Reflection 7

And here we are. Or here I am. A final reflection on three months of emersion into a culture I have learned about for three years of my life. Frankly I don’t know what to write about. I don’t know how to contemplate a religion I have been fascinated about for such a developmental time of my life. I have spun prayer wheels. I have looked upon temples and been blessed by monks. I do not know what culture shock will encompass but I don’t like the idea of not being a part of something that has suddenly become central to my being.

I am privileged to be here. But I think I have developed and learned about the dynamics of privilege power play more than I initially intended to. There is something to be said for people living in such a bafflement of oppression and inability to function in a society but still have positive, beautiful life views. If one is privilege, and the coast through life through being granted things with out struggle, are they in fact missing out on other meanings of life? How is life different for people who do not have privilege to travel, to get a passport for goodness’s sake that gives them an advantage in the end to being better people? Struggles create something in people, a fire, a passion, a gratitude that perhaps us with privilege do not understand.

Possibly I mean this privilege in a sense of race or ethnicity, as opposed to a financial benefit I previously spoke of. A dear friend of mine once expressed his situation of having an easy life as inhibiting him from feeling. He has known no one who has died, had lost nothing, and has had a lucky, genuine, suffering-free life. However he is lacking a spectrum of emotion some of us who have suffered feel. He has thinks he has felt no pure happiness because he has felt no pure sadness. Can the same concept be applied to people who have privilege? Can one ever understand their religious freedom, per example, if it has never been taken away, dissolved, absorbed, or just annihilated by a government?

We just returned from a pilgrimage around three Bodhisattva mountains. Three pure forms of wisdom, compassion, and fearlessness/courage. But the pilgrimage, for us Westerners, was illegal. The experience was beyond powerful, and as addressed in a reading we completed encompassing of suffering and hardships in it’s own right, but would the experience have been so profound if there was not disapproval from a government source? There was an addition of something extra special about inhibiting a person to do something, denying a right, which improves an experience and allows the hardship that pilgrimage is supposed to create that much more… savory.

Diverging my rant towards this pilgrimage, I would like to comment on the issues of being on a pilgrimage. We hiked around mountains that were more than mountains, they were nearly enlightened beings that exist to assist us mere humans to reach enlightenment. And if the physical act of engaging in a pilgrimage is to create merit for the rest of humanity, then the group of people who joined us on our voyage was infinity important. There are human, obvious struggles with being with the same group of twenty individuals for 16 days, but embodying compassion and wisdom and courage into a daily setting where there is 62% less oxygen and we are hiking up monstrous mountain passes, while eating a lunch of yogurt and Oreos, it’s just hard to have patience! But the complexity of pilgrimage and people make the journey, as much as the sacredness of the place.

People. This whole journey of a semester in China has been about people. The group here, the tourists there, the drivers and friends we have made, there is so much truth in emptiness theory I am baffled. I have grown as a person, and decided I want to be more compassionate and patience and accepting of everyone, because at the end of the day my existence is insignificant with out the woman next door selling me sodas. The same can be applied in America, and I want to maintain this mentality towards daily life. Here, I have learned to be accepting and patience, wise, compassionate, and courageous. 

Reflection 6

Newman explored a concept of Emptiness Theory, central to Tibetan life and religion. The theory explores the idea that everything is empty of inherent existence, which does not mean that everything is empty or non-existent, it means that everything cannot possibly exist independently. Despite my mild confusion through out his book, I found the idea that everything cannot be independent. This correlates perfectly with the egoless nature of Buddhism. Emptiness itself also inspires a being to not be created individually because the existence of everything in the universe exposed to that person has altered the reality and personality of that person. Adding, in my opinion, perfectly to also the concept of reincarnation – there is a Buddhist theory that every sentient being has been your mother, hence loving kindness to all beings.

            Emptiness gets tricky when you apply the theory of nothing existing sole without everything else to, well, everything. What happens when you think about Nirvana? Nirvana therefore cannot exist with out all the beings affecting the state, however, how can Nirvana exist at all then since clearly all beings are not a part of Nirvana. So does Nirvana exist?

            Maybe it does not. When observing kinship systems of Tibetans in Geza, as well as Mosuo people at Lugu Lake (who practice Geluke – a Buddhist school who practices Emptiness) I learned that there is little definition in who is parenting whom, and family boundaries are not present or important. In Geza, everyone took care of the children, the elders, and always assisted in whatever needed to get done regarding house work or kin care. Mosuo families are set up where the family lives in their natal house and the children are raised by his or her uncles, aunts, grandmothers, and mothers. Some women chose not to have children because having nieces and nephews was fundamentally the same. There is no distinction between authentic parenting because everyone is connected.

            This mindset is completely inspired by emptiness theory. There is a willingness to care for whomever needs care because everyone is connected and not independent. The idea of lack of Nirvana is also interesting, since there is a clear ease regarding death in Geza.

            Personally, I am curious about the depth that a non salvation based religion effects a culture. There is no end goal or personal reward for being a good person in Tibetan ideologies if reincarnation is the common after-death step, and who knows if Nirvan is even relevant, but there is a logic based system saying “be nice” to other people because you couldn’t exist with out them. But there is no gains or rewards or happy life – there is just a grateful purity embedded in helping people. There is compassion to the most beautiful, full extent. I have certainly felt that compassion in Tibetan people I have encountered.

            I could be seeing this world in rose colored glasses, but there is something extremely pure and genuine about living in the moment and compassionately loving the people around you for the sake of their happiness, not so you as an individual get to heaven.
            Damn. Am I a Buddhist? 

Reflection 5

There is a justifiable response to romanticizing religions and religious figures. I feel that there is trust and respect for people who devote themselves to a religion, and a respect about who and how they engage and act. But why is it that we as humans hold monks and nuns to such high standards? Personally it is because they have committed themselves to the purity and goodness of religions, so therefore they have to embody those thoughts in a way. But we as humans, specifically myself included, tend to forget that people are people, always. (Unless they are reincarnate lama people… then it gets tricky.) Either way, it should not have been a shock when I read Hillman’s article pertaining to the violence and drama that sparked out of “S” monastery. Although Hillman wrote an excellent article pertaining to how Buddhist monks “got away with” the murder of other monks, I still cannot fathom it! Especially having walked around the allies of the monastery. Then again, can a monastery be classified as a monastery if there are more tourists than monks? What about if there are no tantric teachings happening, and the monks are more engaged in selling beverages and snacks than meditating? Frankly I do not believe this monastery can still be classified as a functioning monastery… Yet again, the government did contribute a significant amount of funds to rebuild the monastery, so is it better for the monastery to exist and be a tourist trap than for it to not exist at all? The issue of authenticity is veering its head once again. And what the hell is authenticity anyway? Isn’t that a romantic concept as well, assuming that things were always set in a certain way, which was better and more pure in the past? Concepts of this purity past life of a monastery, or monastic people, religion in general can be extremely complicated to identify, and create biases in the identifier. Conclusively on the authenticity spectrum – I wonder if authenticity has ever existed. More to come on this topic – I think my stomach is coming up again. Bah.

Reflection 4

The Naxi religion is becoming unknown by Naxi people. As we learned in our lecture at Black Dragon Pool in Lijiang, there are fewer and fewer people who can list the gods of Naxi religion, even if they are Naxi. Dongba Priests, as well, are old, with little interest growing by the youth to learn the oral, written, and ritual practices. With little passing of knowledge by the Dongbas or by the lay people, the gods/spirits of the Naxi religion are forgotten. Arguably, therefore, the religion is dead. But what does it mean when a religion dies? Are there repercussions for those past believers, who let their spirits and gods become forgotten? Or are there consequences for everyone, because the gods are (to be frank) pissed off? Or, did the gods never exist, which then the logical option of a religion’s death occurs? But, to continue this eternal play of devil’s advocate, what if the religion died and the gods are still real? (Who am I to colonially project that the Naxi gods never/still do not exist?) The issue with tackling any of these questions is not having a firm definition of religion, and trying to comprehend the recipient/believer of a religion. The issue with a “dying religions” places an immense a lot of faith in the idea that humans are the only believers of a religion, and the human realm is responsible for the definition of a religion. What about religions of animals? Plants? Insects? Beings in the Ghost realm, or heaven, or hell? But why would the death of a religion (or a god) be determined by humanity, when the act of believing in a religion clearly has to do with the supernatural? I think it goes against everything a religion stands for, at least in my opinion, of believing in something greater than you yourself, if we assume gods just don’t exist if people are not there to worship them. Don’t we as religious believers expect these spirits to be all natural beings existing beyond our understanding, and have a realism that we cannot comprehend, thus making them real and worth worshiping? I would adjust the vocabulary I am using to encompass the death of a religion among known humans, not necessarily the death of spirits and gods. It is disrespectful to assume they vanish because those believing the religion abandoned them. I could argue against myself again, and say the reason a religion “dies” is because the gods are not efficacious – they are not doing their job of supporting the people, thus making the rituals useless as well as the priests in charge of pleasing the gods. Please do not, however, misinterpret my tone as disgust and anger at the Naxi for forgetting their religious roots – it is a much more complicated system which can house no blame, really. We have learned that there was a lessening of Naxi religious practice around the 1930s and 40s, which was only annihilated and dissolved completely during the Cultural Revolution. Leading the state of the Naxi people into the forgotten religious realm, and currently feeding a mass group of Han tourists to participate in an objectified, fake reality that is now Naxi culture. Excuse the historic rant, but I am currently pondering the implications of replacing a religion with something else, and in the case of Naxi culture there is a possibility that the religion was replaced with capitalism, ethnic tourism, and not so much a religion. Then again, is it slightly biased for me to assume that tourism and capitalism can work so intensely to actually replace a religion? Yet again, the alternative is a gap, with simply nothing to believe in. Well at least nothing on a grandeur scale implicating a religion. I used to believe there was an evolution to believing in religion, that people worshiped and prayed because there were truth-claims to religion. Then eventually people would become atheist, clutching to the modernization and globalization of things, denying religion as a whole because the frame of thought would change to science based notions (which I may argue is still in fact a religion of some sorts). After this phase, I would like to believe people would then resort back to a religion of some sorts. Finding that there is something larger than humanity, regardless of what type of god, spirit, deity, feeling was involved, but something that humanity cannot understand with data and facts. Thus having a more sophisticated, after-questioned mindset on the spirituality of life. I have absolutely no idea if there is an evolutionary cycle to anything anymore, especially religion. I can still barley define the concept of religion. I mean, how does one differentiate between religion, spirituality, philosophy, theology, science, worldviews, cultural views, morality thoughts, mortality thoughts, and even traditions?! So how can I explain what happens when a religion dies, when I am still not certain what a religion is? How am I supposed to tell you that mountains in China can pick up and fly away, when I know the logic westerners would use to try to use to explain such a statement, just will not work in this context? So how can I comprehend the implications of the death of a Naxi religion, when parts of my mindset will not allow me to ever fully grasp the severity of the ending of a religious period in these parts of China?

Reflection 3

We stumbled into a busy breakfast dive and Tenchong last week, we then met the Hui Noodle Lady. If reincarnation is exists, this woman was my grandmother from a past life. She would snatch our phrase books and ask us mundane daily questions – What are our families like? Where are we going? What are we doing? Did she feed us enough? We would giggle and toss the book back and forth, pointing to phrases in each other’s native languages. Eventually she saved us from scamming cab drivers and personally escorted us to a tourist bus stop, so we could see the geothermal springs. The next morning we wandered once again into her noodle restaurant, where she asked us to come back at noon and get acquainted with her children. So we did. This nameless, past, probable grandmother of mine was a proud mother of two young, teenaged girls who were more than ecstatic to meet “real Americans.” They translated for their mother and were extremely curious about our purpose in this han-tourist encompassed town. Ah, the complexities of such an obvious questions… What, exactly, were we doing in this small touristy city, in the off-season nonetheless? I could have explained to her that we wanted to see the beauty of the town, the geothermal springs, the ancient waterfalls… but that really wasn’t the reason I was there. I wanted to explore a part of China I would have other wise not be exposed to, but more so, meet and observe people in a different region. I wanted to explore what the fundamental aspects of life meant for people other than myself and what I am accustomed to. However, digging deeper into the mentality of traveling to observe people, what differences are in place comparatively between being a tourist to meet different people, and being a tourist to experience different cultures? Are the two that different? Or, can they exist dependently? In other words, ethnic tourism is inevitable for the traveler in general. I feel less concerned about this line of thought in relation to myself, however, because I know that the areas I visited were not attractions because of the culture on display. I was not visiting places based on the romanticized cultures and eroticized people from “ancient, authentic, pure times.” But I was still going to observe people. Could I classify myself as an anthropologist then? And what exactly is the role of anthropology – is it nothing more than professional tourism? Simply, I suppose, am a student here. The issue comes back to what I anticipate my role to be as a culturally aware individual. The Noodle Lady and her children kept offering to buy us bus tickets back to Baoshan. The tickets would cost over 100 yuan, which is more than I could ever take from a woman with two children who makes her living off of selling noodles (not that there is anything wrong with selling noodles, and I do not mean to sound pertinacious by making that comment, however, I am a privileged American who can afford my own ticket). In her culture, however, it is custom to give gifts to new friends and travelers. I refused the tickets multiple times, however she was persistent. Eventually I explained that in American culture one cannot take accept such generous gifts. We ended up buying our own tickets, after at least an hour of debate. But was it inconsiderate of me to not accept the gift? Did it affirm my power in the situation, or offend this new friend of ours? Digging deeper again, I wonder about the responsibilities of maintaining personal privilege and customs and being able to adapt them. Are there certain norms I am not willing to sacrifice? Apparently there are, going back to my refusal of the gift. However, this also means that I can never understand the worldview of another society by maintaining these beliefs and not fully submerging oneself into a culture. This issue stems further from just acceptance of gift, it touches onto white, American, affluent privilege in forms of feminism, religion, and even daily choices like vegetarianism. The concept gets complicated when one has to decide if one can ever forget views they were previously exposed to and identify with. What happens when vegetarianism, for example, isn’t just a privilege, but a way of life and part of your core identity? (On a side note – how privileged is the ability to dismiss one’s privileges to better understand a society?) The answer lies in the individual’s willingness to push boundaries and identities. An identity can be strengthened when the privilege and option of a previously life cannot exist in the new found culture. Either way, there is a complexity in comprehending a culture when your worldviews have absolutely no correlation with the influences of that culture. To decrease the vagueness of my previous comment I would like to elaborate on the comprehension of Buddhism, for example. Coming from a Roman Catholic perspective, being raised in a democratic, capitalistic country, I am lucky to be able to study the concept of Buddhism, Daoism, and Confucianism in China. However there is an obvious disconnect when visiting temples with chanting monks and local worshipers. I am clearly aware I do not belong here, and honestly, one cannot ever really thrive in comprehension when there are fundamental disconnects in world conception. Something as simple as time functions differently in a society that has been around for thousands of years, versus one that has been around for a few hundred. So to bring this full circle, I believe there are moral responsibilities I have to myself to maintain – however I also have to be aware that there are other forms of morality I have to be open to, knowing the difference is how an individual is defined, formed, and changed. The key to contemplating these moralities is the gateway to identifying oneself with a religion and a culture, or, just as a good person.

Reflection 2

A Developing Dilemma The idea of large, white, American people with backpacks and cameras is frightening on any occasion, more so, if you ask me, when the group is at a temple. Our Guilford Study Abroad program is paired with another abroad program based in Kunming for a period of time. They joined us on our journey to the Western Hills, a Buddhist temple about twenty minutes outside of the city. The bus took us up beautiful mountainside, but once all thirty of us were at the temple, cameras were taken out and Kodak moments were made… kinda. Naturally, we followed the sounds of chanting, and stumbled upon several monks singing while meditating and playing massive drums, all in front of a sixty foot, golden Buddha and God statues. The light hit the gold, and rays bounced throughout the small temple. Everything smelled of incense and the smoke was caught rising in the light. I was awe struck, as always, but was turned off when I saw seven or so of our new abroad partners snapping pictures of the monks. The singing, praying, chanting, monks. It repulsed me and tormented me to no end. I was expressing this concern to a fellow Guilford student, questioning whether or not it would be arrogant if imposed my opinion of photographing the sacred, when a women who worked at the temple asked them to put the cameras away. I know I touched on this personal issue in my last post, but my attention has fully come back to the concern – where are the lines between tourist, curious student, religious follower, and respectful individual? There is a beauty and intimacy in people worshiping, but should that be documented in a media that most Americans, if not people, often times view as a truth claim. Also, by not asking the permission of a subject of a photograph, does the photographer in turn objectify and belittle the person? I guess one of my many quarrels with the complicated problem is why the photograph is being taken. Surly the initial reaction is because the subject is doing something beautiful. Or is it because the subject is doing something different and worth remember, and with out the proof of this photograph the person behind the lens won’t have anything to show his or her family? The concept of learning from different cultures is beautiful, and is why I personally am studying abroad. However the action of taking photographs of people worshiping enlists a supremist’s action and inherently exoticizes a people. It just feels wrong. The situation gets more complicated when you turn the tables. Numerous times already I have been asked to have my picture taken by the locals. I am obviously white and my height towers over the vast majority of people here, but why do I always smile and laugh at the idea when I am so opposed to photographing other people? It simply doesn’t matter to me… but then again, walking down the street to grab dinner is much different than chanting daily prayers. Already on this trip I have begun wrestling with the traveler I want to be. There is a strong part of me that wants to document everything for the people I love at home, but another part of me understands that a photograph just isn’t reality, and it will never substitute physically being some where, so why try to push it’s limits and objectify the chanting monks? Maia Dery would counter my argument, as she did this past summer, and say she only pushes the shutter to document something, when it is sacred. A beautiful concept that I have taken with me – but I think for this trip if I want to capture anything sacred I have to leave out the subjectivity of other humans.

Reflection 1

I wanted to come to Yunnan to explore the diversity of religions that the United States simply doesn't have - at least not at the level of ancient, historic, rich cultural religious places. And frankly I am someone who believes in the sanctity of place, hence the wonder and importance I have already felt on some of our journeys. The voyage to the Bamboo Temple was by far the most prolific experience I have had here. The lack of knowledge of our destination, made the journey exciting and the sheer wonder of where we ended up so much more powerful. The intimacy of the temple was unlike anything I have ever felt as well. There were god and goddess statues with places to pray, but there was this other natural element of forrest space that provided security and spirituality. The day itself was perfect.
My feelings towards the Yuantong Temple were slightly different. This urban temple didn't have that intimacy, but in a way had a stronger sense of community due to the diversity of urban people visiting as well as the chanting of the monks and women (some nuns?). But, as we discussed, that community also made me feel like a complete outsider. Taking pictures of the temple was also discerning, I felt like some sort of terrible anthropologist documenting people in their most intimate moments. The chanting was an incredible experience which brought me to tears. I was at first convinced my emotional response was triggered by the sheer beauty of the prayers, but after riding my emotions out a large part of my feelings resorted back to the isolation I felt. I wonder if this separated sense I developed was deeper than just being an observer in a sacred setting - could I be projecting my feelings about my isolation and lack of cohesion with Roman Catholicism (the faith I was raised) as well? Listing to some of the classmates discuss their comparison with the temple and a church didn't resinate well with me, however. I feel like it is completely natural to observe the similarities and differences with what one knows and doesn't know, but at the same time, is it fair to really compare the two? They are so vastly different in their purpose in society, saying one is better or worse just doesn't hold much insight just yet...
The Kaygu Temple we went to after was also very beautiful, but had a form of intimacy different than the Bamboo Temple. Don't tell the rest of the class - but I was secretly thrilled when the woman told us not to take pictures. I do like the concept of leaving things undocumented and not replicated. It also helped me feel like our class wasn't just another tourist group. I can't remember taking any pictures at the Mosque. But the mosque and the information about the Hui was very interesting, as well as very intense for myself personally. The historical synopsis of being Muslim in China was very interesting (as well as the tid-bit of information that our guest speaker was a Kong Fu Master). My ears perked up, however, when he assured us that men are stronger than women, and it is the men's job to take care of the women. I eventually asked a question about the importance of a woman's role in an Islamic society, and if the responsibilities of a woman ritualistically and otherwise shift between the rural and urban environments. He assured me that women are more educated and seen equally (which I would debate) with men in urban environments, but traditionally in rural areas women are uneducated and must wait for men to finish eating to sit and eat etc. My initial reaction was upset, it is very hard for me to comprehend that as well as try to politely sit there and listen to those philosophies. However, after I thought about it, I don't believe it really matters what I think. Feminism is a school of thought I am lucky and privileged enough to be exposed to, as well as white and upper/middle class enough to employ it's philosophies into my daily life. The rest of the world sees things differently. Although due to my own biases I cannot understand why women can not pray to their god with or without men, but if the women of Islam culture and faith are happy and do not feel oppressed, then who am I to colonially map a phrase on them? That just assumes women are unhappy and a male group is oppressive; it's a world view and a way of thought, I think I have to learn to appreciate the differences when it comes to things I am extremely passionate about. In a way, the introduction of feminism - and maybe even Fry's book - could potentially "liberate" women in an American standard of thinking (which could be biased and racist in itself) as well as kill a religious tradition. An interesting chain of thoughts for me personally, and I am sure more morally challenging topics with occur as our trip progresses.