Thursday, July 13, 2006

Notes I Took at the Asian Art Museum, San Francisco




NOTES I TOOK AT THE ASIAN ART MUSEUM

6/30/2006
Korean scroll illustrating standing Avalokiteshvara, 1600-1700
Avalokiteshvara (Korean: Gwanse-eum Bosal or Gwaneum) is a deeply compassionate and merciful deity in Korean Buddhism. It is believed that he changed himself into 33 different forms in an effort to save al beings from suffering and lead them to the Pure Land Paradise of the Buddha Amitabha (Korean: Amita).
Unusual features of this depiction of Avalokiteshvara include the diadem with three standing figures—the Buddha Amitabha flanked by Bodhisattvas—and the decorative band along the hem of the white shawl. The cartouche in the upper right reads:

Possessing power divinely bestowed upon him,
In every direction, over the land of all nations,
He spreads wisdom and beneficence.
His living image stands in every temple.
(Translated by Dr. Sun-hak Choy)



Japan

Kofun (old tombs) period funerary wares
Japan, Kofun period (300-552)
--Kofun=gigantic tomb (custom ending with arrival of Buddhism)

Hanima figures—
Hanima (literally “circle of clay”) are low-fired clay sculptures. The earliest were simple cylinders placed on top and sides of burial mounds. More complex ones were topped with various clay figures. Warriors, women, birds and other animals, houses, and b oats. One theory is that Hanima were used to stabilize the earth around the mound or to demarcate it. Another says their arrangement depicted ritual processions performed for the spirit of the deceased.
[I drew a couple pictures of Hanima representing female shamans.]

SHINTO
Kami--Japanese for spirits [Shikakami in Saiyuki, Shitakami in Descendants of Darkness—this is anime stuff!]
Since ancient times, the Japanese have worshipped kami (spirits). More than 8 million spirits are thought to inhabit such locations as mountains, rocks, waterfalls, and trees. Different kami are worshipped by different individuals, groups, clans, towns, as well as by those in particular professions, such as farming and fishing.

The belief system is quite broad and not clearly defined. Over time it has absorbed some aspects of the foreign beliefs and religions encountered by people who have practiced it. Chinese divination, astrology, and Taoism; Korean shamanism; and, most importantly, Buddhism. Curiously, the worship of kami did not have a specific name until the Meiji period (1868-1912) when, because of political ideology, it came to be called Shinto, or “way of gods,” to differentiate from Butsudo, or “way of the Buddha.” The present appearance of most shrines and the uniformity of their rituals are direct results of this effort to establish a distinct identity for spirit worship.

Kami images
Though, as spirits, kami are formless, sometimes they have been represented as having forms. In the Kofun Period (300-552), kami were associated with material things that could induce a feeling of awe and thus they were thought to be holy. Bronze bells, mirrors, spears, and swords—the high-tech objects of the time—were considered to possess the qualities of kami and were buried in graves. Similarly, the bronze mirrors, the sword, and the jewel, known collectively as the three sacred treasures, were kept in shrines. In the 9th century, under the strong influence of Buddhism, images of kami, male and female, began to be made.

The core of Shinto is nature worship. Since ancient times, the Japanese worshiped spirits (kami) who were believed to exist abundantly in such forms of the natural world as mountains, rocks, waterfalls, and trees.

Dhritarashtra—guardian king of the East
Virudhaka—guardian king of the South
In Indian Buddhist mythology, the guardian kings of the four directions dwell on the upper slopes of Mount Meru. In a Japanese Buddhist temple, the guardian kings are placed on an elaborate platform representing Mount Meru.
Buddhism was officially transmitted to Japan in 525, when the monarch of the Korean kingdom of Baekje sent a mission to Japan with gifts, including an image of the Buddha, several ritual objects, and sacred texts.


The Making of Buddhist Sculpture
Through the ages, Japanese Buddhist sculptures have been made in a variety of techniques and mediums; bronze and other metals, dry lacquer, clay and wood. Two mediums are most commonly associated with Japanese sculpture: dry lacquer before the 9th century and wood from then on.

Dry lacquer--This medium has the potential for fine surface modeling and is lightweight for portability. Although popular through the 8th century, dry lacquer fell out of favor because the technique was expensive and time-consuming.

Wood--This material is plentiful in Japan, and a variety of woods have been used in the making of sculpture, among them Japanese cypress (ninoki) and a kind of Japanese elm (zelkova). Beginning in the 11th century, single-block carving was improved upon using the new techniques of joinery and gluing, and multiple-block assemblage (yosegizukuri), which made it possible to create larger images. Several woodblocks could be shaped individually, hollowed out, and then assembled into one large sculpture. There were several advantages to this technique: the sculpture was less likely to split because the wood core had been removed; through the use of small pieces of wood, the technique required only a third of the wood demanded for single-block construction; the work could also be divided into specialized steps, each done by different groups of workers, a process somewhat like that of a factory assembly line.

Brahma and Indra were Hindu gods who were incorporated into Buddhist mythology as attendants of the Buddha. They appeared as such in Japanese sculpture in the 8th century.

Amida [Japanese for Amitabha], Lord of the Western Paradise, wears a monk’s robe and stands in concentration with eyes half-closed. His palms face outward with the tips of both index fingers and thumbs touching. In Japan this particular hand gesture signifies Amida’s descent to the earth to welcome the souls of the deceased to his paradise, as the Pure Land school of Buddhism teaches.

The art of Pure Land Buddhism
In the latter part of the Heian Period (794-1185), the Pure Land School of Buddhism became popular, particularly among aristocrats. This doctrine taught people of the horrors of Buddhist hells and the glories of the Western Paradise of the Buddha Amitabha. Pious devotees sought to be reborn into this paradise in the next life. To attain this goal, they were told, they did not have to perform complicated rituals or study Buddhist texts. They simply had to meditate and recite the prayer “Namu Amida Butsu” (I take my refuge in Amida Buddha). [This is so not my kind of Buddhism.]
[Amida sculptures and temples—built at quick pace.]
Pure Land ideology was further manifested in the development in the so-called descent of Amida (Amida Raigo) as a theme. In painting and sculpture, Amida is depicted in the act of descending to earth to welcome a dying person and to convey the deceased to the Western Paradise.

6-armed Avalokiteshvara (Japanese= Kannon)—Large wooden statue that I sketched
Nyoirin Kannon is one of the most important deities in Japanese Buddhism. He [or she, since this is Quanyin] helps all people attain prosperity and security as well as supreme enlightenment.

Nyoirin Kannon is identified with two of the four objects he once held, the wheel of law on the tip of the index finger of the raised left arm, and a wish-granting gem on his second right hand. He grants worshipers wealth and relief of suffering by turning the wheel—which is a metaphor for preaching—and holding the gem that, it is said, was obtained from the dragon-king of the sea.

Nyoirin Kannon’s four other hands either make a gesture or held a symbolic object on his right side. The upper arm touches the cheek, representing his thought; and the third lowered hand held prayer beads [mala]. On his left side, his lower hand touches the earth, and his second hand held a lotus, a symbol of purity. All these objects, including the wheel and gem, have been lost.


7/4/2006
Southeast Asia

Southeast Asians make use of Indian ideas—
How and why Indian religious, cultural, and political ideas became so important in Southeast Asia is not fully understood.

By the 300s or 400s, when the adaptation of Indian ideas seems to have begun, many Southeast Asian communities were building villages and practicing advanced agriculture and metalworking. Local leaders must have thought that making use of the elite belief systems and artistic forms of the Indian world—which they initially learned of from traders and travelers—would increase their prestige and power. Eventually, as kingdoms arose, their royal courts took on the trappings of Indian courts, and various schools of Hinduism and Buddhism flourished. Sanskrit…was used with great sophistication for poetry praising the king or addressing the gods.

The Vietnamese, in contrast to other SE Asians, admired and adapted some aspects of the elite culture of China, rather than that of India.

There is a Hindu tradition of nine planetary deities, each associated with a “planet”—such as the sun, Venus, or a comet—known to ancient astronomers, and these nine are sometimes represented together in Indian sculpture.

The significance of the crowned and jeweled Buddha image varied in different places and periods. According to a tradition known in Thailand and Burma for the past several centuries (and perhaps considerably longer), an arrogant king named Jambypati once attempted to awe the Buddha with his grandeur. In response, the Buddha manifested himself in the most magnificent crown and royal finery to teach that the grandeur of Buddhahood vastly outshines that of earthly kingship. [If nothing else, it serves an excuse to make very showy pretty boy Buddha statues, especially in Southeast Asia.]

Buddha protected by serpent—In both India and SE Asia serpents are associated with the waters of the earth, but in ancient Angkor, legends suggest that their association with the life-giving powers of water in agriculture made them even more important.

The union of the bell and vajra (both used in Tantric practice) leads to enlightenment. Bell=transcendent wisdom (feminine symbol)

The Kingdom of Pagan, approx. 1000-1300
Powerful Burmese kingdom of Pagan, the Buddhist rulers of Pagan built, in their capital, hundreds of large temples of brick and stucco, many of which survive today. Inside the temples, the walls were often painted with brilliantly colored scenes from the life of the Buddha and other Buddhist subjects, and lined with sculptures.

Pagan had cultural and artistic ties with the homeland of Buddhism in eastern India. Few ancient Buddhist temples have survived in eastern India, so the beautiful temples of Pagan are the best remaining suggestion of the architecture of the center of the Buddhist world.

Votive tablets—Buddhist votive tablets were made by pressing damp clay into molds, then removing and baking it. Votive tablets would have been rather inexpensive. Pious people could have bought them and had them deposited in or under stupas or other temple buildings as offerings. Pilgrims sometimes carried them, and so votive tablets are sometimes found far from where they were made.

Buddha images in Thailand are shown in four postures: sitting, standing, walking, and reclining. Reclining images are usually conceived as standing images lying on their side. That is, their drapery and earlobes hang as they would if the images were standing, and do not reflect the effects gravity would have.

Woman’s skirt—Laos—Laos skirts consists of three parts: a waistband, a body, and a border at the bottom. Body=elaborate tie-dye


Rod puppets—Java, Indonesia
An Indonesian puppet maker’s collection generally consists of 50-90 puppets. Sets of puppets include gods, demons, jesters, nobles, and servants. Most puppets can be categorized as representing refined or coarse characters….The most refined have white faces, bowed heads, narrow eyes and noses. The heads of the cruder figures often have red faces and round, protruding noses. Many [demons] were invented in Java and have no counterparts in the original Indian version of the epics.



Tibet and the Himalayas

Simhavaktra Dakini—(photo of crazy demon-like dancing dakini), an enlightened goddess of the Gelug order of Tibetan Buddhism, clears obstacles from the paths of those who seek enlightenment and provides inspiration and knowledge. The dancing goddess’s hair blazes upward with the fire of wisdom. Her lion head indicates fearlessness in confronting all obstacles to liberation. Her cape is made of freshly flayed human skin, signifying her transcendence of the limitations of the human condition. The bone ornaments on her chest indicate that she has passed beyond the cycles of birth and death; the tiger skin around her waist symbolizes victory over all harmful passions and deeds. This figure once held a chopper, a skull cup, and a staff.

White Tara—according to the first Dalai Lama, White Tara is “the wisdom, compassion, and enlightened activity of all Buddhas arising in the form of a beautiful goddess.” She is an important goddess in Nepal and Tibet, and worship of her dates from the 600s, when the two queens of the Tibetan king Songsten Gampo (reigned approx. 627-649) were deified and worshiped as the two forms of Tara. [Actually, there are 21 forms of Tara.]

White Tara’s right hand, posed in the gesture of gift-granting, indicates her gifts of spiritual attainments and Buddhahood to disciples. Her left hand, posed in the gesture of dispelling fear, shows that she protects disciples from all dangers, and disasters. The eyes on the palms and soles of her feet show her mastery of the four doors of liberation through which she frees all beings form misery. [Photo: big gold Tara.]

White Tara’s graceful figure symbolized both compassion and radiance.

Avalokiteshvara, the guardian Vajrapani, and the bodhisattva of wisdom Manjushri have long been seen as the three principal protectors of Tibet.

The Bonpo deity Kunsang Akor—also known as Shenla Odkar, is the Bon version of the historical Buddha.

Swastika—symbol of indestructibility and good fortune (Bon version of thunderbolt or dorje)

Kunsang Galwa Dupa—principle tranquil deity in the pantheon on the Bon religion—5 heads and 10 hands. The hands in front of his chest hold sun and moon discs inscribed with the Tibetan letters A and Ma; Bonpo rather than Buddhist.

Eleven-headed Avalokiteshvara—legend has it that Avalokiteshvara’s head burst into ten pieces when he despaired over the fact that no matter how many creatures he had succeeded in helping, more came to take their places. His spiritual father, the Buddha Amitabha, then came to his rescue. He gave Avalokiteshvara courage and shaped the broken pieces into ten heads and put his own head on top so that his spiritual soul would have eleven heads to contemplate all ways of helping others.

The goddess Ushnisha Sitatapatra—personification of the white parasol believed to protect all from harm.

Ganesha—known three ways in Tibetan Buddhist art. As an auspicious deity; as a god of wealth; and as the obstacle-creating demon who is trampled on by gods such as Mahakala (one of the 8 guardians of the law).

Mahasiddhas—“great adepts” or teachers, of Vajrayana Buddhism. Mostly Indians, Mahasiddhas were spiritual mavericks. They meditated in cremation grounds among charred corpses until they were beyond every fear of life and death. Their life stories are filled with tales of magic and miracles.

Photo I took of large bodhisattva and consort: the Buddhist deity Guhyasamaja (Sandui) form China 1400-1600
During the reigns of Yongle and Xuande emperors of China, many magnificent bronze images were cast by Chinese court artisans as presents to the high monks of Tibet as well as for the Emperor’s own worship. This example shows the 6-armed, 3-faced goddess Sparshavajra being embraced by Guhyasamaja, who also has six arms and three faces. The three faces are white, red, and blue, standing for the perfection of the physical, verbal and mental aspects of enlightened beings.
Guhyasamaja, whose name means “union of all secrets,” embodies all the sacred aspects of enlightened beings.
Far right in photo—the Buddha Vajradhara 1500-1600—representing the supreme essence of all buddhas, is identified by his hands, which are crossed in the gesture of high energy.

Tibetans see the skull as a natural container. Unshaped by human hands, it represents the fundamental goodness that is the natural condition of the mind. Bone trumpets call fearsome supernatural entities. Aprons of bone beads are counted among the funerary “dance clothes’ that signify a yogin’s heroic victory over life and death.

My photo—includes cabinet for storing offerings—cone-shaped dough offerings made of butter and roasted barley flour for the worship of wrathful deities.

Every monastery has a treasure chest—treasures like silver and gold butter lamps and rare thangkas. Chests were made in pairs.

Ushnishavijaya, the Buddha Amitayus, and White Tara are the three Tibetan Buddhist gods who grant longevity. Ushnishavijaya has three heads and eight hands. Buddhist texts specify that she traditionally held many symbolic elements, but they’re missing here. In her central hand she would have held a double thunderbolt; the other missing implements would have included a miniature Buddha image, a bow and arrow, and a vase containing the nectar of immortality.

7/6/2006
Tibet and the Himalayas (continued)

Thangkas
Shakyamuni, the historic Buddha, is identified in the Tibetan tradition by his yellow color and his hand gestures: his right hand makes the earth-touching gesture and in his left he carries an alms bowl.

The Buddha Vairochana—who is white and in color and holds his hands in the gesture of preaching.

Dharmatala--idealized form of the great Tang Dynasty monk-explorer and translator Xuanzang (the one whom the monk in The Journey to the West is based).

Arhats—Indian disciples whom the Buddha instructed to spread his teachings throughout the world

Avalokiteshvara is said to have gone to Tibet in his monkey form and mates with an ogress [so Buddhists took the old Bon legend and incorporated Avalokiteshvara]; from this union came six children, the ancestors of all Tibetans. Out of this creation myth, Tibetans credit both their peaceful, contemplative nature and their wild, mischievous ways.

Peaceful and Wrathful Deities

The vast Tibetan pantheon includes numerous peaceful and wrathful deities, who guide and protect believers on their paths to enlightenment. Among the images of peaceful deities are those of Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, great teachers, and high monks. Wrathful deities, such as the guardian deities, use their power to protect Buddhism and to destroy the three major obstacles to enlightenment: anger, greed, and ignorance.

…While most peaceful deities have only one head and two arms, some depictions of Avalokiteshvara, the bodhisattva of compassion, have multiple heads and many arms. Added to the complexity, peaceful deities can have wrathful manifestations and vice versa.

Peaceful Deities:
Plain or jeweled halo
Jeweled crown
Necklaces and garlands of jewels
Usually one head and two arms
Bodies of regular proportions
Blue hair, hair neatly arranged
2 eyes
Serene expression
Hold peaceful objects such as lotus blossoms and vases
Peaceful gestures: meditation, dispelling fear, gift granting, or preaching
Sitting or standing on moon (white) disk

Wrathful Deities:
Flaming halo
Crown of five skulls
Garland of freshly severed heads
Numerous heads and arms
Squat bodies with rotund bellies
Orange hair, hair standing on end
Three bulging eyes
Fierce expression
Hold fearsome weapons and implements such as curved choppers and skull bowls
Threatening gestures
Sitting or standing on sun (gold or orange) disk

(The guardian) Vaishravana is the god of wealth, one of the eight protectors of the Buddha’s law, and the guardian of the Northern direction. Here, he sits inside his palace on his snow lion mount, which is supported on a moon disk on top of a lotus pedestal. With his right hand he holds a victory banner, and with his left he squeezes a mongoose, which is spitting a string of pearls onto the bowl of offerings below.

Blue figure of Jambhala, also a god of wealth. (Gee, you wouldn’t expect Buddhists to be that much into wealth.)

Tibetan message boards—(1875-1925)—Message boards (samdra) are ingenious Tibetan devices that do not require using precious handmade paper. The two printed covers enclose three double-sided blank boards that would have been used for sending formal messages between officials and noble households. Prior to a message being written, the boards were greased with butter and coated with a fine layer of ash or white chalk; then they were written on with a bamboo pen. The boards were stacked together—their raised boards protecting the message from being scratched—and placed in an elegant case. They were carried by a servant to one recipient who, after wiping off the first message, inscribed a reply.

The eastern Tibetan kingdom of Derge, known for metal artisanship of exceptional quality. (Silver, Derge work)

Togchas
[Display of little metal things]
Togchas (Tibetan: thog-lcags) are metal objects believed by Tibetans to have fallen from the sky, and are thus highly treasured as powerful talismans for warding off evil. The words thog (thunder and lightning) and lcags (iron) indicate that these metal objects are associated with specific atmospheric phenomena. The fact that togchas are found by chance by Tibetan peasants working in the fields or picked up by nomads in the highlands has led to the belief that they were not created by human hands but “fall from the sky” due to the effects of thunder and lightning. Tibetans wear togchas on their bodies and fondle them with their hands; some togchas develop a patina from constant handling.
Togchas, although found in Tibet, are not necessarily Tibetan in origin.
Bronze and other copper alloys.

Amulet containers of Tibet
Amulet containers (gau) are some of the most important personal adornments in Tibet. This container for small images, printed prayers and charms, molded tablets of protective deities and other relics has traditionally been worn by both men and women to ward off evil. The top of the gau, usually of silver, has fine filigree work and is sometimes embellished with turquoise and coral. The plain back is removable so objects can be inserted. Elaborate examples worn by the elite are made of gold and turquoise. While women wear the gau on a short necklace around their necks, strung with turquoise, coral, or banded agates, a man’s gau is larger and often shaped like a shrine. A traveler straps the gau to the arm or wears it across the chest bandolier style. The traveling gau is sometimes encased in brocade and is placed on the family altar when not in use.
[I bought an amulet, silver, turquoise and coral, at the Tibetan Style store.]

Molded plaques [I took a picture—big one is Avalokiteshvara]
…(Tsha tshas) are small sacred images, flat or three-dimensional, shaped out of clay in metal molds. The images are usually unbaked, and sometimes seeds, paper, or human ashes were mixed with the clay. Making tsha tshas is a meritorious act, and monasteries give them away to pilgrims. Some Tibetans carry tsha tshas inside the amulet boxes they wear…or stuff them into larger images as part of the consecration of those images. In Bhutan tsha tshas are found inside mani walls (a wall of stones carved with prayers) or piled up in caves. The practice of making such plaques began in India, and from there it spread to other countries in Asia with the advent of Buddhism.

Bhutan costume
Skewer-like pins (silver and turquoise) [used like kilt pins.]
Photo of woven fabric:
Woman’s costume (kira) on a blue ground
Cotton and silk
Three panels woven on a blackstrap loom were sewn together to form this kira, or woman’s costume [similar to a kilt/tartan]. It is worn wrapped around the body, belted at the waist (vertical stripes for women, horizontal for men.)

Guanyin—means “one who hears the sounds of the world.”

[Photo of bronze dakini with lion’s head]:
Simhavaktra Dakini (1600-1700, Tibet, gilt bronze)
The lion-headed dakini, Simhavaktra Dakini, strides in the sea of blood that represents samsara, the endless cycle of birth and death. Together with the crocodile-headed dakini, Simhavaktra Dakini accompanies Penjen Lhamo [protector of Lhasa & the Dalai Lama] in her efforts to liberate living beings. Simhavaktra Dakini holds a curved chopping knife, which cuts off the delusions that keep living beings trapped in the endless cycle. She is naked except for the flayed human skin on her back representing her triumph over the limitations of the human condition, and the wheel on her belly symbolizing the teachings of the Buddha.

Penden Lhamo, protector of the Gelug order
Penden Lhamo is the protector of the Dalai and Panchen Lamas, leaders of the Gelug [Gelukpa] order of Tibetan Buddhism.
Penden Lhamo is the only goddess among the eight guardians of the law. Accompanied by lion- and crocodile-headed dakinis, she rides her mule across the sea of blood that represents the endless cycle of birth and death, in order to liberate living beings from that cycle. The goddess sits on the flayed skin of her son, a nonbeliever [talk about religious persecution]. Attached to the trappings of the mule are her various emblems: a book, a ball of magic thread, a skin bag of diseases for germ warfare, and a pair of dice for divination. [Took photo—1700-1800, China, gilt bronze]

China

Essential Features of Early Chinese Religion

People in every station in life had a religious obligation to worship and honor ancestors, and to provide a male heir to continue the family line. At the highest levels, this same belief system applied: worship of a ruler’s ancestors was necessary for the continued existence of a state.
Obliged by their religion to provide their parents with a proper funeral with as much pomp as was financially possible and permitted by the codes of the time. Tombs were to be furnished according to the status of the deceased.
Each person was believed to have a complex soul. Some parts of the soul were thought to stay with the body after burial and others to travel to paradise.
There were state-sponsored rites to high divinities, such as the gods of the four directions or the four (or eight) winds, and the gods of the soil.
There was widespread belief in and rituals for deities of local mountains, rivers, old trees, and the like [and that shows up in The Journey to the West].
Religious buildings (including tombs) and the rites conducted in or about them were required to be properly oriented in relation to the directions and cosmic forces.

Fourth century CE—Buddhism came to China.

Jadework—goes back 6000 years in China.

Religious and Funerary Practices:

Because certain aspects of the deceased’s soul were believed to continue to dwell in the tomb, it was imperative that the body be preserved and accompanied by goods that represented the status of the deceased….
It was thought that there were specific dwelling places for the immortals and that the soul of the deceased could travel to and reside in those places.
Spells and incantations, magical beings, and special prayers were believed to enable the deceased to reach a state of immortality.

The entrance to the tomb of a wealthy and highly placed member of the Tang aristocracy was elaborate. Leading to the tomb was a spirit path (shendao) flanked by pairs of stone animals and human attendants. A doorway marked the entrance to the tomb proper, and the path continued in the form of a ramp, to the burial chamber. Guardians in clay flanked the ramp.

Animals, Supernatural and Real
Clay models of a menagerie of animals, both real and imaginary, have been found arranged in aristocratic tombs dating from the Han through the Tang dynasties (206 BCE-906 BCE). They represented the desires of the living to reproduce symbolically the ideal environment for the deceased in the afterlife. The choice of animals provides some fascinating insights into the concerns and activities of aristocratic families during this time.

Horses played the predominant role among models of real animals. Valued as beasts of burden, as animals of war [barf] and sport, and as symbols of almost supernatural power (certain breeds were called “heavenly horses”), they were frequently depicted in funerary sculpture and paintings. Models of ox, camels, and other beasts of burden also appear in tombs, as do those of pigs, chickens, and the occasional sheep and goat. Models of dogs were buried with their owners, attesting to their status as valued pets, hunting companions, and at times a source of food.

A considerable number of clay models of imaginary animals have also been found in tombs. Some, such as fabulous creatures with human heads and composite animal bodies, served as guardians at the entrance to tombs. Others had directional or other symbolic significance.

Buddhism’s Arrival in China
The development of Buddhism in China during the four centuries following the collapse of the Han Dynasty in 220 is a momentous chapter in the story of China’s religious and cultural development. At the end of the Han Dynasty, China had already had a 2,000-year history during which it had developed a strong centralized civilization suspicious of and often condescending to things foreign. Moreover, China had a strong state cult and entrenched beliefs in ancestor worship.
Why, then, did so many Chinese [take up Buddhism]?… Four fundamental reasons can readily be suggested: the widespread suffering that followed the collapse of the mighty Han Dynasty, the resulting doubts in the institutions of Han culture, the appeal of new and different ideas, and the occupation of large parts of China by non-Chinese people. While compatible with some existing spiritual ideas, Buddhism offered an end to life’s cycle of suffering and offered rebirth in paradise. In contrast with other religions practiced in China at that time, it offered salvation to all levels of society.

Women and Early Chinese Buddhism
In 386 the Toba, a non-Chinese central Asian people, conquered northern China and established the Northern Wei Dynasty (386-535). Its leaders employed a number of methods to consolidate their rule over the Chinese population, including arranged marriages with important Chinese families. As the wives and mothers of emperors, the women involved in these marriages were in a position to influence the development of Buddhism in northern China as well as the course of Chinese culture and politics.
One such woman was Lady Feng, who, as the mother of an underage emperor, was a considerable force at the Wei court from 476 to 490. Under her influence many Chinese were placed in positions of power, their language and manner of dress at court replaced those of the Toba, and the ruling clans were forced to use Chinese names. Lady Feng was also instrumental in bringing out the change from Greco-Roman-influenced style of sculpture to thinner, flatter figures covered with extremely heavy robes.

Later Chinese Buddhism
In 845 the Tang emperor Wu, under the influence of Taoist and Confucian advisors, began to persecute those who practiced religions that didn’t originate in China. According to records of the time, some 4600 Buddhist monasteries were demolished, their property was seized by the throne, massive numbers of Buddhist artworks were destroyed, and more than 260,000 monks and nuns were returned to lay life.
Although Buddhist institutions would never again be as strong or as rich as they had been in earlier dynasties, the religion nonetheless continued to play a vital role in Chinese life.

(Another day)
India

Naga—supernatural serpents, good luck because they’re associated with water.

Turns the wheel of the doctrine= Buddhist preaching (was already used in ancient Indian art)

Buddhist creed:
“The Buddha has explained the cause of all things that arise from a cause. He, the great monk, has also explained their cessation.”

When this statement is inscribed on sculptures, it is more than a simple statement of belief. In fact, for believers it serves to animate the sculpture with the living presence of the Buddha’s doctrine.

Standard 8 scenes of the Buddha’s life (and locations):
1) Birth (Lumbini)
2) Victory over Mara (Bodhgaya)
3) First preaching (Sarnath)
4) Miracles of Shravasti (Shravasti)
5) Descent from Indra’s heavens after the Buddha had preached to his deceased mother (Sankashya)
6) The monkey’s offering (Vaishali)
7) The taming of the enraged elephant (Rajgir)
8) Death (Kushinagara)

(Gee, at least some of those places are in "The Footsteps of the Buddha" tour that I would love to take.)

The Buddhist deity Vajra Tara (Diamond Tara or Thunderbolt Tara) is know as a provider of magical protection. Her devotees were adherents of a branch of Buddhism that made use of mandalas….

The Buddha taming the enraged elephant
The Buddha’s evil cousin sent an enraged elephant to attack him. The Buddha held his ground and is said to have suffused the elephant with loving-kindness of mind. The elephant knelt in submission. This story can be understood as symbolizing our need to subdue our uncontrolled and violent animal instincts.
[The only animal that drops bombs and builds nuclear weapons is the human animal.]

Later Buddhism in India
After Buddhism became increasingly elaborate, many Buddhists envisioned a universe of thousands of world systems existing at the same time, each presided over by a Buddha. Some Buddhists envisioned five Buddhas ruling the five directions (east, south, west, north, center). Also worshiped were the crowned Buddha, the great savior deities (Bodhisattvas), and female deities such as the one who personifies the perfection of “transcendent wisdom.”

Language in India—
The most fundamental cultural different is between the north and the south. For 1000s of years the north has been affected by the movements of peoples and ideas from the northwest—from Central Asia and the Iranian world. Most northern Indians speak languages like Hindi and Gujurati that belong to the Indo-European family. These languages are distantly related to Latin and English. By contrast, most southern Indians speak languages from the Dravidian family, which are unrelated to languages in other parts of the world.

Hindu temples often had sculptures of the deities of the 4 cardinal (north, south, east, west) and 4 intercardinal (Northeast, Southeast, Southwest, and Northwest) directions positioned on their exterior walls.

Mahavira (approx. 599-527 BCE), founder of Jainism (contemporary of the Buddha Siddhartha)
Like the Buddha, Mahavira questioned traditional practices such as the caste system, the priestly domination of religious life, and the performance of ritual sacrifices. He taught that the ultimate religious goal—escape from the cycle of rebirth—could be achieved through very strict meditation, self-denial, and nonviolence.

Jain figures are always sculptured with hands folded in meditation. Some have auspicious diamond pattern on chest.

Features such as a lotus seat, lions, a halo, and a wheel are seen in Jain, Buddhist, and Hindu imagery alike.

Kalpasutra—Jain scripture

Hinduism
To outside observers, a prominent feature of Hinduism is the belief in many deities. Most Hindus believe that there is one supreme deity. Beyond form, and therefore without such attributes as size, gender, or color—of whom the many individual gods and goddesses are forms existing for the benefit of worshipers.

Two male demons set out to overcome the warrior goddess Durga. When she saw them, “her face in anger became black as ink. From her knitted brows sprang forth Kali (Chamunda), with her dreadful face…. She carried a strange skull-shaped staff, she was shrouded in a tiger skin and looked utterly gruesome with her emaciated skin. Her mouth gaped widely, terrifying with its lolling tongue, and filled the directions with roars.”
From Devi Mahatmya [The Glories of the Goddess]
Translation: Devi, the Great Goddess by Thomas B. Coburn (1999)

Auspicious Kali—gracious aspect of Kali

Statue of Krishna has a halo and inside the halo is a design that looks like the star of David. It’s actually an ancient Hindu symbol of the integration of opposites (Da Vinci Code)

Jambhala is chief among a group of deities know as Yakshas, who are closely associated with nature and the riches of the earth. … Jambhala and other Yakshas were the focus of numerous local cults before Hinduism, Buddhism and Jainism emerged. … To win the support of local communities, the proponents of these three faiths incorporated many such deities into their pantheons.

Brahmani
Many male Hindu deities have a female counterpart who embodies an aspect of their energy. Here is Brahmani, the female counterpart of Brahma, a creator deity. Like Brahma she is identifiable by her four faces (one in back) and her accompanying animal, a wild goose.
Brahmani is one of a group of female deities know as the “Seven Mother Goddesses.”

Korea

Ancient Koreans believed birds to be messengers to the spirit world because they could travel over land and water and through the sky. In some images, figures of birds can still be seen on top of tall wooden poles, recalling their earlier importance. Because they mate for life, ducks were especially favored by Koreans.

Buddhism in Korea
Buddhism became the official religion of one of Korea’s early kingdoms in 372, after a priest from China arrived with Buddhist images and sculptures. From the time of its intro it had the enthusiastic support of the rulers and the aristocracy. By the middle of the 500s, Buddhism had been accepted officially by all three kingdoms that reigned in Korean at that time.

Many Korean monks traveled to China to study Buddhism; some even went as far as India. The monk Hyecho, for instance, made a journey through China to India around 723. He wrote an account of his pilgrimage to holy places called Record of a Journey to the Five Indian Kingdoms.

Buddhism reached a glorious era during the Unified Silla Dynasty (663-935). Gyeonghu, the capital of this dynasty, was described as the city where the roof lines of Buddhist temples looked like flying geese, and pagodas were as numerous as the stars. By the beginning of the Goryeo Dynasty (918-1392) the fervor for Buddhism became so great that princes and sons of prominent families were encouraged to become monks.

Then, during the Joseon Dynasty (1392-1910) reform-minded Confucian scholar-officials instituted a number of harsh restrictions on the practice of Buddhism, such as reducing the number of temples and confiscating Buddhist lands and goods. Despite these policies of repression, the religion survived in Korea. Today it is once again a vital force, attracting a large following.


China (again)

Romance of the Western Chamber—Chinese classic

Cats and butterflies are among the many symbols for longevity. The cat (mao) sounds like the word for 70, while the butterfly (die) shares a sound with the word for 80. They form a visual pun for maodie (longevity).

Chinese Symbolism

Cranes = longevity
Fungus (mushroom)= immortality
Peonies= wealth and prosperity
Pine needles= longevity
Most popular meanings: longevity (shou) ; the passing of exams, high rank, and wealth (lu); and blessings and children (fu).
When combined with one another, these symbols create auspicious sayings that have been used since antiquity in China.

Magu—identified by jade basket of fungus of immortality, is the goddess Chinese women pray to for longevity (Daoist).
White magnolia (yulan) and peonies (fugushua) stand for yutang fugas, a popular phrase for wealth and rank.
Buddha’s hand citron—fruit thought to resemble Buddha hands, means blessing and longevity
Daoist Goddess Dowmu—(8 arms) –2 hands praying
The Dipper Mother (Douriu) g rants longevity, affluence, and protection to her worshipers. Taoist tradition—clouds shaped like wish-fulfilling fungus of immortality.
Marici= Buddhist goddess of the dawn (this image is both—she’s in sun dsik, three-headed with left head = boar.
Holds up sun and moon disks (upper hands), bow and arrow (next down), bell and vase (lowest arms).
Although she’s mother goddess of the seven stars of Ursula Major (the Northern Dipper) She can have 18 arms and can combine Buddhism with Daoism.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

I Left My Clothing in San Francisco

I mean I left my heart in San Francisco. That too. I was going to make the title "I left my underwear in San Francisco," but that would be too embarrassing. I basically did the same thing that I did for the trip to Ireland: pack old clothing that I'm willing to throw out, so that my suitcase has room for stuff that I buy on the trip. Mainly books. They're better than drugs.

I didn't previously mention this, but San Francisco is Fag Hag Heaven. It's such a hoot--I saw so many gay guys there, it was like being back at Webster University. Those were the days. They're flamingly obvious, too, at least the ones I've noticed on the street and all. And the theater where I saw Valhalla apparently specializes in gay plays and has two small auditoriums. You can imagine the audience was interesting. There's a neighborhood further down Market Street that's known for its gay community--the Castro, I believe.

I'm back in Kansas, Toto, and I'm sweating. But the cats are happy to see me. They express it by sitting in front of their food dishes and meowing. I mean by cuddling and purring.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

One Last Visit to the Asian Art Museum

I woke up to lots of voices outside—I can hear the voices from the sidewalks, even though I’m on the sixth floor. I just heard what sounded like a very agitated black man arguing loudly—perhaps an aggressive panhandler on drugs. I shouldn’t jump to that conclusion, I know, but it was an awfully frantic voice. A lot of people here don’t seem to care that others, strangers, can hear them—or perhaps they’re being dramatic, putting on a show because they’re aware that they’re in public. On Pier 39, a white woman on a cell phone was screaming in rage and in foul language—and this was on the fourth of July, a holiday when people were gathered around to have fun! There were lots of people around her, and they looked like they were trying to ignore her. Like, awkwardly trying to ignore her, the way I’ve been behaving with panhandlers (most of whom, by the way, are male and all are white or black, never Asian). And there’s a frantic, obnoxious horn honking right now. Well, that’s something I won’t miss about San Francisco! In Oakland in Topeka, there’s typically dead silence after ten pm. But if I lived in San Francisco, I’d preferably live in the Haight, not this downtown area.

I spent my last day at the Asian Art Museum. I went through the three special exhibits on the main floor, starting with “A Curious Affair”—the one about east and west meeting and interpreting each other’s cultures, which is a highly entertaining topic, sometimes comical. It’s certainly something I’ve noticed from the western side—Chinoiserie, for instance.

I got through the special exhibits faster than I expected and then it was just after 1 pm and I went to the café one last time and had my favorites, vegetable curry and Thai iced tea; but this time I didn’t grab a dessert/ snack, and my total was only $10 something. I read more of In Praise of Tara at a leisurely pace. (I’m starting to think that maybe I should read something lighter at the airport, but of course my suitcase is packed—very packed.)

After lunch, I went to the second floor to a couple sections I hadn’t really gotten to yet. First, there was one Japanese gallery I had somehow missed: it has a lovely and fully functional tea house, but it’s in a display cabinet (a big one, of course) like everything else, rather than in a garden (let alone on an island, like at the Missouri Botanical Gardens). There are also lots of 20th – 21st century Japanese baskets, from a collection of over 800 that a patron donated to the museum in 2002.

Then I went to the other end of the 2nd floor and looked slowly over a couple cabinets near the elevator that were full of Chinese goodies. Since shortly after I got to the museum, I had started jotting down notes on what I think is an important topic for understanding Chinese art: the symbols that appear throughout Chinese art. For instance, cranes represent longevity, and fungus (mushrooms) represent immortality. Just outside the entrance to “A Curious Affair” two very tall cloisonné cranes, probably at least six feet tall, hold fungus in their mouths, and at the very top is a spike for a tall candle. (They were made in China for a wealthy European.)

On the second floor, across the hall from a display cabinet of a variety of Chinese items, is a series of plaques on the wall describing the various meanings of particular imagery. So I plopped down on the floor and started writing this info in my sketchbook. However, a woman who worked at the museum came along and gave me a photocopy of all the exact same info, complete with the illustrations! We had a little conversation, including how in the fall there will be a special exhibit on this topic and it’ll be in the member magazine too. So in short, that’s something I didn’t have to copy down.

It was fun consulting the list and looking at the stuff in the display—there was pottery, snuff boxes, jade sculptures, embroidered things such as hair ornaments, etc, all with symbolic imagery. The other display cabinet that I hadn’t looked over carefully yet was about popular religion in China, how they combined Buddhism with Daoism, etc, and I took some note son a goddess who was originally Taoist but who also took on Buddhist elements. The display had two versions of her, one as a three-dimensional white porcelain figure with 16 arms, the other as an almost flat gilt picture with 8 arms and with male Taoist deities hovering around her.

It was 3:30 when I finished looking at this display, so I decided to go up to the third floor (my favorite floor) and spent time with Buddha sculptures I had previously visited. While doing this, I drew a small bronze Cambodian Buddha (standing about a foot tall—and I think this drawing turned out well), a seated bronze Siamese Buddha, and a big—like life-size—standing Quanyin.

On the way back to my hotel room, I stopped at the Disney store (I’ve passed it every day in the past two weeks). I don’t admire their business practices, namely exploiting Chinese women in sweatshops, but I have to admit that I do like some of their films. After walking uphill on pavement, the carpeting felt good on my feet (though not as good as the bath I took later), although it certainly wasn’t quieter than the street. There were lots and lots of people—I guess they get many customers during rush hour. I looked at toy animals and at action figures, but there was nothing Tim Burton related—Corpse Bride action figures were what I had in mind. This store was more kid-oriented than that (although it has Pirates of the Caribbean action figures) and might not have had Corpse Bride stuff even when it was in movie theaters.

Since then, I’ve been back to my room, and I’m packed and I’ve taken a bath. I went downstairs and used the computer—not only to send off an e-mail but particularly to check the flight—I got the terminal and gate numbers and looked at a map of the airport. I’ll probably e using the air bus again.

I’ll be getting up at 7 am. Just to be safe. I figure that I’ll be moving really slowly down Powell Street, due to my heavy suitcase full of books, and then I’ll have to wait for the subway, and then I have to get on an air train… Before I get my suitcase checked in and my ticket printed out, and at last I’ll be at the correct terminal. Once I’m there, I won’t be nervous (of course, there’s also KC airport to deal with—particularly taking the shuttle to the parking lot and finding my car).

Monday, July 10, 2006

Fisherman's Wharf and Alcatraz

I dreamed about Janis Joplin and hippies all night long. But then that last dream I was just having was creepy---I think it was about conformity and oppression. There were all these women wearing grayish-blue dresses somewhat reminiscent of the 1950s, and their faces were covered with veils that matched the dresses, and the back and sides of their heads were covered with these somewhat fitted hoods so there was no hair showing and not a hint of individuality. They were walking outdoors as a group, about four rows of them (maybe six) and there were four or five of them in each row. The garbage truck woke me up as usual—probably a good thing. (Actually, there was a very loud ambulance siren at like 4 am.) I don’t think the streets are ever quiet here.

“Are you a princess?” he asked.
She said, “You can call me a princess, but I’m much more than a princess. This world hasn’t invented a word for it yet.”
(That was on a colorful, whimsical plaque inside a wonderful boutique that was closed on Sunday, when I was on the way to the theater to buy my Love, Janis ticket. The store sold lots of wonderful and whimsical art. A wall was covered with clocks in the shape of dogs’ heads with tongues hanging out as pendulums. Small clay sculptures looked like American folk art dolls or figures out of folk art paintings (early 19th century). I saw a clay mermaid almost identical to the one I bought at the Booktique (the Topeka Public Library’s used bookstore) and also several of the metal sculptures like the one I got there, which was surprising since I assumed the artist was local in Kansas.

I took the cable car to Fisherman’s Wharf, where I finally sat in the front part, where you sit on a bench facing outwards, and you’re actually outdoors, and the people who are hanging out are hanging out right in front of you. It was a bit scary, although we were packed together tightly enough that I didn’t really need to worry about falling out. The view was fabulous—at one point, we stopped on a hill and I looked down and could see Coit Tower and the ocean. You don’t need to twist around like in the back area.

I bought a ticket to Alcatraz, then I watched the sea lions for a while—there were only two, but one came close up and scratched itself with a flipper. It was cold and windy, and I found not only a juggler on the stage but also a booth that sold hot apple cider. I stood drinking while watching the juggler (a college student and a volunteer), and he even juggled flaming torches. At the end, he made as if he were about to swallow flames from one of the torches, then stopped and said, “Just kidding!”

I afterwards went to the big Boudin Bakery and had a tomato, basil, and garlic pizza for lunch and also cranberry juice. Inside, there are baskets of bread circulating overhead, suspended from tracks. Outside, by the tables, there are tall poles that give off heat, and I sat very near one. Lots of pigeons and a few other birds scrounged around, and I saved a couple of pieces of crust, broke them into little pieces, and fed them to the pigeons. They were delighted.

Next I headed back toward Hyde Street, where the cable car stop is, and went through a garden/park beyond the cable car—admired the flowers—as I headed up the hill toward Ghiradelli Square, the castle-like chocolate factory that sits up on a hill and overlooks the ocean. It’s now more shopping center than factory, although the ice cream parlor does have the antique chocolate-making machines on display and still in working order, churning liquid chocolate. Swirling chocolate syrup. No Willy Wonka in a velvet frockcoat, however. Anyway, Ghiradelli Square has a courtyard containing a fountain with mermaids and lots of frogs and some turtles. I should perhaps clarify that they are all metal sculptures.

Then just beyond that is the chocolate store, where someone hands you a chocolate as you come through the door. Ummm—dark chocolate with caramel, and fortunately the caramel was melted. I went through the store and got myself a cylindrical container of hot chocolate mix (hazelnut) and got a local aunt a trunk-shaped box filled with a variety of chocolates.

(It occurred to me that I had no trouble finding stuff for some friends who they like Asian stuff, but I decided to get something for this aunt so she doesn’t feel left out—I rather suspect that she’d be resentful. After I got back from Ireland, she was resentful that I had supposedly not invited her on the trip, and I reminded her that I did indeed invite her on the trip--not because I wanted her to verbally abuse me in Ireland and thereby ruin my vacation, but because I knew she'd like to go to Ireland and would be offended if I didn't invite her. She clearly hasn't figured out that I go on vacation to get away from her.)

Next I went into the ice cream parlor next door and had a hot chocolate fudge sundae with lots of whipped cream, nuts, and a maraschino cherry on top. Yum. (It wasn’t until after I ordered it that I remembered I swore off chocolate, and it wasn’t until much later that I remembered that I’ve apparently become lactose intolerant, but fortunately I didn’t get sick this time.) And I looked at the huge antique chocolate-making machines.

I had time to wander through some art galleries. There was one that actually had lots of wood block pictures by Salvador Dali, another that had a few sketches by Whistler and two by Renoir, and I went to at least one other gallery. Oh, yes, stuff by Dr. Seuss! Not only pictures, but also weird animal head trophies sticking out of the wall. Imaginary animals, not moose. And there was a delightful sculpture of a fish walking in boots and holding up a parasol. I went to a store that was selling Hopi stuff including Katsina dolls, and somehow I refrained from buying any. Same goes for a store selling Russian nesting dolls. I guess it’s because I’ve been satiated with shopping on this trip.

One more visit to the sea lions followed by waiting in line for the Blue and Gold Fleet Ferry to Alcatraz. Really, the best things about Alcatraz are the ferry ride (I sat outside and near a railing), the view, and the seagulls. On the island, whenever I looked over a railing, I saw baby seagulls. They’re grey and fluffy, and they have black spots on their heads. They also make very high-pitched chirps. One cocked its head, looked up at me, and let out a series of little chirps. That was the highlight of my visit.

Otherwise, it was dismal and gave off oppressive vibes. I got particularly bad vibes when I stepped inside a dark solitary confinement cell—I quickly got back out and breathed deeply.

Sunday, July 9, 2006

Janis Joplin and San Francisco

This was one of those I’m-not-sure-what-I’m-doing-today sort of mornings, since I totally ditched my itinerary. I had originally planned the San Francisco Shambhala Center in the morning and an African-American history museum in the afternoon. However, I didn’t feel like having any more bus experiences this weekend. I prefer walking. And considering how much trouble I had getting to the Zen Center on time, there’s no way I’d be way out at the Shambhala Center by 9 am—it’s at least as far from downtown as San Francisco State University. Also, I wanted to get to Chinatown one last time and get 1) more mooncakes and 2) another Japanese doll. I also thought I might finally get to the Chinese Cultural Museum while I was there.

I first went to Union Square to check it out. I’ve been walking past it every day and only get glimpses of the center. It turned out to be less than interesting—I think there ware sometimes art shows there, and that would have been cool, but it wasn’t yet 10 am on a Sunday morning when I got there. I saw a couple of little shops, including a café in front of which people sat (presumably for a late breakfast or just coffee). The column in the center, it turned out, commemorates the barbaric and oppressive behavior of some military type named Dewey, during the Spanish-American War. John Dewey, as in the Dewey decimal system, was a pacifist. There were beautiful plants—particularly big purple flowers—around the edges, but I wanted most of the concrete to be jack hammered and replaced with more plant life. So I walked through Union Square and up to Chinatown.

In Chinatown, I didn’t stop in stores as much, since of course I’d already been there and knew that a lot of it gets repetitive. I did, however, get not only the Japanese doll I was seriously thinking of getting (an old grey-haired man in pale silk, and he looked quite old), but also a small and whimsical girl doll. A major theme on this shopping spree was cats, cats, cats! I picked up lots of cats, but not any that need to be fed.

At one place, there was a cage crowded with about a half dozen beautiful pure white doves—the cage was up on top of something else, in front of the store. I stood and looked at the birds, and they looked back at me as if to say, “Let us out!” The other things this store sold were dead, skinned birds. Um, it’s time to change the subject.

The AIDS walk was going on, so there was a lot of honking, shouting, and singing off and on throughout the day.

I didn’t find the museum, but the travel books that I checked out from the library date to before 2000, so it could have moved. Or I could have, who knows, walked right past it. That’s when I decided to go have lunch—after I walked up Broadway and didn’t see the museum.

I have undergone the dim sum experience. I much prefer stir fry and spring rolls, but I kind of thought I had to try it while in San Francisco. It was a bad sign when I got up the stairs (it was above a store) and the place was noisy and crowded. They set up a small table so it only had one chair, and as I sat down, I saw a roach or beetle scurry up the wall, and it wasn’t Ringo or George. I expected the dumplings to be firm—something like bean buns—but they have an outer wrap that is like transparent rice noodles, and when you try to pick a dumpling up with chopsticks, they squeeze the dumpling and it even pops open, oozing out onions, garlic, and mushroom. So I picked up the bamboo container, even though it was hot, and dumped the dumplings onto my plate. Maybe that’s why they’re called dumplings. The tea was OK, and I drank a whole pot myself.

I got back to the hotel really early this time—3 pm. That’s after I found the Marines Memorial Theater and bought a ticket for the musical Love, Janis. At the hotel, I took a bath and a nap before going to the theater.

The play was marvelous! One actress playing Janis spoke the letters and the interviews, and the other sang songs in between—and she was quite a Janis Joplin impersonator. The band was on the stage all the time, upstage. I’m thinking I’ve got some groovy ideas for clothing and jewelry.

Janis Joplin died about a month after I was born. According to Tibetan Buddhism...and Doctor Who... two incarnations of the same person can have overlapping lives. A bit off the topic—I think just about everyone else in the audience was old enough to remember Janis Joplin. I was definitely the youngest person in the audience.

Saturday, July 8, 2006

Another Visit to Haight-Ashbury

I got up at 7 am and tried to be quick, but it was 8 am by the time I left the breakfast room. I went down Powell and couldn’t remember which bus stop I stood at last weekend; was it the one in the middle of the street, where there’s a railing for street cars? (This seems to be an easy mistake to make in San Francisco—I had sort of the same question last night, after the play.) So it was at least 8:45 by the time I got on the bus, and I was thinking, “So much for getting to the Basic Meditation class on time!”

After I got off the bus, it didn’t take me long to get to the Zen Center. So last Saturday I was late because I got lost after getting off the bus, and this morning I was late to get on the bus. But this time I went up the steps and into the lobby after all. I told the receptionist (or whatever I should call her) that I came for the basic meditation class but was relying on public transportation and unfortunately arrived too late. She explained that they were downstairs and getting preliminary instructions and that I could go into the hall when they came back up. I went with that idea, and in the meantime I went into a little courtyard garden.

The building is very pretty and Victorian inside, with large arched windows, tall ceilings and fun detail. I think some French doors too. In the courtyard, there’s a water fountain in the center that appears to be carved as a Triple Goddess and that contains lilies and tiny goldfish. There are benches, Buddhas, plants and flowers of quite a variety around the outside of the path that circles the fountain. Opposite the doors is a gallery with arched windows, and on the other walls are other arched windows looking into rooms (and I could see a classroom with lots of people seated on cushions and meditating). It’d be nice to have a house with this feature—I mean the inner courtyard.

When I spotted the people coming upstairs, I was feeling very timid about approaching them and hesitated a little. The instructor was just about to close the door behind them all, when at last I caught her eye, mentioned that I was late due to the bus, and asked if I could join in. She said yes and asked me to close the door behind me, so I took off my shoes (lots of shoes were lined up outside the door) and went in. The basic course was more instruction and explanation and questions and answers than meditating, which I kind of think we did for about ten minutes, but I got a lot out of it—particularly posture. Also, it turns out that zazen is done with the eyes open typically (like dzogchen in Tibetan practice), but someone asked if it’s OK to have your eyes closed and the instructor said, “Definitely.” It’s mainly to prevent falling asleep. Someone pointed out that it seems like your thoughts are less likely to wander if your eyes are open, and I think she had a point.

After the class, there was a lecture in the same room, and at some point I thought, “Dude, this is like organized religion,” while people were silently coming into the room and sitting down. I'm generally wary of organized religion. Most placed their hands together in prayer position and bowed to their cushion and then turned and did the same facing the front of the hall before sitting down. The room got crowded.

An older black man delivered the lecture; he wore festive bright yellow robes with metallic gold threads—maybe he was the abbot or whatever, because the others wore sober black robes and in some cases just navy blue aprons (basically, they were dressed like Genjo Sanzo in the anime series Saiyuki, except he wore white robes and had sutras draped over his shoulders). The lecture topic was spiritual teachers, how it’s important to have at least one (he has ten) helping you along the path. And he talked about helping out lots of displaced Southeast Asians in, like, 1979. They lost home, family, etc, and there were lots of suicides—it was like what we’ve more recently seen in Louisiana, with Katrina victims.

I got on Haight Street and at about noon spotted a Thai restaurant, where I had a yummy lunch (and a tall glass of ice water) for $5.75 plus a $1 tip. That’s my kind of price. I also started reading In Praise of Tara, a book I picked up at the Zen Center's bookstore.

After lunch, I went to Buena Vista Park and found a spot on a short stone wall and under the trees, to sit down and read. That’s after I nearly sat directly across from a homeless person sleeping in the bushes. They sleep during the day because the signs say not to sleep in the park at night. I communed with the scent of pine, with a very well-behaved bulldog that came up and sniffed me, squirrels, and loud-mouthed crows. After about one and a half hours, I got up and headed along the path and further down Haight. I was remembering a beautiful Tara amulet that I saw at the Tibetan Style store, but before I got there, I stopped at Dreams of Kathmandu to see if they had it, because the books were sort of heavy and it was a shorter walk. Besides, it looked like an interesting store.

It turned out to be a wonderful store full of beautiful things—masks, embroidered bags, Buddhas and Ganeshas, pendants and rings. They did have the pendant, but it was $124! Eek. I said I’d have to pass, but I was very gracious about it. So I headed up the street again. I looked around at the interesting crowd—there were quite a few punkers and hippies. The sidewalks were full of people, and there were lots of interesting, colorful stores.

I did indeed get back to Tibetan Style (that’s the name of the store) and there were lots of customers there and a different assortment of clothing. There were dark wool shirts or jackets instead of the light cotton ones that had been on sale a week ago. . I didn’t experience the same special and tranquil atmosphere I had on the first visit, because of the crowd. I noticed that some of the customers were looking at things that weren’t Tibetan, such as toe rings, and someone made a comment that there was a lot of gaudy stuff. Well, not everyone likes turquoise, coral, and silver, but it’s a very Tibetan style, and I like it. I bought a much less expensive amulet—it was $39 and is silver, coral, and turquoise.

I stopped walking when I got to a bus shelter that listed Route 71, which I know goes downtown. The bus I climbed onto was definitely the most crowded I’d ever seen—it was a challenge to even get behind the yellow line to stand, but a nice woman in the front held my book bags in her lap, till she got off at Van Ness Station and I took her seat and held the books and purse in my lap up Market Street.

Friday, July 7, 2006

More Theater and Art in San Francisco

I went back to the Asian Art Museum (in spite of my itinerary) because that’s what I felt like doing. I not only got through the Indian and Perisian galleries as planned, but I also got to the Korean stuff I missed before and to most of the Chinese stuff on the second floor. And I went to the museum shop and finally got a book on Siamese art. I went out when the museum was about to close.

From there I walked to Van Ness Avenue, and I got my ticket to see Valhalla—a hysterically funny and campy play with two related storylines, one of them about King Ludwig II of Bavaria, and the other about a gay guy from Texas. Actually, it was about truth, beauty, and dreams, and about being yourself. Ludwig would have been appalled, certainly not because of the above themes, but because he was extremely ashamed and neurotic about being homosexual, and the play was very open about it (and also made him very open about it). Also, the play portrayed Sophie as hunchbacked, which struck me as odd—I’ve seen photos of Ludwig and her, and they both were beautiful, and I certainly didn’t see any hump. It would have been mentioned in the biographies, I’m sure. I think the real reasons nobody wanted to marry her were: the way her mom peddled her for suitors all over Europe, Sophie was a notorious flirt, and her mom was probably too pushy about marrying her off and ironically discouraged suitors. A hump was an obvious physical flaw, which may be why the play did it—simplifies things.

Thursday, July 6, 2006

Communication Skills in San Francisco

While I walked to the Asian Art Museum yesterday morning, a dirty old man said something like, Miss, you have a fine chest.” I kept looking forward and walking at the same pace, as if I hadn’t heard, but I said quietly, “Get castrated, asshole.” Not exactly nonviolent communication, but at least I didn't say it audibly. I was wearing cargo pants and a very loose, long-sleeved navy blue T-shirt while carrying my purse and raincoat. Not exactly an outfit calculated to attract harassment.

I also made the mistake of going up the side steps when I reached the museum—thinking that would discourage more situations. Instead, there was a group of people sitting against the side of the building and smoking pot. Not wanting to look scared or inquisitive, I walked right past them. Fortunately, they didn’t say anything. I’ll stick to the sidewalk!

On a totally different subject…. I didn’t write down how, yesterday, I saw another Tibetan monk! I was in the Chinese galleries—Tang Dynasty critter pottery—and out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of moving red—and there was this tall monk in blood red with a yellow bodice. That was exciting. They wear such pretty clothing. And they even match the exhibit.

In the evening, I took a bus to San Francisco State University to attend a rather timely seminar.

Nonviolent Communication Introductory Seminar
Based on the writings of Marshall Rosenberg (book called Nonviolent Communication)

Needs
1) All beings have the same needs
2) Every action a human makes is an attempt to meet a universal need.
Connection that you care about my needs/both people getting what they want or at the very least aware that they’re concerned about each other’s needs. “I’m sorry,” suggests you did something wrong—you are meeting a need.
3) Self-responsibility—hope that nothing outside of me causes my feelings (didn’t cause anger, etc)
How you make meaning of something—(reaction is “I’m in pain” not “This person is a jerk.”)

Empathy, listen nonviolently—listening to someone else’s needs and feelings
When to speak, when not to speak
What this person was thinking, feeling—guess or ask (either is fine)

NVC question:
Were you feeling ____ because you needed ______?

Connecting with your heart instead of expressing the same judgment as they’ve expressed.

NVC

Empathy / Connection
---------------------------
Empathy / Honesty

(Honesty—my observation of what happened)

Nonblaming, nonjudgmental = make a connection

Clear observation rather than judgment. Request, not demand. When you’re saying no, you’re saying yes to something else.

Tuesday, July 4, 2006

Goofing off in San Francisco

In the morning, after breakfast, I went to the Yerba Buena Gardens and sat reading on a bench, but it was cold and windy, so I got up and walked across the lawn to admire a circle of stones. A very modern glass and steel building—particularly containing the store Chronicle Books—caught my eye, so I went in and browsed (and remembered that at work I see Chronicle Books often because it’s on the spine of many books). I forgot my watch, but I saw a clock on the wall—almost at eleven, I went over to Yerba Buena, only to see on the door that it doesn’t open till noon. Apparently the info I was going on was from one of the travel books I checked out from the library, and they all dated to before 2000. So I headed over to the Martin Luther King Jr Memorial, watched the waterfall, climbed up steps till I was on the same level as the top of the waterfall, where the Sister Cities Garden is (Osaka, Japan).

Finally, I returned to the Yerba Buena Center at about noon, and I learned at the box office that they’re currently installing the next exhibit, so I couldn’t get into the gallery (same goes for some other people who were there), and there won’t be any plays till the end of the month. There’s something to be said for checking the website. So I was at a loss what to do, and I didn’t want to walk far, so I went back to the glass building—the Metreon—and impulsively (after chai and a scone at Starbucks, which is next to Chronicle Books) decided to blow $22 on a ticket to the Titanic Exhibit.

It didn’t even occur to me that it might be the same exhibit that I went to in St. Louis, in the late 1990s—that was so long ago. It wasn’t till after I bought a ticket-a guy handed me a boarding pass, and I realized it must be the same exhibit. But then I looked at the ticket. Margaret Brown. Age 44. From Denver, CO. The unsinkable Molly Brown! Unthinkable! They hand out thousands of boarding passes, and I happened to get Molly Brown’s. Last time it was someone unknown, I think third class, who died. At the end of the exhibit, the difference was info on people from San Francisco who were on board the Titanic, plus info on the city at the time.

I got out of the exhibit at about 3:30, and after some hemming and hawing bought an Imax ticket for Superman Returns, which was playing in a movie theater inside the same building. It was scheduled for 5:30, so I went back to the Sister Cities Garden and read till about 5 pm (even though I didn’t have my watch with me) and went to see the movie. It wasn’t a dome for a screen like in Chicago—it was a big rectangle, but it was Imax technology. With 3D glasses. It looked like Superman flew out of the screen.

Philosophically, the movie made me want to hurl chunks: this world DOES NOT need a savior. 1) Collective action, a revolution, will save the world, and 2) the only person who can genuinely save you is yourself. But in terms of action, suspense, special effects, costumes, and cute fluffy dogs, it was entertaining. Exciting even. Of course, 99% of Hollywood movies philosophically make me want to hurl chunks.

At the garden, I read quite a bit more of Arundhati Roy. It’s too bad those who are in media news or who are politicians aren’t like Pinocchio—their noses don’t grown every time they tell a lie. On the other hand, if they had such long noses, the politicians would use them as tools for raping anyone who criticizes the ungovernable government.

The Fourth of July in San Francisco

Today I went to the Asian Art Museum again, because I was antsy to get up to the third floor and see the Tibetan and Southeast Asian exhibits, which I did. This time I took my camera and found out that you can take pictures without a flash. Eventually I even figured out how to not use the flash, and judging from what I could see in the little window of the camera, the pictures turn out really well without it—one of the advantages of a digital rather than disposable camera. And my I saw some wonderful Buddhist and Hindu artwork, as my sketchbook and camera prove.

(Note: I will later post the notes I took at the Asian Art Museum. Yes, I'm a nerd.)

This time at the cafeteria-style museum cafe I ordered “vegetable curry” for lunch rather than ordering it by its (perhaps Hindi) name, and I got the right dish—it was really scrumptious. I also got a lemon custard desert with fresh blueberries on top (though the curry was filling by itself), and chamomile tea. Last time, I had ordered the curry by its real name and ended up with a salad that contained green tea sobo noodles. It was a tasty meal—it had a variety of vegetables and tofu and a dark sauce, but it was a cold salad, not a hot curry dish. I had first given the dish a weird look, and the woman behind the counter brusquely insisted it was the curry dish.

I just have to mention that I saw, in the Tibet/Himalayas gallery, a Buddhist monk in red robes. At least I’m pretty sure this was a monk rather than a nun. I wasn’t staring, just doing the corner of the eye thing. I saw him again in the museum shop, of all places, while I was looking at books. He looked through a book too. Previously, Washington, D. C., when I went to see the Dalai Lama last year, was the only time I'd seen Buddhist monks in person.

I bought books on Siamese history, books on Tibetan history, a postcard book of thangkas, and a Tricycle magazine. Fun. As I was walking down the sidewalk next to the museum, I carried my shopping bag full of books with both arms, sort of hugging the bag, and I was smiling as I thought about the museum exhibit. Or maybe I wasn’t smiling till I saw a shuttle with these big purple words on the side: Purple Lotus Buddhist School. I wondered if that explained the presence of the Buddhist monk, at the same time that a group of kids in red t-shirts had appeared in the Tibetan gallery.

Shortly after I passed the shuttle, a red-haired woman came up the sidewalk from the opposite direction, and she said, “Easy come, easy go.” If she was trying to rain on my parade, it didn’t work. I was in a calm, equanimous mood after all that Buddhist artwork and relatively calm museum atmosphere (it’s free on Tuesdays, so there was a big crowd, but compared to the crowds on the sidewalks it was calm). I don’t know why mean people see someone who’s in a good mood and try to make them unhappy. Jealousy perhaps. Even if I had been smiling only because I had my shopping bag full of books, which was not the case, I’d rather have some good books than hoard money.

A minute after she walked away, I took a picture of the prayer flags and mani stones set up on a balcony of the Asian Art Museum, even though the prayer flags are very frayed and look like they should be replaced. Faded and tattered.

I got back to the room, used the foot massage, took a bath, and lay down to take a nap, setting the alarm so that I’d go to Pier 39 to see the fireworks. It struck me as kind of silly to celebrate Independence Day, considering the current political situation (like, considering what a stinking imperialist government we have and how we desperately need a real revolution now), and yet it also seemed kind of silly to hang out in my hotel room while I’m in San Francisco and it’s a holiday, so I went to Pier 39 that evening.

I got in line for the trolley at the bottom of Powell St, and I actually gave a tourist directions. I had to stand on the trolley, which was kind of scary on all those hills. When we got off, I moved through the crowd toward Pier 39, and the crowd on Fisherman’s Wharf was enormous and lively. There were dancers and other people with flashy glow-in-the-dark glasses (green or blue) and some people had a glow-in-the-dark all on a stick, and eventually I passed a woman who was selling them. I just kept moving through the crowd toward Pier 39, and when I got there, I kept moving till the crowd was so thick there was no path, so I turned around and backtracked till I reached a place where only one layer of people stood along the railing. The crowd was more interesting than the fireworks. At one point in the evening, while the fireworks were going off overhead, I heard “Ar, ar, ar, ar, ar!” even though I expected the sea lions to be afraid of fireworks, three of them were on a couple of barges. There I was in a crowd in the dark, fireworks overhead, boats and sea lions straight ahead.

As the crowd was walking along Pier 39 to leave, I passed a group of rowdy people dressed as a bunch of Santa Clauses and giving out candy. After I had walked far enough to be almost off that pier, I saw some minor fireworks shoot off the pier at approximately where the Santa Clauses were.

I walked and walked through the crowd and finally got to the cable car station on Hyde Street, where a smaller crowd than usual stood waiting in line to board the trolley, and one trolley was full of people but not moving. Yellow police tape was strung in front of the trolley. I got in line, and someone ahead of me mentioned a thirty-minute wait. I was willing to wait, as long as I got a ride. The wait was longer than thirty minutes, due to the pedestrians on the streets, and there were only three trolley rides. I got to ride the last trolley on July 4! And it was free. People who stood clinging to the side during this ride ecstatically yelled and cheered when the trolley started moving and also whenever it went around a corner or a steep hill. It was a very crowded trolley, but I was seated this time.

I saw some cute little dogs tonight, but I’m not sure it’s appropriate to take dogs out in such mayhem, with the crowd and fireworks. From what I’ve seen, most of the dogs in San Francisco are small and cute, and of course if you’re living in a city it makes sense to have a smaller dog, particularly if you live in an apartment.

Monday, July 3, 2006

The San Francisco Museum of Modern Art

I didn’t mention that yesterday, shortly after I got to Chinatown, I saw and choked on smoke and wondered where it was coming from. I moved on a little further, to where orange construction cones were lined up at the edge of the street. I saw a white man put a bunch of incense sticks in the top of the cone, and pea green smoke swirled abundantly out of the cone, both from the top and the bottom. I choked, as did several pedestrians, and someone said, “Where is all this smoke coming from?” I doubt a tourist would do something like that—he’s probably from San Francisco. And I suspect it’s more likely to happen around the forth of July than not.

7:10 PM
Today I went to the Yerba Buena Gardens across the street from SFMOMA (San Francisco Museum of Modern Art) and hung out in the gardens and around the Martin Luther King Jr Memorial till the museum opened at 11 am, when quite a number of people were going in. The memorial is lovely and loud in a gentle sort of way: waterfalls cascade into a fountain approximately one and a half storeys below, and there ware quotes engraved on the wall below/behind the waterfall. Above the waterfall, there’s a walkway on two levels, with both ramps and stairs, and there are cylindrical stones, by sections of railing, and I sat on one and continued reading An Ordinary Person’s Guide to Empire until it was time to go to the museum.

Quotes from the Memorial:

We must rapidly shift from a thing-oriented society to a person-oriented society. When machines and computers, profit motives and property rights are considered more important than people, the giant triplets of racism, materialism, and militarism are incapable of being conquered.

It’s non-violence or non-existence.

I refuse to accept the cynical notion that nation after nation must spiral down a militarism stairway into the hell of thermonuclear destruction. I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right temporarily defeated is stronger than evil triumphant.


I spent the rest of the day (well, till 5:45 closing time) at SFMOMA. There was some good stuff—such as a couple pictures by Frida Kahlo (including the wedding painting used in the film Frida) and a couple by Diego Rivera, two by Georgia O’Keefe, a picture by Miro, a spear-like sculpture by Louise Bougeois, a couple of photos by Ana Mendieta. The latter two create Goddess art, and the pieces by Mendieta were:

1) A photo in which she’s lying naked in tall grass and is mostly covered in it, but you can still see her, blending in as part of the earth.
2) Again in tall grass—the imprint of her entire body, like she lay there and got up to take the picture.

Now that’s up my alley. But overall, there were more white male artists than anything else, and all the special exhibits are male artists (although one, Shomei Tomatsu, is Japanese). The Kemper Museum of Contemporary Art in Kansas City is more progressive.

I explored the second and third floors before I went to the café for a lunch of eggplant soup (the soup of the day), a piece of herbal foccacia bread, and a glass of house made lemonade. I had no idea what to expect from the soup, and it turned out to be really yummy and bright orange.

After lunch, I went into an auditorium and saw a feature-length film (145 min) directed, written by, and starring Matthew Barney, and also starring Bjork, who composed all the music for the film. The music was the best part. I’ve liked other art films, but this one was weird and gross. I think it was an anti-whaling film, but what a way to bring the point across. Afterwards, I went up to the fifth floor and saw the other Afterwards, I went up to the 5th floor and saw the other Matthew Barney stuff. Although I’m an artist myself, and I think of myself as open-minded, I have to confess that his stuff doesn’t move me. It’s cool that he works with different mediums on the same art piece—drawings, sculpture, film, all related—I’ve come across that sort of artist before and enjoyed it a lot more. But you can’t like everything.


Oh,yes, this musuem has nothing by Chihuli, let alone a chandelier. But there’s a Chihuli chandelier hanging in a gallery window not far from the hotel.

During my walk back to the hotel, I stopped at a big Walgreen’s on Market St. and got a package of plastic forks so that I don’t have to eat the stir-fry with my bare hands. Another thing I did was notice some architecture: I thought the flatiron building in NYC was unique, but I noticed two like it, just a block away from each other. There might be more. (Since writing this, I have seen countless flatiron buildings—it’s because of the angle of the streets connecting with Market.)

Back in my room, I used the Chinese foot massage, soaked in a hot tub, and had some stir-fry, two egg rolls, and one moon cake. Good eating.

It looks like, after the Asian Art Museum, I may be going to Fisherman’s Wharf again tomorrow—something that I decided on this evening, because it seems like I should be out on the 4th. Unfortunately, I didn’t copy down the place and address for the “Fuck the Forth” event that was described on a flier at the Anarchist Book Collective. So I’ll take a radical and anti-Bush book with me and hang out with the sea lions before the fireworks. There’s a possibility that I might get a ticket to Alcatraz for that day, but I shouldn’t count on it.

Sunday, July 2, 2006

Chinatown, San Francisco







I walked to Chinatown with the idea that I’d walk up the street and take some pictures, have lunch maybe, and go up till I reached Broadway St., where I’d turn left and go to the Chinese Cultural Museum, which is open 1-4 on Sundays. I didn’t realize that countless shops would distract me (of course, the same goes for countless other tourists). I think a Shetland sheep dog would enjoy herding humans on the sidewalks of San Francisco. Anyway, shortly after I passed through the ornate Chinese gate, I found a shop that interested me. Put Buddhas or lucky cats or dolls in the window, and I’ll go into the shop. That easy. The tackier tourist shops were the ones most likely to be packed with tourists (I say tacky, even though I enjoy such stores myself). The stores that sold expensive antiques were the ones least likely to be packed with tourists, or the back of the store where the antiques were located was less likely to have customers than the front of the store. (It's just as well, given how many inquisitive children there were.)

Some of these stores contained really big old Buddhas that looked like they belonged in museums—these truly were antiques, in many cases. Painted wooden Buddhas, bronze Buddhas, whatever. Not just Chinese—there were Zazen and Tibetan (I must have seen four or five 11-headed Avalokiteshvaras for sale) and Siamese (I bought a two inch tall one) and even one large Cambodian Buddha. Wonderful stuff. I took pictures in a couple of stores—it was like being in a crowded storage room of a museum, and displays in the front of the store seemed as if they were set up for the purpose of being photographed. In one store, a round table was topped with (among other things) a couple of big Siamese Buddhas, and also a one and a half foot tall Sun Wu-King, Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, tagged, “Monkey King.” I thought of the line from the Chinese classic fantasy novel The Journey to the West, “Let Old Monkey take care of it.” Someday I’m going to make dolls or statues based on the main characters from that book—I even have the notes in a sketchpad.

At a corner (I can’t remember the street), not long after noon, a young woman gave me the menu and a coupon for The China Restaurant, which has been in business since 1919. So I went there and had quite a banquet. Spring rolls, veggies and tofu over fried rice, and green tea ice cream with a fortune cookie. It came out to $22.50, but I have enough leftovers for three or four meals. I’m so glad the room has a fridge and microwave.

Since I had these leftovers to carry around, I decided to go back to my room and return to Chinatown, so I headed back down the other side of Grant St. and kept getting distracted by more window shopping. On my way back to my room, I heard loud Indian music and wondered where it was coming from—this was close to Union Square. Coming down the sidewalk toward me was a group of Hindu Indian people with one guy in front singing into a microphone and behind him someone hitting a big drum—I’m not sure if everyone was singing and/or clapping, but I did get a picture quickly before scooting out of the way. There was something about the situation that delighted me, whether or not this has to do with past life experiences. I was compelled to smiled blissfully as they went by. On my way back to Chinatown, I ran into them again—they were walking away from Chinatown, and there was a different singer leading with the microphone. It reminded me that if I could only afford it, I’d be going to Indian in about six months, but I didn’t seriously think I could afford the tour.

After the Hindus drifted past, a white boy in front of me said, "I could live in India."

Just this morning, an English guy behind me said, “This city—it has so much character.”

Back in Chinatown (OK, it was about 4 pm when I was back in my room, so I knew I wasn’t getting to the Chinese Cultural Museum), I did more shopping and moving slowly through the crowd, as I had been doing since about 10 am (and it was 7 pm when I got back to my room). This time, I came to a store that was selling new dolls (some not Asian) but also antique Japanese dolls like the ones at the Japanese Fest in St. Louis. I bought one—in a bright purple brocade robe. That was definitely my most major purchase of the day. I also got a couple of moon cakes at a bakery, and small cat figures in another tourist shop (along with a gift of scented candles for my mom), and at the very last, when I thought I was totally sick of shopping, I spent thirty-one cents on a Chinese foot massage (that includes tax). I have used it already. Several times.

I definitely know the meaning of “shop till you drop.” And I’m glad that tomorrow I’m going to the Museum of Modern Art—hopefully I’ll stay away from the museum shop.

I soaked in a hot bath—so far, I’ve done more meditating in the bathtub than on the cushion, or rather two pillows off the bed—and took a nap. It was 9:45 when I woke up.

I can’t believe I forgot to mention this—
Form the sidewalk in Chinatown, I heard a marching band, like many others I had to find out where it was, what it was. Someone said, “Oh, yes, the parade.” A small marching band came in front, behind it a black convertible with about four people, and those in the back seat held up a framed portrait of an old Asian man, with a wreath around the picture, and it was on an easel. Behind that came a hearse and the usual trail of cars marked “funeral.” I don’t know whom you have to be to get a marching band at the front of your funeral parade.

Much later, during my second walk through Chinatown, I went into a fascinating store that was at least two storeys and had not a a spiral staircase but a spiral ramp, and large paper lanterns hung around. Centered in the spiral of this ramp was a huge dragon, hanging from the ceiling. This shop included a calligraphy artist who was making a picture for a little boy, and on the upper floor were the tiniest mud figures.

As I headed down the staircase, admiring the lanterns, I started to hear drums. Big drums, or a big drum. So I went out onto the sidewalk. Across the street, there were some Asian teenagers dressed in red and white. Two brought out huge red and white flags. Three dragons came out, as did a drummer boy—it was a very big drum indeed. They all marched down the street, going in the opposite direction from where I was headed.

One or two stores in Chinatown sold DVDs, and I got to thinking I didn’t see how anyone could take the time to watch TV or videos in San Francisco. Going out on the sidewalk and people watching is more fascinating.

Saturday, July 1, 2006

Haight-Ashbury








I unfortunately didn’t get to the Basic Meditation class at the San Francisco Zen Center, because I pretty much got lost after I stepped off the bus at Van Ness Station. It was at least 9 am by the time I found Page Ave, and you’re supposed to be there at 8:45 for the class. So I started my walking tour of the Haight, with help from pages I photocopied out of a travel book, and I took quite a few photos. The tour included an apartment where Janis Joplin lived in 1967 (it was an upstairs apartment in a grey Victorian house, and she had a curving balcony), and the Grateful Dead house, which was a more festively painted purple Victorian house. I also passed the Free Clinic, which dates back to the hippie era, and a café/peace activism center the name of which I’ve forgotten. On one slanting street, as I passed the Buena Vista Park (which looked quite beautiful and extremely green) I actually saw the mist appear, floating through the air as if it were some sort of spirit. Before that, I had noticed rather more normal fog, which seems to be norm in the morning here.

Toward the end of this tour, I came to a store called Tibetan Style, which of course I had to visit. A Tibetan ma and pa store, that is, it was run by a middle-aged Tibetan couple, and the woman wore a green brocade chupa and green silk striped apron rather than a homespun one. Inside, the traffic was muffled, a recording of monks chanting was playing, and a feeling of tranquility came over me. It was very pleasant, therapeutic.

There was clothing on sale (mostly shirts like the one for which I made a pattern off the import a friend Jill gave me after she cleaned out her closet), lots and lots of jewelry, and meditation supplies such as colorful brocade cushions and prayer wheels and dorjes. I lost count of how many prayer wheels I spun—I must surely have improved my karma quite a bit. There were a couple of antique portable shrines and a silver-and-turquoise antique needle case, and ritual items like dorjes and bells. Lots of jewelry—I saw a mandala pendant made from silver, coral and turquoise, and a Tara pendant made from the same materials plus some sort of green stone that I didn’t recognize but that reminded me of Egyptian faïence. There were many many Buddhist pendants, countless. Also necklaces made from dzi beads, and malas. I picked up a prayer wheel pendant to purchase (it was $19 and spun really well). I eventually made my way to a far corner full of ritual items, including bigger prayer wheels that I spun, and there were tiny tiny statues, very detailed although only about one inch tall, and selling for $5 each. I bought several—a medicine Buddha, a particularly detailed Green Tara, a yogi, and a deity riding a peacock that I’m sure I can look up in the handbook of Tibetan symbols.

The Tibetan store also included a larger and heavier figure (all of them were metal, probably bronze) about two inches tall that I’m thinking is a dakini—actually, she rather looks like a Sheela-na-gig! And I purchased her also. Now I wish I’d been less timid and had asked whether she was a dakini. (While typing this: now that I’ve gotten home and have taken her out of the box, I think she’s the most intriguing thing I brought home, and that she may be a dakini or something from the indigenous Bon religion rather than Buddhism. Also, the Asian Art Museum has on display a whole bunch of little metal things that Tibetans think fell from the sky—things that farmers and nomads found in the dirt, and I wouldn’t be surprised that she’s one of those, which would suggest that she could be really old.)

I walked into Golden Gate Park and after much wandering got to the Japanese Tea Garden (as did many other people—this was a Saturday). It was very lovely and pleasant with winding paths around a pond containing coi and crossed by Japanese-style bridges... and very compact compared to the Japanese garden at the Missouri Botanical Gardens.

The Japanese garden includes an outdoor café, where I bought three bags of cookies (fortune, sesame, and almond) and had a cup of jasmine tea with a snack of rice crackers and cookies. That was lunch. I’ve decided that I prefer jasmine tea to traditional green tea. After eating, I wandered around and took pictures. Lots of tourists did the same thing. A group of Indian (as in India) tourists, mostly children, stood in front of a big beautiful Buddha (made in 1790 in Japan), and the guy with the camera asked me if I’d take their picture. I said, “Sure, if I can figure out the camera.” Well, I did. I also used my own, simpler camera to take a couple pictures of the Buddha, one close up and one through a gate.

Near the cafe is a tourist shop, or teahouse, and although it was very crowded I went in and shopped. I’m taking home a cute Asian boy! I mean I bought a doll. He’s made in a Japanese style, but he’s actually dressed like a Chinese (Mandarin) emperor rather than wearing a kimono (this kind of doll is usually female, wearing a kimono, and sometimes in a glass box), and he sits on a blue and white porcelain barrel. I also got something that reminded me of Jill: wooden Japanese nesting dolls, since she collects both Japanese dolls and Russian nesting dolls.

After I got out of the park, I headed down Haight St. to go to the Anarchist Book Collective, which was the only store I had meant to shop in. But hey, it’s an adventure, and it’s not like I frequently come to San Francisco. I did a lot of window shopping, and before I got to the bookstore, I came to a store with big Buddhas and Ganesh in the window. Fascinated, I just had to go in and wander all over the store. I spun more prayer wheels and saw many many statues—that was the specialty of this store—including more Tibetan Bodhisattvas (like a Manjushri that was probably a foot tall. I didn’t look at the price on most of them, in part because I’d spent so much on the doll. There was really cool Indian music playing, like a cross between traditional and techno, and I bought the CD. I put the change in the hands of a four-foot wooden Buddha statue. Oh, yes, there was also a four-foot Ganesh in the middle of the store, on which people had placed both American and Indian money.

When I got to the bookstore, I realized that I had passed it that morning without even noticing. But it had been closed then, and I wouldn’t have wanted to carry a bunch of books around all day. The store was smaller than I pictured, but packed with cool rad books. The employees are all volunteers, they don’t have a computerized register—they use an adding machine—and they only take cash.

After the bookstore, I kept walking down Haight—I got to be back in the residential area—when I came to a bus shelter and looked at the map. The first bus that came along did indeed go to Powell St., so I didn’t have to do nearly as much walking as I expected. But from the time that I got off the bus that morning, I had done a great deal of walking.