I sat there in my rosewood red dress, two bracelets around my wrist, my waist-length hair down, and I stirred my tea ferociously. September has just begun, I could see the leaves turning amber. I was not quite sure whether the aches in my body were from my accident, or if it was the talk that turned prickly.
For the half hour I was sitting there, my heart pounded so harshly I was surprised it had not torn out off my chest. I heard light footsteps, the sound of a chair being moved, and there he was, Penguin.
For the half hour I was sitting there, my heart pounded so harshly I was surprised it had not torn out off my chest. I heard light footsteps, the sound of a chair being moved, and there he was, Penguin.
"Hello my little sweet darling! Now I find you!"
"Hi. Good. How are you?" I answered, my eyes to the tea.
"Oh my. Something is terribly wrong, isn't it? What happened?" he gently asked, taking his woolen jacket off. I admired the amount of dedication he put in into looking so dapper every day.
I shook my head, and looked down.
"It's that bad, hmm?" Penguin went silent, yet I could hear the thoughts pacing in his head, words he was considering to say. "Well, some have said I have pretty good ears. So, we can do a little experiment to see if that is true," he smiled. I looked at his pale face, wrinkles around his chin whenever he smiled.
"Did you know, one of the scientists who helped give birth to nuclear bomb was so infatuated by Bhagavad Gita, that he quoted lines from it over and over during the initial launches of the bomb?" I swiftly answered, forcefully smiling away the anxiety within.
"Oh, really? Tell me more!"
"Mmhm, Oppenheimer famously quoted the line that Vishnu said to Arjuna in order to persuade Arjuna to perform his knightly duty in the war; this was during the launch of a nuclear bomb test in the Trinity project. He said that while watching the glaring orange clouds of the explosion, it entered his head, 'I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.' Oppenheimer also quoted other lines in other times, but it's just all so fascinating to me."
"Hmm, enlighten me more on why it's fascinating to you?"
I took a deep breath, finally we were talking about something else, "Well, firstly, the philosophies contained in the Mahabharat epic that is part of the Gita, they do not truly set for you what is good and what is evil. What there is is dharma, your duty, your role in the world; and then karma, the results of your action. I find that in the Mahabharat, the cycle of Karma, the good and bad things that happen over the lives of the characters, do not depend o whether the character is a good one or a bad one. Sometimes an action that is perceived to be a good thing, carries an altitude of insufferable motives and consequences," I paused.
"Go on..."
"For example, Draupadi, the wife of the five Pandavas, was greatly humiliated in front of the whole clan of Kuru when she was disrobed by Durshasana. And she carried the shame of that event so deeply in her heart that she profusely blamed each of her husbands for her humiliation, and endlessly questioned if they could ever avenge her pain. This would eventually bring about the great war that is Mahabharat. And I could argue that Draupadi's great pride and her clinging on to the disrobing event, brought her her own immense pain of having to watch all of her children die in the war. Was it wrong to defend her honor and avenge her humiliation? Was it right to cause so many deaths of the warriors over it? Bhisma meditated and wept for every soul lost in the middle of the battlefield and had a terribly long, agonizing dying process because he felt insatiably guilty for letting Draupadi getting disrobed. Well that, among other things he felt guilty over."
"Okay, and how is that related to Oppenheimer and nuclear bombs?"
"Isn't it fascinating that supposedly good people, the protagonists, are also flawed, sometimes in great depths, that they are able to create a harmful act even much greater than the villains? Oppenheimer had said on the stage, the evening of Hiroshima bombing; that he wished the nuclear bomb was already invented during World War II to be used against Nazi Germany. I mean, I sympathize with the pain, but to switch sides from the oppressed to the oppressor, even in the name of defense or common good, I have a hard time moralizing that."
"Hmm, I can somewhat agree to your points there, but what did you mean that Oppenheimer liked to quote the Gita? How was that relevant?"
"Because I think Oppenheimer found comfort in the subtleties of dharma in the Gita. There is no fixation in what is deemed to be righteous and what is deemed to be pure evil. There is only a long chain of perpetual karma. Even the venerated Khrisna, was always so equanimous in his guidance. Mahabharat is a story of a great war, so great and so long, that in the middle of it all, the characters often venture in and out of their conscious awareness and dance between the right and the wrong. The Gita gives you an open space of conversation where you decide for yourself, what is good and what is evil; to define your own morality. That, was perhaps why Oppenheimer was greatly drawn to it." I leaned back, and caught my breath. I hadn't realized I was talking with such fervor that I forgot breathing.
"You, young lady, ought to have been a hundred and fifty years old for telling me all you just did." Penguin said with a grin that went from one side of his cheek to the other. "But you have not told me why it is you are silent, and what festive occasion we are attending for showing up like an Audrey Hepburn in red?"
I bit my lip hard, and mustered the courage to say the words I wished I did not have to, "I was sent to the edge of a broken heart, by his words. And I have a habit of dressing up in my nicest when I don't quite feel the same inside."
"Ah, yes. I see then. I read your last note. You mentioned traveling is what you think he is most good at. I wonder what you are best at. I have my guesses, but please tell me first." Penguin leaned in and put a hand under his chin.
"I am not sure. I have a penchant for moving furniture around when I feel stuck, and I think I am in that phase where I do that, only not with furniture, but with people, thoughts, feelings, even realities. It's like, I'm in a bardo between chapters of my life! Hmm, but, I think... maybe, if I dare to admit this, I am best at loving, at being someone's companion." I listened attentively to my own words. "That is not so appealing, is it? I do not want that to be what I am best at!"
"Oh, and why not? Loving is a gift. Not everyone comes with the talent of nurturing and taking care of others!"
I chuckled, and instinctively held Mr. Penguin's hand and whispered across the table, "Because in that, I have always forgotten to breathe..."
Penguin nodded, the same way a doctor would when his patient explained the symptoms of their undiagnosed illness. "Well, if so, I will suggest you to start loving in a more inclusive practice. One that actually includes you; and better off, one that generously revolves around you," he gently squeezed my hand.
"I am, trying hard to love. Myself, that is. No one had shown me quite yet how to do that before. You know, for years I lived on survival mode. Now that I have total freedom to 'move the furniture around' in my life, I get so anxious of what I want to be. I feel like I do not feel appealed to commit to my old desires. Doing charity work, feels like a shambling dilapidated house. I do not want to be buried with it. Even something as exotic as living with the headhunter tribe as part of a research, feels just a tad too foreign for me!" I glanced at my reflection on the tea pot to my right hand. Blurry image, how fitting. "Mr. Penguin, what would you have me do, if you were the director of this film called My Life? What kind of meaning would you put into me?"
Penguin folded his hands on the table before him, looked down and said, "My child, life is it's own answer. Accept it and enjoy it day by day. Live as well as possible; expect no more, humble nothing, destroy nothing, leave that which is beautiful unsullied and untouched. Hold all which lives with all reverence, for life is a gift given by the sovereign of our universe, a gift to be savored, to be luxuriated in, to be...respected"
I could feel my eyes welling up hearing his words, "Hmm, that is very beautiful Mr. Penguin. I could never come up with something as beautiful as that... Thank you."
"Oh, sweetheart, that's not me. That's Ray Bradburry, The Gift of Pure Being," he took off his flat cap and opened the menu.
"Thank you, for this. For our talks," I smiled. "How is your divorcing friend doing?"
"She remarked that now every time she gets home from an outing, the house just feels impossibly bigger and more vacant. So much space." he muttered from behind the flaps of menu.
"Hmm..." I did not quite know what to say to that, except that I, too, was familiar with the new space. "Can I present to you a line of which I feel you are to me?"
"I am in the mood for a ginger tea, I think," he mentioned as he put down the leather covered paper and looked at me, "Sure!"
"Marcel Proust said, 'Let us be grateful to people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.' So I am grateful for you."
"Ah, such a compliment. Likewise, my dear. Likewise," his eyes twinkled and wore the smile that radiated warmth. "And I hope that you can always blossom in red without having to be dipped in pain first. Perhaps a change in the dharma would yield a different karma," he winked.
"Aye, aye, Khrisna!" I winked back.
"Did you know, one of the scientists who helped give birth to nuclear bomb was so infatuated by Bhagavad Gita, that he quoted lines from it over and over during the initial launches of the bomb?" I swiftly answered, forcefully smiling away the anxiety within.
"Oh, really? Tell me more!"
"Mmhm, Oppenheimer famously quoted the line that Vishnu said to Arjuna in order to persuade Arjuna to perform his knightly duty in the war; this was during the launch of a nuclear bomb test in the Trinity project. He said that while watching the glaring orange clouds of the explosion, it entered his head, 'I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.' Oppenheimer also quoted other lines in other times, but it's just all so fascinating to me."
"Hmm, enlighten me more on why it's fascinating to you?"
I took a deep breath, finally we were talking about something else, "Well, firstly, the philosophies contained in the Mahabharat epic that is part of the Gita, they do not truly set for you what is good and what is evil. What there is is dharma, your duty, your role in the world; and then karma, the results of your action. I find that in the Mahabharat, the cycle of Karma, the good and bad things that happen over the lives of the characters, do not depend o whether the character is a good one or a bad one. Sometimes an action that is perceived to be a good thing, carries an altitude of insufferable motives and consequences," I paused.
"Go on..."
"For example, Draupadi, the wife of the five Pandavas, was greatly humiliated in front of the whole clan of Kuru when she was disrobed by Durshasana. And she carried the shame of that event so deeply in her heart that she profusely blamed each of her husbands for her humiliation, and endlessly questioned if they could ever avenge her pain. This would eventually bring about the great war that is Mahabharat. And I could argue that Draupadi's great pride and her clinging on to the disrobing event, brought her her own immense pain of having to watch all of her children die in the war. Was it wrong to defend her honor and avenge her humiliation? Was it right to cause so many deaths of the warriors over it? Bhisma meditated and wept for every soul lost in the middle of the battlefield and had a terribly long, agonizing dying process because he felt insatiably guilty for letting Draupadi getting disrobed. Well that, among other things he felt guilty over."
 |
| "When he fell, both sides stopped fighting. Everyone standing on the battlefield bowed their head and paid tribute to Bhisma. As he slipped into death, surgeons rushed to give him medical help, but Bhisma refused medical care. He called Duryodhana and made another appeal to stop the war, enter into peace negotiations. Duryodhana refused." |
"Okay, and how is that related to Oppenheimer and nuclear bombs?"
"Isn't it fascinating that supposedly good people, the protagonists, are also flawed, sometimes in great depths, that they are able to create a harmful act even much greater than the villains? Oppenheimer had said on the stage, the evening of Hiroshima bombing; that he wished the nuclear bomb was already invented during World War II to be used against Nazi Germany. I mean, I sympathize with the pain, but to switch sides from the oppressed to the oppressor, even in the name of defense or common good, I have a hard time moralizing that."
"Hmm, I can somewhat agree to your points there, but what did you mean that Oppenheimer liked to quote the Gita? How was that relevant?"
"Because I think Oppenheimer found comfort in the subtleties of dharma in the Gita. There is no fixation in what is deemed to be righteous and what is deemed to be pure evil. There is only a long chain of perpetual karma. Even the venerated Khrisna, was always so equanimous in his guidance. Mahabharat is a story of a great war, so great and so long, that in the middle of it all, the characters often venture in and out of their conscious awareness and dance between the right and the wrong. The Gita gives you an open space of conversation where you decide for yourself, what is good and what is evil; to define your own morality. That, was perhaps why Oppenheimer was greatly drawn to it." I leaned back, and caught my breath. I hadn't realized I was talking with such fervor that I forgot breathing.
"You, young lady, ought to have been a hundred and fifty years old for telling me all you just did." Penguin said with a grin that went from one side of his cheek to the other. "But you have not told me why it is you are silent, and what festive occasion we are attending for showing up like an Audrey Hepburn in red?"
I bit my lip hard, and mustered the courage to say the words I wished I did not have to, "I was sent to the edge of a broken heart, by his words. And I have a habit of dressing up in my nicest when I don't quite feel the same inside."
"Ah, yes. I see then. I read your last note. You mentioned traveling is what you think he is most good at. I wonder what you are best at. I have my guesses, but please tell me first." Penguin leaned in and put a hand under his chin.
"I am not sure. I have a penchant for moving furniture around when I feel stuck, and I think I am in that phase where I do that, only not with furniture, but with people, thoughts, feelings, even realities. It's like, I'm in a bardo between chapters of my life! Hmm, but, I think... maybe, if I dare to admit this, I am best at loving, at being someone's companion." I listened attentively to my own words. "That is not so appealing, is it? I do not want that to be what I am best at!"
"Oh, and why not? Loving is a gift. Not everyone comes with the talent of nurturing and taking care of others!"
I chuckled, and instinctively held Mr. Penguin's hand and whispered across the table, "Because in that, I have always forgotten to breathe..."
Penguin nodded, the same way a doctor would when his patient explained the symptoms of their undiagnosed illness. "Well, if so, I will suggest you to start loving in a more inclusive practice. One that actually includes you; and better off, one that generously revolves around you," he gently squeezed my hand.
"I am, trying hard to love. Myself, that is. No one had shown me quite yet how to do that before. You know, for years I lived on survival mode. Now that I have total freedom to 'move the furniture around' in my life, I get so anxious of what I want to be. I feel like I do not feel appealed to commit to my old desires. Doing charity work, feels like a shambling dilapidated house. I do not want to be buried with it. Even something as exotic as living with the headhunter tribe as part of a research, feels just a tad too foreign for me!" I glanced at my reflection on the tea pot to my right hand. Blurry image, how fitting. "Mr. Penguin, what would you have me do, if you were the director of this film called My Life? What kind of meaning would you put into me?"
Penguin folded his hands on the table before him, looked down and said, "My child, life is it's own answer. Accept it and enjoy it day by day. Live as well as possible; expect no more, humble nothing, destroy nothing, leave that which is beautiful unsullied and untouched. Hold all which lives with all reverence, for life is a gift given by the sovereign of our universe, a gift to be savored, to be luxuriated in, to be...respected"
I could feel my eyes welling up hearing his words, "Hmm, that is very beautiful Mr. Penguin. I could never come up with something as beautiful as that... Thank you."
"Oh, sweetheart, that's not me. That's Ray Bradburry, The Gift of Pure Being," he took off his flat cap and opened the menu.
"Thank you, for this. For our talks," I smiled. "How is your divorcing friend doing?"
"She remarked that now every time she gets home from an outing, the house just feels impossibly bigger and more vacant. So much space." he muttered from behind the flaps of menu.
"Hmm..." I did not quite know what to say to that, except that I, too, was familiar with the new space. "Can I present to you a line of which I feel you are to me?"
"I am in the mood for a ginger tea, I think," he mentioned as he put down the leather covered paper and looked at me, "Sure!"
"Marcel Proust said, 'Let us be grateful to people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.' So I am grateful for you."
"Ah, such a compliment. Likewise, my dear. Likewise," his eyes twinkled and wore the smile that radiated warmth. "And I hope that you can always blossom in red without having to be dipped in pain first. Perhaps a change in the dharma would yield a different karma," he winked.
"Aye, aye, Khrisna!" I winked back.
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