The Chinese Disabled People's Performing Arts Group performs the Thousand Hand Guan Yin.
Who's this Guan Yin dude, you ask?
Guan Yin is the bodhisattva of compassion, revered by Buddhists as the Goddess of Mercy. Her name is short for Guan Shi Yin. Guan means to observe, watch, or monitor; Shi means the world; Yin means sounds, specifically sounds of those who suffer. Thus, Guan Yin is a compassionate being who watches for, and responds to, the people in the world who cry out for help.
What makes this worth noting is that all the performers are deaf, and in the absence of audio cues they've trained rigorously to keep their performance perfectly on beat with the music.
I just read something really fascinating while preparing for a midterm: according to one interpretation, the concept of karma as it is laid out in the Bhagavad Gita is not some sort of universal balance sheet (tallying an individual's righteous and shameful actions) but rather a means of expressing the natural tendency for a human being to repeat actions they have already performed. For example, in weightlifting it's important to learn a particular movement with proper form, because if you learn to move in a way which is antagonistic to bodily health you are certain to cause harm once you start moving in that manner with significant weight. It's easier to learn something right the first time than to unlearn and relearn a particular skill or set of movements, thus the emphasis on getting it correct upfront.
In a similar vein, karma is simply a means of describing one's tendency to fall into comfortable patterns; if one chooses to do good works, it will be easier to perform similar works in the future. If you go through the trouble to volunteer at a local soup kitchen once or twice, you will become acquainted with the people and the neighborhood and feel more comfortable doing so in the future. Likewise if you choose to filch five dollars out of a family member's wallet, you will have overcome the greatest hurdle in making that initial decision so that in the future stooping to such a level will feel almost commonplace. Karma simply takes that tendency to repeat an action or disposition to a spiritual level, implying that a soul is doomed to carry its predilections from one existence to the next. For example, a habitual smoker who perished from lung cancer might find themselves inexplicably attracted to the scent and taste of tobacco in their next incarnation. Thus does the burden of previous poor choices weigh on one's future decisions.
Anyway, I thought that was cool and wanted an excuse to stop studying. As you were.
So we've hit the final week of midterms, and I'm starting to go a little crazy. I've got a bunch of essays to write throughout the next week and for some reason I'm going absolutely insane stressing over writing them; it's gotten so bad that I slept terribly last night and haven't written more than a few sentences despite being in front of this computer for over five hours.
So why not put my chronic web-surfing to use? I know this stuff is easy so I'm just gonna start brainstorming here and now, jotting down everything I can remember about Confucian thought in an effort to de-stress and find the important elements that will guarantee me an A. You see that's the real problem; I know I can pass these courses, I just want to secure the top grade and faced with my first shot to do so I can't help but feel a little nervous at the prospect of submitting 50% of my final grade while essentially writing blind.
So why does Confucius claim the village worthy is a thief of virtue (as related by the teachings of Mencius)? It's pretty simple, actually; Confucian social theory revolves around five relationships which together serve as the building blocks of human society. Avoiding for the moment details on the afore-mentioned five, the truly superior man (the junzi as I was taught in a previous course) dedicates himself to fulfilling his assigned role in all relationships with effortless perfection, with the end goal of realizing sublime enlightenment and becoming one with his given role in a perfect society. This junzi is the ideal to be chased by every citizen, and when every member of society seeks dutiful fulfillment of his duties out of an honest and open desire to better himself and serve others, then there is a perfect nation.
The village worthy (as exemplified in a short analogy within the Book of Mencius) is a man who appears to be the superior man; as Confucius says
"Those who try to censure him can find no basis; those who try to criticize him can find no faults. He follows along with all the vulgar trends and harmonizes with the sordid age. Dwelling in this way he seems dutiful and trustworthy; acting in this way, he seems honest and pure. The multitude are all pleased with him - he is pleased with himself as well - and yet you cannot enter with him into the Way of Yao and Shun."
Thus, the village worthy is someone who appears to everyone (including himself) to be the ideal citizen; he is dutiful in his relationships with others and fulfills his obligations to society. But he does it out of self-interest, rather than a commitment to the way of the junzi. Thus he is on the wrong path, and by enticing others into following that same path through his actions he is actively stealing them away from the road to enlightenment; therefore he is not only devoid of true virtue but in truth a thief, for he is robbing others of the opportunity to pursue true harmony.
I am expanding. Not always, not even often and sometimes I shrink back a bit; it's during quiet moments like this, a chilly afternoon beneath bright sun that I discover where I've been. It's been four days of calm, four days of no homework and little activity or personal interaction that leave me desperate for the city folk.
This is a city sleeping fitfully, every hidden smile and unsought convo a fit or start from otherwise oblivious slumber. We foolish vagrants are isolated out here on the edge of campus, second-class citizens in a village the kingdom has forgotten. Students don't go to college, they attend classes; we few left behind are hermits in a quiet meadow of domestic tranquility, glimpsing city folk hustling past the kitchen window.
You don't just walk down Market Avenue; you lean into it like Ahab cutting a channel through the mad foaming breakers of humanity. Every corner brings fresh voices, modern-day Sirens luring travelers to their doom amidst the rocky shoals of charity.
Much like my beard, this post is an experiment. I'm sad I cut it off.
Me: Hey dude I'm headed out to get a haircut do you want...one....? Sean: ...What? Me: Uhhh....I mean... Sean: ...Do I want a haircut? Me: Never mind.
How it SHOULD have gone:
Me: Hey dude I'm headed out to get a haircut do you want...one...? Sean: ...(meaningful pause) Yes. Yes I do. Me: Uhh I mean....wait, what?! Sean: Bring me back a jerry curl. Extra curl. Me: Wait... Sean: And a side order of muttonchops. Me: But... Sean: King-sized.
Life would be better with a team of sitcom writers and a laugh track.
Next Saturday I'm headed out to Berkeley to protest Burmese oppression.
Next Wednesday I'm hitting up a Baptist church on the promise of free cookies.
This Sunday I'll be taking part in SFSU's first hurling team practice.
Tomorrow morning I'll be catching the 12:01 a.m. showing of Watchmen, on a 80' x 100' IMAX screen. I expect the good doctor's genitalia (the lower Manhattan, if you will) to be taller than I am.
In twenty minutes I'm going to join the Freemasons.
Over the last few months I've jotted a few quick notes here with the intention of posting, only to be diverted at a critical moment by something shiny. In the interests of murdering e-trees, here's a senseless text dump from San Francisco.
Just writing this to blow off steam, try that whole writing-as-therapy thing. Life is great, which is sort of the problem. I love this city, love the people I meet and the things they talk about doing. None of my courses are particularly interesting this semester, but neither are any terribly difficult; where I spent last semester cranking out a number of papers and working on weekly stories, this time around most of my professors require little beyond a satisfactory showing on the midterm and final exam. I can't really find a real job because I'm only available Saturday, Sunday and afternoons on Friday, but to be honest I don't mind not having to work another entry-level position.
Unfortunately this schedule leaves me a lot of free time in the evenings, but no disposable income to blow and not many friends close enough (personally or geographically) to annex on a regular basis. To fill it I volunteered to work both with a tiny (crappy) gaming fansite and at Spot Us, a recent startup experiment in crowdfunding public journalism. One was just to give me a regular deadline and consider writing regularly about one of my hobbies, the other was (quite honestly) to get involved with some local journalists and try to pad out my resume and network a bit (times are tough.) Given the nature of these two commitments, it's essentially impossible for me to have truly free time; even if I've no homework to complete, reading to do or assignments to shoot there's an ever-present need for content at these outlets that constantly tugs plaintively at my train of thought, looking up at my superego with those big blue eyes that promise everything if I can just churn out one. More. Post.
You know what I'm finding? I really don't want to write about video games for a living. In fact, I doubt I'd like to commit to writing about any of my hobbies for money. I mean, on the surface the concept sounds great; get a game (or movie, book, cookie etc.) in the mail, crack open the package and enjoy it, then write my impressions up 1-2 weeks later and get paid to do it. The perfect crime, you say? Perhaps, but it seems my nagging doubts about turning a fun, diversionary pastime into work were entirely well-founded; having to sit and critically analyze something pretty much dest- oh forget about it. You know what I mean, because you don't get paid to do fun things: you get paid to do interesting things, important things, necessary things. I don't mean to imply your work isn't fun, only that you choose to do something else in your off hours to celebrate the fact that you aren't working. I imagine there's two enlighted ways to go about this whole happy life thing: either integrate your work and play into a lifestyle and enjoy living the dream (I'm thinking journalist, celebrity, police officer etc.) or practice very strict delineation between work and play and leave work at the office. I don't want to spend any significant portion of my existence living the "enthusiast press" lifestyle, so I guess it's strict work/play boundaries for me. That or marry Oprah.
Which is ultimately why I'm really stressed; life isn't going fast enough. I know about stopping to enjoy the moment, savoring what you're doing at any one time because you'll never get it back. I dunno if all my gushing praise for the City by the Bay has left you doubting my commitment to savoring the fruits of providence, but I think you can safely consider these succulent morsels satisfactorily savored. But no matter how great it is to be here, I'm just not getting enough accomplished; school will be great (once this semester finishes) because I'll be up another nineteen units, but at this point my schoolwork really doesn't require much effort so I'm left scrabbling desperately for accolades in the dust of my own mediocrity. I've wasted the last five years of my life, I can't afford to blow anything else.
Born in Oakland, CA, Alex quickly found a city voted “Best Weather in the U.S.” by Rand McNally too milquetoast for his toddler tastes and set out to see the world. After living in hellholes from Leeds to New Jersey, young Alexander wisely reconsidered his youthful arrogance and enrolled at college in San Francisco while he still could.
A Journalism major, he quickly discovered that training for a dying profession left plenty of free time for extra-curricular activities like pub crawling and recreational drug use. Too poor for drugs and too weepy when drunk, Alex fell back on gaming as a reliable vice. Born in a city that spawned the likes of MC Hammer and Bruce Lee, Alex stands on the shoulders of giants. In his copious free time he hopes to master acoustic guitar, buy a motorcycle and take up the mantle of wandering minstrel as a thinly-veiled excuse to fight crime.
EDIT: Oh, and I took the link to this page off my Twitter feed. Because quite frankly, it's embarassing. Like home movies.
SON OF EDIT: Also, I'm running a 12k in May. Weep for my hamstrings.
ET TU, EDIT?: As long as I'm here, hit me up on Facebook or on Twitter. I'm in the Internet, we should hang out.
