China 2

Echoes of China Part 2

It was a misty Sunday morning in May as we went to the Wall. North of Beijing, into the mountains, out beyond the flat basin where Beijing sits is the Mutianyu entrance to the Great Wall. The massive stonewall, after 2000 years of wall building, crawls along ridges for 2500 miles. This portion was built by Yongle the third Ming emperor, six hundred years ago. After climbing up and down along the Wall, Jane finds an inconspicuous place to sit and sketch while I enter a watchtower to play the flute. In the valley below a red hawk soars above the green forest, beneath the white misty sky. It is the same sky we all live beneath today.

Back in Beijing, dinner with Jing Jing’s family was delicious. Her step-father said something to me and seeing the empty-sky look on my face he said it again, only much slower with careful articulation of his Chinese words. This cracked us up; especially as Jeremy and Jing Jing, shared it with us, it was a hoot. How many times have people here in America spoken to foreigners who had no clue what was said, so the speaker repeats himself, speaking slower and louder? Being the foreigner in a restaurant in Beijing brought it all home.

We flew to Hangzhou, near Shanghai, took a bus to Tongziang City and pedicab to Wuzhen. Wuzhen is an ancient water town 1300 years old. The canals that run through the village provide a charming serenity with stone bridges and streets for visitors to walk, talk and relax. Shops allow crafts people to continue ancient arts of making fans, indigo print fabrics, shoes, wooden items, shadow puppets, water theater and a silk factory, which still demonstrates the process of making silk from cocoons to the looms for stunning silk items. A pagoda towers above the town, beside the Jinghang Grand Canal, the longest canal in the world. Nearby are a pavilion for Guan Yin and a Temple of Love.

A wild bus ride and taxi took us to the Hangzhou Xihu State Guesthouse on the banks of West Lake. This was a favorite get away for Mao, during his days as Imperial Ruler. In the morning we rode bicycles around the lake to the towering Leifeng Pagoda. Hangzhou was one of the eight capitals of China, around 893. Long ago a war-lord’s troops were storming the pagoda to capture it and the princess hiding inside. They tried to burn her out, but she turned into a white snake and chased them all away. I love legend and mythology. We went up to a mountainside tea plantation for delicious lunch and dined in an elegant place of peaceful beauty. To the other side of the mountain to Lingyin Temple, circa 326, with 340 carvings of Buddha in grottos along the“Peak Flying From Afar.” Incense flamed in caldrons between three halls leading up the mountain. Within the main hall sits the largest carved wooden gold-guilded statue of Buddha in China. As we entered the hall from the front, a procession of monks entered from the back, chanting sutras with percussion, incense, drums and gongs. A wonderful worship with the old Abbot leading prayers and even Kanzan and Jitoku walking about. Many people stood around the temples in reverent prayer. I found taxi and bus rides in south China to be great exercises in Zen meditation… being fully aware in the moment with no attachment to the outcome. It felt like being in a nascar race. Now and Zen.

Back in Beijing, after Starbucks Leo takes us to The Birds’ Nest, a tight-rope walker is on the high wire atop the Olympic Stadium. At the Temple of Heaven, a Taoist Temple, I offered prayers for friends back home. The Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests is where the Emperor would offer prayers and sacrifices for the year to come on winter solstices, until 1914. In the Tiantan Park surrounding the temple grounds of heaven and earth, musicians played classical Chinese instruments. Among old hutongs, on narrow alleys that have been the hub of Bejing life for 700 years, we found an ink brush factory, tea shop with Jasmine, Chrysanthemum teas, open markets and a vibrant pulse of humanity. The last dinner, a party with Jing Jing’s father, a composer and professor who spoke no English (and did not speak to me slower) and Shauzing, an ink brush artist and family. Wonderful food and sharing the last night.

Free Tiger Returns to Mountain was a new show at the Pace Gallery in “798”, paintings of tigers (a power symbol for China), of ash and water. Under shade trees and along canals we saw groups of men playing mahjong and card games. Horns honking, bicycle bells ringing, children playing, nannies walking their charges, workers continuously working, destroying old hutongs and building more tall buildings. I fly away with feelings of connection and appreciation for the people of the Middle Kingdom and the ancient civilization of China with its art, artifacts and vibrant humanity. I could feel in the depth of meditation, walking along canals and sitting in café’s a true connection with the human spirit there. And a strong feeling of the spiritual renewal in and through it all. We are one.

Now we can concentrate and work on peace. Be peaceful. Practice peaceful ways of communicating and working things out.

Peace.

China

Echoes of China Part I.

We flew around the Pacific Rim; over P.A., Vancouver Island and many other Canadian Islands, Alaska, Far East Russia, Sakhalin, Manchuria, mountains that resemble the Bad Lands, then farms, rivers and into Beijing. Met with open heart by our son we eased into the fourth ring. The sounds in the city, honking horns, construction and many millions of people join in a cacophony like a symphony tuning before a concert. The food we shared was marvelous, from the first night at a North Asian Fusion Restaurant featuring Max, a chef from New Orleans.

One of the eye opening places, to me, was the art district called “798”. It was a factory site for munitions, textiles and electric products, built in the 50’s with help from East German engineers and equipment. Now it is the home of art galleries, studios, shops, cafes and coffee shops. Beautiful creative use of space. Artists, curators and gallery owners and people just like us.

Went to the Palace Museum after lunch at Ho Hi along one of the many canals connecting the country with the capital. A crush of people poured in and out of the Forbidden City as we wove our way through the fascinating maze of walls, gates, gardens and halls of stone and wood. Hall of Supreme Harmony, Hall of Persevering Harmony, Gate and Palace of Heavenly Purity, built with sacred geometry for the emperor who was deemed Son of Heaven. The Purple City has been the center piece of political cosmology since its inception 600 years ago. Outside the east gate we found Courtyard Gallery, infamous haunt of art dealers here and there. At the Tiananmen Gate, Gate of Heavenly Peace, we paused for pics with Mao whose portrait adorns the massive red wall. Across Tiananmen square we found rest and refreshment in a Starbucks with familiar songs of Rosemary Clooney.

Bicycles, tricycles, rickshaws, pedicabs and bikes used like pickups with beds to haul just about anything they could manage, crowd the streets and squares. The jingling of bike bells and horns fill the air as we walk in the city. Into a classic Chinese noodle café where we are greeted with a startling shout in our ears, which occurred each time new customers entered the place… ‘hey, here we have another one…” Good food.

Back to “798” to read and relax while Jane sat and sketched colorful scenes. Then to the Dirt Market, in west Beijing where merchants and traders have brought antiques and statues to sell for centuries, originally some dug up from graves, now mostly things for locals and tourists, the sounds were wonderful. I thought I heard Paul Horn echoing in the throng.