Where am I?
In some things, I do not know where I am in the world. It is a strange feeling… unfettered. As though I have the freedom to be everything and anything I want, to think anything and everything I want, without being reprimanded, without being judged, without being degraded by my inferiority or puffed up by my consequence. These things that I am, and that I have no idea of: so I just go ahead and think what I think, believe what I believe, and let the thoughts that pass in my mind wantonly settle and grow root in my mind. And I allow people to say, without knowing what they themselves are saying “Perhaps it’s just the Western way, she’s very westernized.” Or “She’s from Taiwan, perhaps that’s the way they are there.”
I do not know. Perhaps I am lucky, to be somewhere where I cannot be estimated in what I am exactly, that there is still this breach wide enough between cultures that would make them unable to pinpoint where I am exactly. And that I have not been given proper training to think what should be thought.
But there is a danger in this. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I were given structural training. I wonder if it would tame me, make me more orderly, give my thoughts a perch – perhaps help me grow? It is, after all, the tried and true system? Or has the system structured itself to the point that all the masters are left in the past when the system was not yet perfected? I do not know what the system is like, I can only guess. And thus, I am given more freedom in the ignorance of what can be. And the danger lies thus – that I lie in perfect ignorance of what can be thought. That I shall never grow, but remain the same, and only the wording shall be different from time to time, but all the thoughts will be the same. And once in a while I shall discover, by accident, that someone else had thought these thoughts before me, and it shall make me feel belittled that I did not know, and thought these thoughts were mine alone. Yet it would gladden me, when I thought myself alone in these musings with no one to reflect back what I said. And we are all inadequately trained, in a sense, to cope with our heritage. For it is too huge, so we have the freedom to choose not to learn it, and thus are unable to stand on the shoulders of giants who are there and whom the space with which to stand is not an issue.
And sometimes I fret. I fret with this insane fear that I shall become inflexible in my growing. For daily I am finding in myself something that is gradually becoming fixed. And we all know that in the nature of becoming fixed it is natural that we shall not notice it. We are most blind to the timbers in our eyes. So I fret that I have not a mirror; and that I shall grow ugly and twisted without knowing that I am. And when I am older than I am now I shall become someone detestable to whom I am now, and I cannot know it. The things that I find becoming fixed are sometimes things I cannot adjust, little nuances of habit, tendencies…etc. Sometimes I see them in others – my bad habits, my imaginations molded in my actions, my misperceptions… and it frightens me badly that I am this way, and I grow more desperate for a mirror, to see myself, to mend myself before it is too late…
I have long longed for a teacher, but they only come by a lucky stroke of fate, I have heard. And sometimes I follow some for a while until I find that they are not ahead of me anymore… there is no measure to tell me if they are further ahead than me and whether it is I who, by the random steps of my foot, have turned around in the path and am going elsewhere, with my back to them. There are always faults in us, however perfect we may seem. So we are made equal, in a sense. Those with great wisdom do not have all that they desire, or have flaws in character. And those with great beauty are often doomed to an unhappy life without knowing that it is their greatest source of pride that is causing them this grief. And the happiest of men – they are not remembered.
I read without judging too harshly, because I was not taught to despise this book or know the faults of this author. To me, every book is a superior, and I look up to them all. I do not learn that this book is boring before I read it so I read it with interest. And thus I am ignorant to its faults, but learn a little of its merits.
Where do I expect to go with this then? I do not know. But so far it gives me pleasure, though a lonely one. So I will continue, and see what I can see, and learn what I can learn. For I cannot stop wanting to know. And I shall look back rarely, because I do not have time to look back. And that is good as well, for knowing what has already been thought, even by myself, discourages me from tasting that path again.
I am, after all, extremely forgetful.
I do not know. Perhaps I am lucky, to be somewhere where I cannot be estimated in what I am exactly, that there is still this breach wide enough between cultures that would make them unable to pinpoint where I am exactly. And that I have not been given proper training to think what should be thought.
But there is a danger in this. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I were given structural training. I wonder if it would tame me, make me more orderly, give my thoughts a perch – perhaps help me grow? It is, after all, the tried and true system? Or has the system structured itself to the point that all the masters are left in the past when the system was not yet perfected? I do not know what the system is like, I can only guess. And thus, I am given more freedom in the ignorance of what can be. And the danger lies thus – that I lie in perfect ignorance of what can be thought. That I shall never grow, but remain the same, and only the wording shall be different from time to time, but all the thoughts will be the same. And once in a while I shall discover, by accident, that someone else had thought these thoughts before me, and it shall make me feel belittled that I did not know, and thought these thoughts were mine alone. Yet it would gladden me, when I thought myself alone in these musings with no one to reflect back what I said. And we are all inadequately trained, in a sense, to cope with our heritage. For it is too huge, so we have the freedom to choose not to learn it, and thus are unable to stand on the shoulders of giants who are there and whom the space with which to stand is not an issue.
And sometimes I fret. I fret with this insane fear that I shall become inflexible in my growing. For daily I am finding in myself something that is gradually becoming fixed. And we all know that in the nature of becoming fixed it is natural that we shall not notice it. We are most blind to the timbers in our eyes. So I fret that I have not a mirror; and that I shall grow ugly and twisted without knowing that I am. And when I am older than I am now I shall become someone detestable to whom I am now, and I cannot know it. The things that I find becoming fixed are sometimes things I cannot adjust, little nuances of habit, tendencies…etc. Sometimes I see them in others – my bad habits, my imaginations molded in my actions, my misperceptions… and it frightens me badly that I am this way, and I grow more desperate for a mirror, to see myself, to mend myself before it is too late…
I have long longed for a teacher, but they only come by a lucky stroke of fate, I have heard. And sometimes I follow some for a while until I find that they are not ahead of me anymore… there is no measure to tell me if they are further ahead than me and whether it is I who, by the random steps of my foot, have turned around in the path and am going elsewhere, with my back to them. There are always faults in us, however perfect we may seem. So we are made equal, in a sense. Those with great wisdom do not have all that they desire, or have flaws in character. And those with great beauty are often doomed to an unhappy life without knowing that it is their greatest source of pride that is causing them this grief. And the happiest of men – they are not remembered.
I read without judging too harshly, because I was not taught to despise this book or know the faults of this author. To me, every book is a superior, and I look up to them all. I do not learn that this book is boring before I read it so I read it with interest. And thus I am ignorant to its faults, but learn a little of its merits.
Where do I expect to go with this then? I do not know. But so far it gives me pleasure, though a lonely one. So I will continue, and see what I can see, and learn what I can learn. For I cannot stop wanting to know. And I shall look back rarely, because I do not have time to look back. And that is good as well, for knowing what has already been thought, even by myself, discourages me from tasting that path again.
I am, after all, extremely forgetful.
posted by Mignon Chang at 10:03 PM
1 Comments:
I think in general, fear inhibits growth.
As for where you physically are, if you still want to meet after all these years, please get in contact with me.
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