[Oe List ...] Jaime for Tuesday

[via OE]

2031


 
Colleagues ask what the 2031 number is in my emailaddress, and I give them a precise answer: December 15, 2031 is the terminus tomy existence.  I shall be over 86 yearson that day, and that is the length of my “one moment in time” covenant I parceledout into five phases of 17 years each. That’s actually 85 years, which gives me the luxury of a one-year mas o menos to “play” with.
 
This came powerfully to me again this week, as it didwhen I survived a car accident on the day MLK Jr. was assassinated, and I was“born again” in a literal and secular sense. One of my friends in the Bay area of San Francisco upped-and-away onWednesday to attend her Uncle’s funeral in Tabango, Leyte in the Philippines,and I went along in spirit.
 
I was at her Uncle’s farm five years ago, advised himon his property that he wanted kept whole to sustain the robust secondaryforest growth in the ranch.  He sent fivechildren to College on his farm’s output, five well-off professionals nowoff-country, none willing to take over, or inherit the land and the task topreserve it.
 
Our metaphors on death vary though the experience iscommon to all.  My friend and her familyare devoted members of a tradition that uses the metaphor of a two-storyuniverse, and the radical split between body and soul, so the “crossing over”to the other side is an appropriate metaphor for them.  Add the picture of the Nazarene shepherdcuddling a lamb on the crook of his arm, and the picture powerfully allaysfears that accompany the sentiments of death.
 
I am reminded of a Hindu saying that made meunderstand the sanctity of the Ganges. It says, “When you die, you do not cross over to the other side of theriver; you become the river.”  Om!  Will have to tell my friend that.
 
At the same time last week, an acquaintance whosedaughter goes to school southwest off Shanghai in Wuhan, Hubei (“to be awayfrom Mama”, she says), had her father succumb to old age after a 7-mo hospitalbout.  I know the family a bit because myacquaintance brought her daughter when on vacation to the University so shecould practice her oral English with this teacher.  
 
This mother dabbles in real estate and made a littlefortune funding construction work on a five/six 30-day loan basis (illegal inChina as it is in the Philippines where I learned of the loan practice, alsodiscovered it to be widely used in Saipan - “I give you five, you give me backsix, in 30-days”).  When not paid, shegot an apartment unit as payment; she developed ulcer and grey hair at 49 as aresult.  She tried very hard to proveherself; she did not attend College and she married a staid but solidgovernment worker who did.  He lives hisunhurried and secured life, while she anxiously bites her fingernails.
 
She hardly spoke English when I first met her, but Iknew she studied a lot of English in post-Mao’s curriculum, mostly on readingand writing with nary a sound on speaking. I shared methods that she could do to practice her English, to speaksimply on what she saw, heard, smelled, tasted and touched.  I suggested that she goes around her housepointing to things like, “This is the door; that is a curtain”, etc.  I also asked her to know the English names ofthe parts of her body, e.g., “This is my hand. These are my ears,” etc., and most importantly, I suggested that sheforgets “face” so she can speak English without worrying about “others may sayor think”.
 
In her grief, she managed to say: “Someone, theypick-up me five o’clock morning, go my mother house, make prepare forfuneral.”  I quietly admired the effortthough given the occasion, I will have to wait another time to tell her so.
 
I am neither close to the family (not even sure thegrand daughter came home from the University since school is still in session)nor invited to participate in the “celebration of a completed life” (mydescription) but I know enough of what will transpire.  In the old dispensation, a rich family hireda professional wailer; it was not proper to emote in public.  This time, China has swung to the otherextreme.  Folks express feelings at theslightest trigger so I expect to have a lot of pent-up feelings fluidly criedout and flowing at her father’s funeral!
 
“The completed life” is my metaphor for my dying.  Raised in the Christian tradition, I heardthe Prophets struggle with whether Reality (capitalized for emphasis, not tosuggest a special reality), the way-life-is, (YHWH was their term), wasone.  Or, as some claimed, two: one goodand the other evil.  They decided on one,and considered themselves the chosen people with the single mission to act outin rites and declare in rituals their faith, their assurance, and theirknowledge that the way-life-is brooks no other.
 
Christians carried this understanding beyond thechosen people, to the chosen one, who called out spirited ones, individualsfree to take their singular existence, and inject it into the annals of humanhistory.  The Leyte gentlemen farmer, andmy acquaintance’s father are done with their ingesting.  Have you decided how long your ingesting isgoing to be?  Mine ends in 2031.  






j'aime la vie
pinoypanda2031 at aol.com

yesterday, appreciate; tomorrow, anticipate; today. participate. In all, celebrate!


-------------- next part --------------
An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
URL: <http://lists.wedgeblade.net/pipermail/oe-wedgeblade.net/attachments/20140523/cb0b8c91/attachment.html>