIku9ICTUr1uC3FQMD7A0XupLU3qZT47MVFV6YSlTB6ENeuCFGzMTPIFGQLvRx-2r_lE_Nk3XmVLRmEGOmhtc_b5_xIbhOM1MZVAXzbw1PXdJoiZebr/s640/5494349_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL1YGYt3iCzVf320MBBnpjAyLR9OPA51jNEyBqblAHjuNLvtA7IcSEdp9h2Z-wpimqsTUeEAIku9ICTUr1uC3FQMD7A0XupLU3qZT47MVFV6YSlTB6ENeuCFGzMTPIFGQLvRx-2r_lE_Nk3XmVLRmEGOmhtc_b5_xIbhOM1MZVAXzbw1PXdJoiZebr/s16000/5494349_orig.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Thanks to Jack Liu for the picture</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>In December of 2001 I returned to the U.S. after nearly five years of living in Japan. Having delved deeply into Buddhism there, I was surprised and delighted to learn that there was a Buddhist university in my hometown, on the very street where my father and his brothers had built a house for my grandparents in the late '40s.</p><p>Hsi Lai University (as it was then called, now <a href="https://www.uwest.edu/"><b>University of the West</b></a>) seemed like the perfect place for me to study.<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p>Perfect it was not. As with any institution, and especially one that was very new and very small, it had its flaws.</p><p>But from the very first, there were a couple of people there who smoothed the way for me, one of the few non-Asian (and non-monastic) students in the graduate program.</p><p>One of these was Dr. Kenneth Locke. (The other was Dr. Bruce Long.)</p><p>While I was still in the application process, I received a call from the Admissions Office. Would I come in for an interview? There was some small problem...</p><p>The person who interviewed me was Dr. Locke. My application, he said, gave no indication of my ability to do graduate work in religion--this despite undergrad study in philosophy, a masters (in education), and two years of part-time Anglican seminary.</p><p>Seminary? Really? Somehow the admissions people had missed that. Within 5 minutes, "Doc Locke" had signed me off and I was admitted. But then something unusual happened: Why didn't I stay and chat for a while? he asked. Not for admissions, but for the sheer pleasure of conversation.</p><p>That's the kind of man he was: doing a thankless administrative job with grace, humor, intelligence, and deep, deep humanity.</p><p>I had lots of experiences with him, but two more stand out.</p><p>He was the prof for my "Mysticism" class, and for the class presentation, I chose to talk about William Blake. Dr. Locke was scribbling madly throughout, and it made me nervous: how could I be bombing this badly? But after class, when I asked what was up, he said: "No, this is fascinating! I knew Blake as a poet, but I had no idea he was so deeply mystical! I have to look into this some more. Can you recommend anything?"</p><p>You have to admire a teacher who's willing to learn from a student.</p><p>The second story still touches me deeply. I had a girlfriend in China, and had planned to go see her in May of 2003, which turned out to be at the height of the great SARS Epidemic.</p><p>I was working at Hsi Lai Temple at the time, and was told in no uncertain terms that I was NOT to come to the temple for at least two weeks after my return. (This despite the fact that Taiwanese nuns were coming in regularly, even though the epidemic had struck there, too.)</p><p>But no one said I couldn't go to class. So I did. As I walked into Dr. Locke's class, a nun jumped up and literally ran to the far side of the room shouting, "You're not supposed to be here! You've been in China!" While she was carrying on, Dr. Locke got up from his chair, walked back to where I was standing, and shook my hand, with his left hand on my shoulder in a sort of "man hug," and asked, "How was your trip? How's the girl?"</p><p>Later, he told me that he wasn't JUST being friendly. He was also modeling humane behavior--for the nun!</p><p>Today, via Facebook, I learned that Dr. Locke had passed away in a hospital, with family members around. I knew that he had had major health issues for many years, though I was never quite sure what they were; and I don't know what he died of.</p><p>But I am so, so sorry he's gone. My sincere condolences to his family, his friends, and the UWest community.</p><p>Here is Dr. Locke's vita from the UWest website:</p><p></p><blockquote><p>Dr. Kenneth A. Locke is the Dean of Administration and served as the former Chair of the Department of Religious Studies. His specialties are Christianity, Western Philosophy and Hermeneutics. Prior to being appointed Assistant Chair, he worked as an adjunct professor in the Religious Studies program in UWest. He earned a B. A. in Theology and Biblical Studies and a Ph. D. in Theology from Trinity College Dublin, Ireland. While at that institution he won numerous academic awards, including the prestigious Trinity College Foundation Scholarship.</p><p>He has taught undergraduate courses in Theology at Trinity College and has published a number of articles on the Anglican Church. In addition, he has published his book <i>The Church in Anglican Theology: A Historical, Theological and Ecumenical Exploration</i>.</p></blockquote><p></p><p>The last time I saw him, in his office, he told me about his book with "humble pride."</p><p>I will miss him.</p><p>--------</p><p><a href="https://web.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150738333317943.432384.56157522942">Pictures of Dr. Locke on the UWest FaceBook page</a></p><p><a href="https://web.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=349100245137542&set=a.167204239993811.32506.164082230306012">UWest Students Association tribute on FaceBook</a></p><hr /><p><b>Comment(s):</b></p><p></p><blockquote><p><i>Alma Ramon:</i></p><p>In case you have not already done so, there are a few more details on the UWSA and UWEST FB pages. Beautiful memories always live on. Thank you for sharing this about our beloved dean.</p></blockquote><p></p><p>--------</p><p></p><blockquote><p><i>My Reply:</i></p><p>Thanks, Alma. I'll take a look.</p></blockquote><p></p><p>--------</p><p><i>Vanessa Karam:</i></p><p></p><blockquote><p>James,</p><p>Thank you for this beautiful memory of my brother, Ken. Our mother, his wife, and other family members and close friends were with him yesterday. He had been suffering for the past months (years really) from a deterioration of his heart and lungs, the aftermath of radiation therapy he had as a child to cure him from Hodgkins Disease. He died during open heart surgery. He was 45 years old.</p><p>Again, thank you for remembering Ken for those qualities which he most hoped to develop in his students: humanity, the recognition that the other is fragile, and the importance of presence, being there for others when things are at their least bearable. While he had a keenly analytical mind and loved learning, these were the things that he held as the highest good.</p><p>I will share your page with my mother and his wife. We miss him so terribly. May you be blessed for this kindness.</p></blockquote><p></p><p>--------</p><p><i></i></p><blockquote><p><i>My Reply:</i></p><p>Vanessa,</p><p>Thank you for taking a moment to respond at such a difficult time. I can only imagine how difficult this is, for all of you.</p><p>Even though I'm half a world away, and seldom had a chance to see him, I'm deeply saddened to know he's not in the world anymore.</p><p>Please convey my sympathies to your family.</p><p>peace,<br />James</p></blockquote><p></p><p>--------</p><p><i></i></p><blockquote><p><i>Miles McClain:</i></p><p>Very moving. Thank you.</p></blockquote><p></p><hr /><p><b>Categories: </b>Bio, Gratitude</p><hr /><b></b><div><b><br /></b></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-11668242867579678002012-04-12T12:00:00.019+08:002023-11-19T08:31:58.419+08:00Bodie GHOST Town<p style="text-align: left;">[This essay was originally posted to "<a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2012/04/the-third-tale.html">The Third Tale</a>," a blog on Weebly. In transferring it I have updated and made corrections where necessary.]</p><p>I used to do a lot of exploring around California and the West. I once took a girlfriend and her son to Bodie and did some in-camera double exposures. Here's a manipulation of one of them.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Jlvt2VsHiDRqWLeEGBsQJQTgrOT2AYY9d3vWNeZRVMamUNh734DecHoByrnGa0zPJ4uPXTM6HGIAPWscVdEN9IWoZootucj6oCY7Z37y4sT9Ang-4JhY8oVvfvgjXf8frEBCABXB9Y3V3_Xwo4xHMbGSkJYWox47kujC6-e_frcpFdjhdvt0UPY9/s681/1824992_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="681" data-original-width="354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Jlvt2VsHiDRqWLeEGBsQJQTgrOT2AYY9d3vWNeZRVMamUNh734DecHoByrnGa0zPJ4uPXTM6HGIAPWscVdEN9IWoZootucj6oCY7Z37y4sT9Ang-4JhY8oVvfvgjXf8frEBCABXB9Y3V3_Xwo4xHMbGSkJYWox47kujC6-e_frcpFdjhdvt0UPY9/s16000/1824992_orig.jpg" /></a></div><hr /><p><b>Comment(s):</b></p><p><i></i></p><blockquote><p><i>Miles McClain:</i></p><p>I spent a short time as a professional photographer. As you might imagine I enjoy your photographs. Miles</p></blockquote><p></p><p>--------</p><p><i></i></p><blockquote><p><i>My Reply:</i></p><p>Thanks, Miles. I started shooting at age 14, when my uncle (a weekend wedding photographer) taught me how to use his home darkroom. Since then I've shot almost every kind of film, and practiced alternative printing processes (using Polaroid materials, cyanotypes, etc.) Made a living selling "art photography" in parks etc. for a season, too. This shot was done with my uncle's old SpeedGraphic 4x5. Thank gods I can do most of that digitally now, but I still can't wait to get a darkroom set up once we relocate to the Philippines! I've got tens of thousands of shots, digital and film (mostly transparencies) to play with.</p></blockquote><p></p><hr /><p><b>Categories: </b>Art, Bio, Photography, The West</p><hr /><b></b><div><b><br /></b></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-42765636757574676782012-04-09T12:00:00.040+08:002023-11-19T08:31:58.420+08:00Religion for a New Millennium: A Manifesto<p style="text-align: left;">[This essay was originally posted to "<a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2012/04/the-third-tale.html">The Third Tale</a>," a blog on Weebly. In transferring it I have updated and made corrections where necessary.]</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQTH30NPPOFkbzud-gY69n7bX8ntfbvxJk8-IhkYf2SJUDJoYXsZ2uzw7_pRd9CuPCyX-GQHz7lsrpOnlsE5Jfx5dLByVH21kUjmfHM6oTnMFtqA6PuS6wOXu1aSWj5uVdNDKt7EHgBFs09wZp4M1xO3r8xRWPi4XZ5QhU30Qv7DJtkonCveb5yOC/s131/8976042.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="131" data-original-width="131" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQTH30NPPOFkbzud-gY69n7bX8ntfbvxJk8-IhkYf2SJUDJoYXsZ2uzw7_pRd9CuPCyX-GQHz7lsrpOnlsE5Jfx5dLByVH21kUjmfHM6oTnMFtqA6PuS6wOXu1aSWj5uVdNDKt7EHgBFs09wZp4M1xO3r8xRWPi4XZ5QhU30Qv7DJtkonCveb5yOC/s1600/8976042.jpg" width="131" /></a></div><p><-- The Quartered Circle, symbol of my "new religion"</p><p>Nearly 20 years ago I wrote a book (never published, like ALL my books so far) that encapsulated my spiritual point of view at the time.</p><p>As I look back on it, it's much more theistic than my current worldview, but much of it is still foundational to who I am today.</p><p>At the end of that book, I published a sort of a "manifesto" for a community that would gather to work out the principles in the book--in short, a "church."<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p>Not all of the points in the manifesto necessarily "ping" with who I am now; still, I think it's worth presenting it as written. I'd love to hear your thoughts.</p><p>See the end for notes on the underlined words.</p><hr /><p>INTRO: Any religion which would help its adherents re-connect to <u>the divine</u> in the next millennium--and thus usher in a new millennium of spirituality--must have the following traits:</p><p></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><ol type="I"><li>It will spur its adherents to pursue an awareness of <u>the mythic side of life</u>, and increasingly to bring their thoughts, words, and actions into accordance with this awareness.</li><li>It will nourish in its adherents an individualized understanding of the divine, including both "feminine" and "masculine" imagery, as well as a mystic vision beyond the idolatry of the metaphors to which we often cling.</li><li>It will promote in its adherents the realization that all creation--from their own bodies to the earth itself--is sacred and must be approached with reverence and joy.</li><li>It will help its adherents to understand the sacred nature of their daily work, and, should they find their work unsatisfying, help them to seek new opportunities that bring them a sense of fulfillment.</li><li>It will urge its adherents to embrace those of other paths, realizing that <u>ethnic</u> differences in practice do not negate <u>elementary</u> similarities of belief.</li><li>It will motivate its adherents to pursue the central goal of religion, which is reunion with <u>the divine</u>.</li><li>It will encourage its adherents to realize that a decent provision for the poor is the true test, not only of a civilization, but of a religion; and to work tirelessly on behalf of the weak, the oppressed, and the disenfranchised, including women and people of color as well as the poor. Inequity is iniquity.</li><li>It will recognize the individual nature of the spiritual quest, and will function as a gathering place and a resource to support the individual without limiting her or his development; furthermore, it will recognize its inherent expendability in the spiritual lives of its adherents.</li><li>It will build in its adherents a sense of their intrinsic worth, including trust for their emotions, their creativity, and their faculty of reason.</li><li>It will help its adherents to re-read their scriptures in new ways, to see their stories as mythic and elementary, and to relate these to their dreams and interior lives.</li><li>It will re-examine any doctrine or dogma that inhibits the activities listed above, revise it if possible, and discard it if necessary, recognizing that religion is "poetry, not theology" and "metaphor, not doctrine" [<i>Starhawk</i>].</li></ol><p></p><hr /><p><b>NOTES:</b></p></ol><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Intro and VI. "the divine": This begs the question a little; I would now say "the Absolute" or something less personalized.</li><li>I. "the mythic side of life": <a href="https://youarethat.jamesbaquet.com/2023/11/this-world-and-that.html"><b>"That world" as opposed to (merely) "This"</b></a></li><li>V. "ethnic": of a particular culture; "elementary": universal</li><li>XI. "Starhawk": a well-known "pagan author and activist"</li></ul><ol style="text-align: left;"><hr /><p><b>Categories: </b>Spirituality</p><hr />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-16715402719440080802012-04-08T18:00:00.019+08:002023-11-19T08:31:58.420+08:00A Stone Girl Dancing<p style="text-align: left;">[This essay was originally posted to "<a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2012/04/the-third-tale.html">The Third Tale</a>," a blog on Weebly. In transferring it I have updated and made corrections where necessary.]</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqbzYIEs1rgXq0heZLqUdrSiG5fMs0FBN2n8rhqv1K-ya1UI6P7G4RZ1Vd4qqf77IJS3NWVgCs9KnFe8fR8qSLcy1ysiYrzSMhiVWa8Dc2QyAQGu4LKeNbiHra1sfQA8EgmUj2MsRAcTda7ey_iau_nOosgy-RCTYi24TxnhqnSQgH9Oof2zpKw9wG/s675/6719528_orig.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqbzYIEs1rgXq0heZLqUdrSiG5fMs0FBN2n8rhqv1K-ya1UI6P7G4RZ1Vd4qqf77IJS3NWVgCs9KnFe8fR8qSLcy1ysiYrzSMhiVWa8Dc2QyAQGu4LKeNbiHra1sfQA8EgmUj2MsRAcTda7ey_iau_nOosgy-RCTYi24TxnhqnSQgH9Oof2zpKw9wG/s16000/6719528_orig.jpg" /></a></div><p>Someone recently posted this on FaceBook, and it reminded me of a few poems.<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p>First, a poem made up of various well-known Zen lines by Korean teacher Seung Sahn:</p><p></p><blockquote>The Great Way has no gate.<br />Clear water has no taste.<br />The tongue has no bone.<br />In complete stillness, a stone girl is dancing.</blockquote><p></p><p>--------</p><p>That last line comes from an old ko'an (a Zen saying meant to break us of the habit of conventional "thinking"):</p><p></p><blockquote><p>Zen Master: "When you hear a wooden chicken crow, you will understand your mind." What does this mean?</p><p>Student: "A stone girl dances to the music of a flute with no holes."</p></blockquote><p></p><p>--------</p><p>And both of these always make me think of the poem "Natural Music" by one of my favorite poets, the Californian Robinson Jeffers. (I don't know WHY I think of it when I read them, because the girl in the last line is not stone. I guess it's because she's dancing?) Anyway:</p><p></p><blockquote>The old voice of the ocean, the bird-chatter of little rivers,<br />(Winter has given them gold for silver<br />To stain their water and bladed green for brown to line their banks)<br />From different throats intone one language.<br />So I believe if we were strong enough to listen without<br />Divisions of desire and terror<br />To the storm of the sick nations, the rage of the hunger smitten cities,<br />Those voices also would be found<br />Clean as a child's; or like some girl's breathing who dances alone<br />By the ocean-shore, dreaming of lovers.</blockquote><p></p><p>--------</p><p>Chewing on any or all of these will be time well spent. Enjoy.</p><hr /><p><b>Categories: </b>Art, Buddhism, Facebook, Photography, Poetry, Spirituality, Zen</p><hr />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-79316717026533262202012-04-08T15:00:00.033+08:002023-11-19T08:31:58.420+08:00My 19th Veggi-versary<p style="text-align: left;">[This essay was originally posted to "<a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2012/04/the-third-tale.html">The Third Tale</a>," a blog on Weebly. In transferring it I have updated and made corrections where necessary.]</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYoXBslohjZH7lbWeHo_lB0r6OrO7PMFtJkPMzt6utjTfKiku3apddNdLYlB_Kxbst3nEAQm3JHXWXgqmI4YDAw-bdoZGG2aUUtJsjJSzDWMD6B-UAZdEyuJUfhohwBIowyhIq1g4ProirSRBlX2OywG466Z_AVad4QfvvSFXdNfJYrsypXB8ecSLs/s150/3949513.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="150" data-original-width="121" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYoXBslohjZH7lbWeHo_lB0r6OrO7PMFtJkPMzt6utjTfKiku3apddNdLYlB_Kxbst3nEAQm3JHXWXgqmI4YDAw-bdoZGG2aUUtJsjJSzDWMD6B-UAZdEyuJUfhohwBIowyhIq1g4ProirSRBlX2OywG466Z_AVad4QfvvSFXdNfJYrsypXB8ecSLs/s1600/3949513.jpg" width="121" /></a></div><p>Image [<i>was</i>] available on a T-Shirt at VegTshirts.com [the sire seems to be gone]</p><p>It all began one day 19 years ago when I was sitting in the Jack-in-the-Box drive-thru line waiting for my two hamburgers, two fries and a Coke--at 7:30 in the morning.</p><p>Yes, that was a typical breakfast for me in my carnivorous days, and as I sat in the parking lot of my school eating cow's flesh, I thought, "Why am I doing this?"</p><p>And I quit. That was my last karma-inducing meal.<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p>That wasn't the first time I had quit. I was once dating a TV star and having long, deep, spiritual discussions with her. One day she said, "What would it be like to live in the consciousness that nothing ELSE with consciousness has died to keep you alive?"</p><p>So for six weeks we supported each other in "veg trials." Then, one day, when the staff was off and we had to cook for ourselves, she said, "I want a big-ol' bloody steak." And she didn't mean "English bloody," she meant "bloody-bloody."</p><p>And that was dinner, and that was that.</p><p>So when "the sky opened," it wasn't a completely new idea.</p><p>Although I had been dating a "foodie" who had made me think more about what I ate, it wasn't completely about the food.</p><p>In fact, she was The Girlfriend From Hell, and we were having mucho problems at the time. I was also still in the final throes of the post-divorce blues, and things were starting to get a little wobbly at work.</p><p>In short, my life was a mess.</p><p>And this was one way I could take control. (Though Lord knows it got even worse later--another story.)</p><p>That was on April 8th, 1993, a day which I later found is Hana Matsuri ("Flower Festival") in Japan, the day the Japanese celebrate the Buddha's birthday. (It's the 8th day of the 4th lunar month on some calendars; but since the Meiji Era, the Japanese have just moved most of their traditional celebrations, including New Years, to the Western calendar.)</p><p>But I had no Buddhist inclinations at the time, at least not formally. When I quit, it was largely about non-sectarian Compassion-with-a-capital-C.</p><p>Fortunately I had a few veg friends around me who gave me some guidance in how to do it, but it has not always been without its challenges.</p><p>There was, for example, the time I moved to Utah to live with the Urich family (more about them next week). How could I ask Luisa from <i>The Sound of Music</i> (aka Heather Menzies, aka Mrs. Robert Urich) to cook something aside from the family meal, just for me?</p><p>As it turns out, their daughter was already veg, so the problem was no problem.</p><p>Next was my move to Japan, a real problem as virtually every dish there includes either fish or, for curries, pork. Fortunately I found Indian restaurants everywhere, and Subway Sandwiches. Burger King was also accommodating with the "Veggie Wop-pah," and the Japanese Mos Burger chain had a nice "kimpira rice burger."</p><p>I've faced a similar problem in China, but the longer I live here, the more dining choices I find (and eating at home is easier here, especially since Lila moved in). But when I go on pilgrimage, it can still be a little tough, especially in small towns.</p><p>"But wait?" you ask. "Aren't Japan and China 'Buddhist' countries?"</p><p>Well, sorta. But just because Buddhism has been historically strong here doesn't mean everyone's veg (quite the contrary!).</p><p>Still, I have managed to go 19 years now with only one intentional lapse in my discipline, and that was to eat the worm from a bottle of mescal on my 45th birthday in a bar in Tokyo.</p><p>Other than that, I've always managed to find something; as my girth will attest, I ain't starving.</p><p>So here's to a continued "one-day-at-a-time" of giving sentient beings a break. It has kept me focused on compassion, and therefore on an overall more "ethical" way of being. It makes me a nicer guy to have to "think peace" several times a day (for those who think I'm an a-hole, imagine if I were still a meat-eater!)</p><p>It has also made me healthier. I spent much of my life being sick; my vege-conversion came along just a few years after my immune system started to recover from my childhood illnesses, and I can't help but think eating veg has solidified my gains.</p><p>And it has brought me the love of my life, my co-veg Lila, as well as numerous great friends in several countries (the Philippines, Indonesia, India, Japan, and more) who share with me at least this part of my path. I thank you for the support, guys, and our "dumb" brothers and sisters with fur, fins, and feathers thank you too.</p><p>Anyone wanna join us? The web is rife with resources, and I'll be glad to answer any specific questions that I can.</p><hr /><p><b>Comment(s):</b></p><p><i></i></p><blockquote><p><i>Gibble:</i></p><p>I beat you by a few years. I stopped eating fish and meat in 1988. I did not trust the British government when it said you could not catch mad cow disease from eating mad cows. I still do not eat meat or fish. Coming to think of it I still do not trust the British government.</p></blockquote><p></p><p>--------</p><p><i></i></p><blockquote><p><i>My Reply:</i></p><p>Thanks, G-man. You were my first comment on this new blog! And you always remember your first. BTW Are you SURE some madness hasn't crept in somehow?</p></blockquote><p></p><p>--------</p><p><i></i></p><blockquote><p><i>Miles McClain:</i></p><p>Very inspiring, James. Our youngest son, Daniel, who is 29, suffers from celiac disease and years ago he had to cut out all gluten products. About a month ago he decided to go veg! He has made the transition well even though he has the additional challenge of no gluten products. His motivation was health and his embracing buddhist teachings. I have great respect for his effort, because, like you point out, finding a place to eat and learning a new way to approach your diet and cooking, can be a challenge.</p></blockquote><p></p><p>--------</p><p><i></i></p><blockquote><p><i>My Reply:</i></p><p>What a challenge! But I'm sure Daniel's finding tons of resources on the net; I have a few "gluten-free veg" friends on Twitter. The physical and spiritual pay-offs will be worth it. I noticed you had some interesting-looking veg recipes on Pinterest; the latkes look great!</p><p>Thanks for bringing in the family--three of my four current email subscribers are McClains!</p></blockquote><p></p><hr /><p><b>Categories: </b>Bio, China, Compassion, Karma, Mindfulness, Peace, Spirituality, Vegetarianism</p><hr /><b></b><div><b><br /></b></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-5120027235443378452012-04-08T12:00:00.011+08:002023-11-19T08:31:58.419+08:00Moneyless Living<p style="text-align: left;">[This essay was originally posted to "<a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2012/04/the-third-tale.html">The Third Tale</a>," a blog on Weebly. In transferring it I have updated and made corrections where necessary.]</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYqCC1GoZgTu2IMlGonYJ19S46Zs1Ywu6mxBlQy7Pdi3g6z8f3KFDsYvL3C-snwr9Cyoek_ZjN9B5wUUN1xKDLFnAbaHNK9SMkAOyNUb8X1hICUpf3lc_RLKPpDuhjhKjQbmatmp0j-ERNv6fM6szvbTB2D__RrD0v6thaJ1HgUriJ-5LxPteFA-xr/s400/2859805_orig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="327" data-original-width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYqCC1GoZgTu2IMlGonYJ19S46Zs1Ywu6mxBlQy7Pdi3g6z8f3KFDsYvL3C-snwr9Cyoek_ZjN9B5wUUN1xKDLFnAbaHNK9SMkAOyNUb8X1hICUpf3lc_RLKPpDuhjhKjQbmatmp0j-ERNv6fM6szvbTB2D__RrD0v6thaJ1HgUriJ-5LxPteFA-xr/s16000/2859805_orig.jpg" /></a></div><p>An inspiring article by radical thinker Mark Boyle here: http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/green-living-blog/2009/oct/28/live-without-money</p><hr /><p><b>Categories: </b>Mindfulness, Quotations, Spirituality</p><hr /><b></b><div><b><br /></b></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-36810911114670519802012-04-07T12:00:00.018+08:002023-11-19T09:54:50.442+08:00Happy Easter: The Story Behind the Picture<p style="text-align: left;">[This essay was originally posted to "<a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2012/04/the-third-tale.html">The Third Tale</a>," a blog on Weebly. In transferring it I have updated and made corrections where necessary.]</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc3AwdxFiiJyh_6rs0jXvBQKCme8GcHa8pGhKw4W46976BeZ3hMTS6_d8U8wzQnFcR4Tn5xPYZF-y_R_EXUBXch1LlDUXtykueAP23JxtI6QG5uKvZRaVCalMU6TinKKd56FPH-9NPBGQnVU8o-BevFosCVQIet6Co3st0E8ZdpvkX0SmzzFnvyllQ/s600/7414626_orig.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="383" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc3AwdxFiiJyh_6rs0jXvBQKCme8GcHa8pGhKw4W46976BeZ3hMTS6_d8U8wzQnFcR4Tn5xPYZF-y_R_EXUBXch1LlDUXtykueAP23JxtI6QG5uKvZRaVCalMU6TinKKd56FPH-9NPBGQnVU8o-BevFosCVQIet6Co3st0E8ZdpvkX0SmzzFnvyllQ/s16000/7414626_orig.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I don't know why, but when I thought about a picture to use as an Easter greeting, this one came instantly to mind.</p><p>I had been walking (for hours) an old pilgrimage route in Guangzhou (better known to some as "Canton"). On a busy pedestrian shopping street, these two approached me for a handout. No, I said, and turned to walk away. In fact, I have never given any money to beggars in China, as it's a pretty well-organized racket (like the Indian one seen in <i>Slumdog Millionaire</i>).</p><p>But these two were so happy and--I don't know--JOLLY, that I turned back almost instantly and offered them 5 yuan (about 40 cents US each) for a picture. This was a modeling fee, NOT a handout!</p><p>They happily agreed (they did everything "happily") and here's the heavily-PhotoShopped shot.</p><p>I later saw them on a side-street playing chess.</p><p>Why this one for Easter? I don't know. Joy? Buoyancy? An indomitable spirit?</p><p>Anyway, Happy Easter.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjjSyKupF7tNNQn4j5G8WRahC8e86ndS-IRUhrgNhSqT6ywUX4gDq-DiHG8hzhZYrixyYaf2i59oM4vCNe82i8YtklxSzedUeJEY1AeZykrYHQ78vC-YjexwuowulvAwgelxQ8e_TYLxnCDr1OhozwM0IDvLlMU8fT8sFHyCPmf1ajl5O_PqJHNVTR/s200/4210434.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="150" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjjSyKupF7tNNQn4j5G8WRahC8e86ndS-IRUhrgNhSqT6ywUX4gDq-DiHG8hzhZYrixyYaf2i59oM4vCNe82i8YtklxSzedUeJEY1AeZykrYHQ78vC-YjexwuowulvAwgelxQ8e_TYLxnCDr1OhozwM0IDvLlMU8fT8sFHyCPmf1ajl5O_PqJHNVTR/s16000/4210434.jpg" /></a></div><p>P.S. Just for comparison, here's the original.</p><hr /><p><b>Categories: </b>Art, China, Photography</p><hr /><b></b><div><b><br /></b></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-44361916343389766172012-04-06T12:00:00.013+08:002023-11-19T08:31:58.420+08:00The Veggie Monk<p style="text-align: left;">[This essay was originally posted to "<a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2012/04/the-third-tale.html">The Third Tale</a>," a blog on Weebly. In transferring it I have updated and made corrections where necessary.]</p><p>Last November, Lila and I had the pleasure of visiting <a href="https://chinaskeytemples.thetempleguy.org/2011/11/no-81-shaolin-temple-dengfeng-henan.html">Shaolin Temple</a>, where my former student and good friend Venerable Yanti resides (though he was in Russia at the time--teaching English and kung fu to children!)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVIhmsGjFORlNPh1q8nnQqI6W5dD_4oWzooMkSmYTUZk4n6aYZxdXZlwZnPmJQE4UATiQoclFT45exicEtIzCzrtaiixmZw5Ufc3cIslZOWyuHYoyc6dh8DPUw-1sKZDjVA8gSO0C_AYcy6gMy0JoiOcAMvpXe0QCdrK_NkKNB0EPVigr1jqn3pvP9/s600/8904082_orig.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVIhmsGjFORlNPh1q8nnQqI6W5dD_4oWzooMkSmYTUZk4n6aYZxdXZlwZnPmJQE4UATiQoclFT45exicEtIzCzrtaiixmZw5Ufc3cIslZOWyuHYoyc6dh8DPUw-1sKZDjVA8gSO0C_AYcy6gMy0JoiOcAMvpXe0QCdrK_NkKNB0EPVigr1jqn3pvP9/s16000/8904082_orig.jpg" /></a></div><p><span></span></p><a name='more'></a>After visiting the main compound, we walked a short way to the "pagoda compound" (which I liked even better than the main temple). While we were there, this monk walked by with the veggies.<p></p><p>I wonder for how many centuries this same scene has been enacted on the same spot?</p><hr /><p><b>Categories: </b>Art, Buddhism, China, Photography, Temples, Vegetarianism</p><hr /><b></b><div><b><br /></b></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-1984619122931961882012-04-04T15:00:00.016+08:002023-11-19T08:31:58.419+08:00Putting Lipstick on the Buddha<p style="text-align: left;">[This essay was originally posted to "<a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2012/04/the-third-tale.html">The Third Tale</a>," a blog on Weebly. In transferring it I have updated and made corrections where necessary.]</p><p>It was a tough sorta day: I was hoping to do all three of my temples in Putian in a single marathon.</p><p>I had done <a href="https://chinaskeytemples.thetempleguy.org/2011/10/no-77-nangshan-cishou-temple-putian.html"><b>Nangshan Cishou Si</b></a>, then waited an inordinate amount of time to get a cab to take me to <a href="https://chinaskeytemples.thetempleguy.org/2011/10/no-78-guanghua-temple-putian-fujian.html"><b>Guanghua Si</b></a>. He had brought me in on a side-street filled with statuary workshops. After seeing the temple, I was rushing out to catch another cab to <b><a href="https://chinaskeytemples.thetempleguy.org/2011/10/no-79-guangxiao-temple-putian-fujian.html">Guangxiao Si</a></b> when I was captivated by the sights around me.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHB_XEQKyM-lwSkdDKil-dhGHYwk75D22mngnZzSbpgvcnEqQpm14dMQKOoDPV1fGkz1UlxUzPn4oC2o-Z7cB67Ot9X64BHKUNm9kzwLtYr9vyID9_IPgJfIGpHy4-I1-r9-5VfydBXsiVkyOft3IHlU0FxtkA8MipL9jiOi1oqRm2uGyJEJgxX-g5/s600/9622466_orig.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHB_XEQKyM-lwSkdDKil-dhGHYwk75D22mngnZzSbpgvcnEqQpm14dMQKOoDPV1fGkz1UlxUzPn4oC2o-Z7cB67Ot9X64BHKUNm9kzwLtYr9vyID9_IPgJfIGpHy4-I1-r9-5VfydBXsiVkyOft3IHlU0FxtkA8MipL9jiOi1oqRm2uGyJEJgxX-g5/s16000/9622466_orig.jpg" /></a></div><p><span></span></p><a name='more'></a>This shot is my favorite of them all, for that day and many days.<p></p><p>And oh yeah: I made it to my third and final temple of the day.</p><hr /><p><b>Categories: </b>Art, Buddhism, China, Photography, Temples</p><hr /><b></b><div><b><br /></b></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-36112519310537541612012-04-04T12:00:00.013+08:002023-11-19T06:38:24.954+08:00Did you know?<p style="text-align: left;">[This essay was originally posted to "The Third Tale," a blog on Weebly. In transferring it I have updated and made corrections where necessary.]</p><p>[This was floating around the internet. It isn't mine; I haven't changed the punctuation, capitalization, or anything. In fact I haven't even verified that it's all true, though I checked to see that the dates are accurate. Still, it's food for thought in these troubled times.]</p><p>The original Constitution of the United States that was ratified in 1789 had only one reference to religion: [Article 6] No religious Test shall ever be required as a Qualification to any Office or public Trust under the United States.<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p>The de facto motto of the United States, adopted as part of the Great Seal of the U.S. by an Act of Congress in 1782 was E. Pluribus Unum (Out of Many, One). Congress changed it 174 years later (1956) to “In God We Trust.”</p><p>The original ‘Pledge of Allegiance' was written in 1892 by Baptist Minister Francis Bellamy who DID NOT INCLUDE the words “Under God.” Those were added by Congress 62 years later (1954).</p><p>The U.S. didn't issue Paper Currency until 1861, and ‘In God We Trust' didn't appear on it for 96 years (1957).</p><p>Just after the Red Scare in the 1950′s, CONGRESS CHANGED the Pledge of Allegiance and our Nation's Motto over the FEAR of COMMUNISM.</p><p>In a time when fear is traded like a commodity, and the word SOCIALISM is being used to create the same fear as the old word COMMUNISM, let's REMEMBER that our country was NOT founded on fear. NO, OUR NATION was founded out of HOPE for a better world where all people were EQUAL – that we were ONE from MANY.</p><p>Let's not let fear change our nation's great tradition & direction again.</p><hr /><p><b>Categories: </b>Spirituality</p><hr /><b></b><div><b><br /></b></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-53497652755323486152012-04-03T21:00:00.024+08:002023-11-19T09:54:35.622+08:00Can You See the Stars in the Daytime?<p style="text-align: left;">[This essay was originally posted to "<a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2012/04/the-third-tale.html">The Third Tale</a>," a blog on Weebly. In transferring it I have updated and made corrections where necessary.]</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjEB5bYm7t8A3G8OGk34sILVcmAKUCzbxPUcV1bvovopme4RhOnBPXkBLeNiYtiqOD9zX0X_s1pU5btQ454B0cUQ_8fZRelzCOoAp76Qa_wfr0ueS1cr0DP3TrQ583L6Vs_SCfc4QksGnzvK3mG4B0_PaTCYzDAB4ytVMSLVuOuFo0mhVTqDIpAtJv/s100/5019433.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="100" data-original-width="100" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjEB5bYm7t8A3G8OGk34sILVcmAKUCzbxPUcV1bvovopme4RhOnBPXkBLeNiYtiqOD9zX0X_s1pU5btQ454B0cUQ_8fZRelzCOoAp76Qa_wfr0ueS1cr0DP3TrQ583L6Vs_SCfc4QksGnzvK3mG4B0_PaTCYzDAB4ytVMSLVuOuFo0mhVTqDIpAtJv/s1600/5019433.jpg" width="100" /></a></div>Sri Ramakrishna said:<p></p><p>You see many stars in the night sky, but cannot find them at midday. Can you say, then, that there are no stars in the heavens in the daytime?</p><p>So even though we humans do not see the Almighty in the daylight of our ignorance, we must not say, "There is no God."</p><hr /><p><i>Notes:</i></p><p>This is a great example of the common-sense, humble nature of Sri Ramakrishna's sayings.</p><p>The skeptic may pick this apart: "We can't see the stars because the sun is brighter. What is brighter than God?" etc.</p><p>But it's a beautiful illustration nonetheless. The full panoply of the kosmos is up there, all day long. And we're so blinded by what is near us (our daily worries, perhaps?) that we can't see it.<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><hr /><p>Read my <a href="https://ramakrishna.jamesbaquet.com/2009/05/welcome.html"><b>introduction to Sri Ramakrishna</b></a>, a <a href="https://ramakrishna.jamesbaquet.com/2009/05/brief-life-of-sri-ramakrishna.html"><b>brief biography</b></a> I wrote, and a <a href="https://ramakrishna.jamesbaquet.com/"><b>selection of his sayings</b></a> with my commentary.</p><hr /><p><b>Categories: </b>Spirituality, Sri Ramakrishna</p><hr /><b></b><div><b><br /></b></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-32248380020992215472012-04-03T20:00:00.013+08:002023-11-19T07:03:00.394+08:00Vairocana at Longmen<p style="text-align: left;">[This photo was originally posted to "<a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2012/04/the-third-tale.html">The Third Tale</a>," a blog on Weebly. In transferring it I have updated and made corrections where necessary.]</p><p>A monumental statue of the Vairocana Buddha at Longmen Grottoes, Henan, China</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN9mXCmPlvi_jiLDzWL-S3E0N9qvRHCaZQwaBygbky87r1xhOOx0Efs0lyxwYDjAyxOmpg_ordeD-PjxNeH1K_nORbdX-FT_ae2CgIdSovzs1awtgavn4e0fzWcioVnQd1UIoinXlDFO6p7JeI193jVQpSH1fHPjFIPAUzliotpIXM85qSaCYQ0cCd/s600/9420001_orig.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN9mXCmPlvi_jiLDzWL-S3E0N9qvRHCaZQwaBygbky87r1xhOOx0Efs0lyxwYDjAyxOmpg_ordeD-PjxNeH1K_nORbdX-FT_ae2CgIdSovzs1awtgavn4e0fzWcioVnQd1UIoinXlDFO6p7JeI193jVQpSH1fHPjFIPAUzliotpIXM85qSaCYQ0cCd/s16000/9420001_orig.jpg" /></a><span><a name='more'></a></span></div><hr /><p><b>Categories: </b>Art, Buddhism, China, Peace, Photography, Temples</p><hr /><b></b><div><b><br /></b></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1726108975236163865.post-59319134896314635062012-04-03T19:00:00.014+08:002023-11-19T07:03:02.673+08:00The Gift of the Flute<p style="text-align: left;">[This photo was originally posted to "<a href="https://blog.jamesbaquet.com/2012/04/the-third-tale.html">The Third Tale</a>," a blog on Weebly. In transferring it I have updated and made corrections where necessary.]</p><p>Posted by Rumi on FaceBook, via FB friend Jackie Tran:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMeIE0mr7-ohVTUUBnl9oMlvzmdGBPaor2t_-qQmb7itQIUPWlEUV4dhT5UsDWxhyphenhypheniUM7KBh4KsC8yB2WeOfZPb0R6LtqZy7GnhZbPHuWCj733TRX9uMLZmxi4j_l3NrNatOmkNc7LUNvL5B_ffghsRk7yDMae5WReR3pi1QMYWusAKN7A3wI5LOte/s500/2490652_orig.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="394" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMeIE0mr7-ohVTUUBnl9oMlvzmdGBPaor2t_-qQmb7itQIUPWlEUV4dhT5UsDWxhyphenhypheniUM7KBh4KsC8yB2WeOfZPb0R6LtqZy7GnhZbPHuWCj733TRX9uMLZmxi4j_l3NrNatOmkNc7LUNvL5B_ffghsRk7yDMae5WReR3pi1QMYWusAKN7A3wI5LOte/s16000/2490652_orig.jpg" /></a><span><a name='more'></a></span></div><hr /><p><b>Categories: </b>Compassion, Facebook</p><hr /><b></b><div><b><br /></b></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0