AMERICAN:  Howdy.

[The South Asian gentleman looks up, oblivious to the man's approach.  Assessing the other's demeanor and moderate inebriation, and further recognizing that he is quite literally in a corner, the South Asian switches to his default defensive mode - completely frank, yet artificially composed and forcing a calm eloquence. What will happen, will happen - might as well face it, internally nervous as one may be.]

SOUTH ASIAN:  Sir.

AMERICAN – Well I got you this. Corinne — (he gestures to the bartendress, who flashes an apologetic look)– said  this was what you was drinking.

SOUTH ASIAN:  Well thank you.

AMERICAN:  I’ve got a question for you.

SOUTH ASIAN:  [nods at the second, brimming glass of merlot] You’ve earned the right to ask it.

AMERICAN:  Well, I see you here. You know, walk in all quiet-like, sitting by yourself.  And, you know, let me just say up front, I’m an ultra-conservative, so let me just get that out there.

SOUTH ASIAN:  I see.

AMERICAN:  There’s people around, you know. That I’ve seen and met.  And, you know, I don’t want to offend you or nothing, so, tell me when to leave, I swear, I’ll leave you alone.  But you know, here we have all this terrorism.  And I’m curious. So, some people would say, here’s a guy who fits a certain profile. And they look at you. And I’m wondering, do you notice that?

SOUTH ASIAN:  (swirls his glass thoughtfully, nervously) Sometimes.  I grew up in Idaho.

AMERICAN:  Born there?

SOUTH ASIAN:  Raised. I was born in Seattle.  (pause) This is my country, I have never lived anywhere else.

AMERICAN: (chuckles) No man, you don’t have to justify anything to me. I’m just curious, thats all.

[The bartendress comes over.]

BARTENDRESS:  Norm, please.  He’s got his glass of wine, he’s reading. You shouldn’t bother him.  Your wife is waiting at home, now come on, finish up and get home.

AMERICAN:  She’s OK. Hey, I’m being polite. Sir, am I being polite?  Corinne, I’m having a conversation. Now let me have my conversation.

SOUTH ASIAN:  I’m fine. It’s fine. He has been OK by me so far.

[With a significant look, the bartendress returns to her other duties.]

AMERICAN:  So, I just wanted to know, have you felt that?

SOUTH ASIAN:  Felt what?

AMERICAN:  That everyone’s watching you.  You know, I’ve seen it, I know it happens.

SOUTH ASIAN:  Well, now? Certainly. And like I said, I grew up in Idaho.

AMERICAN:  You think it’s unfair? And man, just tell me to shut up, I’ll leave. I’m not trying to cause trouble.

SOUTH ASIAN:  Well.  I’ve never been the subject of malicious racism. Ever.  But I’ve been there where people just don’t understand.  They are hurtful, but not intentionally so.  They just don’t understand.

AMERICAN:  Like how?

SOUTH ASIAN:  Well… like growing up in a rural state.  No brown people there, right?  (chuckles nervously) Like after 9/11. I think I was “randomly searched” about 10 times in a row.  It became a joke to me, I would already have my shoes off, luggage open when they called me, and I’d step forward like I was expecting it, which I was. Got some red faces, made it worth it.  Might as well find a laugh.

AMERICAN:  Well, you know, you’ve got the look.

[A beat.]

SOUTH ASIAN:  I can’t argue with that.

AMERICAN:   I’m a Marine.

SOUTH ASIAN:  Ah. Presently?

AMERICAN:  (irritated) No.  now I’m a trucker.  But once a Marine, always a Marine,. (pointedly) You understand that?

SOUTH ASIAN: (quickly) Of course, sir. I appreciate your service.

AMERICAN:  (just as pointedly) And have you served?

SOUTH ASIAN:  I… I am not quite cut out to be a soldier, sir.  But I do work for the U.S. Government.  I am an engineer.  I… have sworn an oath, as you have.  To uphold the public interest, and research things of benefit to the nation and the world.

AMERICAN:  Hmm. Well, I appreciate your service too then.  So.  You hunt up there in Idaho?  Good hunting. that’s what my friend says.

SOUTH ASIAN:  I loved the freedom, the relaxed pace, and the presence of the outdoors, sir.  But I’m not really much of a hunter or fisher.  Raised Buddhist; not much of one for weapons. (quickly) I’m not much of one for preventing others from having weapons either, mind you.  I’m just not fond of them myself.

AMERICAN:  Yeah?  (the South Asian gulps, wondering if he spoke too frankly) Well you’re honest.  I respect that.  And you look me in the eye.  You believe that don’t you?  You really do.

SOUTH ASIAN:  Well…. yes.

AMERICAN:  Huh.  Well, I disagree.  I disagree, you hear?

SOUTH ASIAN:  Yes, sir.

AMERICAN:   But you know, that’s what America’s about, you know?  I’m a man.  You’re a man.  We look each other in the eye, and speak our minds.  And we’re here in a bar having a drink together.  That’s honesty, and damn the consequences.  That’s American.

SOUTH ASIAN:  Yes.

[Pause.]

AMERICAN:  I like that.  You know, I grew up… I grew up, back then.  And I remember my parents saying, “hey, there’s a nigger.”  That’s just what they said, you know?  I so I grew up with that.  And so, this black kid, on my block – I grew up in south L.A. – so this black kid, man, he was like my best friend.  And, just from what my parents said, I remember I said to him one day, “hey nigger.”  And he got all upset, and I remember that sinking feeling, like I did something really wrong, but I couldn’t understand.  And his parents, they come out and yell at me.  I didn’t know.  I just knew that you call black people niggers.

[The South Asian carefully swallows some wine, as if to buy time on his response.]

SOUTH ASIAN:  (carefully) You cannot be blamed for what you didn’t know.

AMERICAN:  Exactly, right?  And so, later I read up on all this.  And you know, he is one of my best friends, ok?

SOUTH ASIAN:  Of course.

AMERICAN:  I just said what I knew.

SOUTH ASIAN:  (cautiously) America… we are not perfect, but we certainly speak our minds, eh?

AMERICAN:  (laughs) Haha! Yes we do. Fuck.

SOUTH ASIAN:  We have problems, but we talk about them… we face them.  I’ve traveled, and –

AMERICAN:  Hey, I’ve traveled.  I’m a Marine.  I know.

SOUTH ASIAN:  Of course, sir.  Then you know, that other countries, even some of those that criticize us for having these racial issues, have worse issues themselves.  They just don’t face it.  They hide it.  Or pretend its something else.  Or their country is too homogenous to even have the issue come up.  I studied in France for a few months, I love France –

[The American nearly gags on his beer as he sputters all over the table.]

SOUTH ASIAN:  (quickly) — but, I also noticed they refuse to look at their own racial problems.  They don’t even keep demographics on that.  The problem doesn’t exist.  Americans take it, and face it, and at least try to improve on what was honestly a shaky idea.  ”All men are created equal.”  How long did it take to live up to that?

AMERICAN:  Yeah well.  We still ain’t.

SOUTH ASIAN:  (laughs) Ok!

AMERICAN:  Nobody’s perfect, man.  But yeah.  Strive to live up to that shit.  You think they even knew?  Those founding fathers.  What we face today, you know?

SOUTH ASIAN:  I doubt it.

AMERICAN:  Yeah.  It’s weird man.  Well. One more question, I promise.   And then I’ll leave you alone.  And you don’t have to answer this. So today, when we have a President, that… well, I’ll say it, he’s not really our President, and I’ve got proof. You know, he was actually born in… in Kenya. And so we have this situation.  When shit hits the fan… And I’m not saying it will, but if it does.  Whose side are you on?

[Pause.]

SOUTH ASIAN:  Well, like I said, I’ve sworn an oath, to the office of the President, and whoever sits in that that Office.

AMERICAN:  Yeah, but forget that.  He’s not our President.  So what’s right?  Forget about your job, man, I won’t tell nobody, hell, I don’t even know your name.  Just man to man.  Whose side are you on?

SOUTH ASIAN:  Forget about my job?  That ties into it though.  I am a citizen, this is my country.  And more, here I have sworn an oath.  That is in my personal ethics to uphold.

AMERICAN: (grudgingly) Yeah well.  I know about oaths.  I guess I have to respect that.  (long pause) You won’t answer.  OK.  You don’t have to.  More than enough from me anyways.  (pause) Thanks for putting up with me.

[He puts out his hand, which the South Asian shakes.]

SOUTH ASIAN: Sir.  Thanks for the wine.

AMERICAN: I can’t stand the shit.  This here is a cold beer.  But you’re welcome.  Hey thanks.  I enjoyed this.  I’m just honest that’s all.  Hope I didn’t scare you out of coming back here.  You try the steak?  Or you Hindu or something?

SOUTH ASIAN:  Buddhist.  And I love the steak here.

AMERICAN: Not a good Buddhist, are you?

SOUTH ASIAN:  (laughs) Fair point, sir.

AMERICAN:  Ok.  Well it’s good steak.

SOUTH ASIAN:  I know.

BARTENDRESS: (awkwardly piping up from the bar, while pretending she wasn’t listening to every word) He’s told me before it’s the best in the valley.

[The American turns slowly, as she laughs awkwardly.]

AMERICAN:  Am I closed out, honey?

BARTENDRESS: It’s on your tab, Norm.  And there’s a taxi outside.  Your wife’s waiting.

AMERICAN:  Yeah.  (glances back at the South Asian) Hey, I’ll see you later.  Thanks.

[The American exits.  The South Asian watches him go, then gestures for his check.  The bartendress walks over.]

BARTENDRESS:  I’m sorry. You ok?  He asked. I was watching the whole time, I promise.

SOUTH ASIAN:  No worries.  Not the first time.  Could I get the check?

BARTENDRESS:  I think you’re just fine.

SOUTH ASIAN:  He brought over one of those right?  Did he get both?

BARTENDRESS: I think you’re just fine.

[A beat.]

SOUTH ASIAN:  Thank you.  (he responds to her smile) Good night.

BARTENDRESS:  Good night.  And see you next time?

SOUTH ASIAN: Sure.

[The South Asian exits into the desert night.]

scene.

Why do we choose New Year’s for making resolutions? This, spring, is the time of year when I feel like reflecting on who I am and realigning with who I want to be. Perhaps from now on I will move my resolution time to the Sri Lankan New Year, April 13th this year, instead of adhering to the western calendar. Or, you know, I could just take any opportunity to reflect on self-improvement, regardless of the date.

But since I’m in the mood, here goes:

• This year I will reconnect with my spirituality.
• This year I will make cultivating and maintaining meaningful friendships a priority.

I’ve been realizing that these have been neglected over the past two years or so. The list could be much longer I’m sure; but I think these will be challenging enough as it is. Keep me honest on these – ask how I’m doing please.

Finding a Diamond on a Muddy Road

Gudo was the emperor’s teacher of his time. Nevertheless, he used to travel alone as a wandering mendicant. Once when he was on his was to Edo, the cultural and political center of the shogunate, he approached a little village named Takenaka. It was evening and a heavy rain was falling. Gudo was thoroughly wet. His straw sandals were in pieces. At a farmhouse near the village he noticed four or five pairs of sandals in the window and decided to buy some dry ones.

The woman who offered him the sandals, seeing how wet he was, invited him in to remain for the night at her home. Gudo accepted, thanking her. He entered and recited a sutra before the family shrine. He then was introduced to the woman’s mother, and to her children. Observing that the entire family was depressed, Gudo asked what was wrong.

“My husband is a gambler and a drunkard,” the housewife told him. “When he happens to win he drinks and becomes abusive. When he loses he borrows money from others. Sometimes when he becomes thoroughly drunk he does not come home at all. What can I do?”

I will help him,” said Gudo. “Here is some money. Get me a gallon of fine wine and something good to eat. Then you may retire. I will meditate before the shrine.”

When the man of the house returned about midnight, quite drunk, he bellowed: “Hey, wife, I am home. Have you something for me to eat?”

“I have something for you,” said Gudo. “I happened to get caught in the rain and your wife kindly asked me to remain here for the night. In return I have bought some wine and fish, so you might as well have them.”

The man was delighted. He drank the wine at once and laid himself down on the floor. Gudo sat in meditation beside him.

In the morning when the husband awoke he had forgotten about the previous night. “Who are you? Where do you come from?” he asked Gudo, who still was meditating.

“I am Gudo of Kyoto and I am going on to Edo,” replied the Zen master.

The man was utterly ashamed. He apologized profusely to the teacher of his emperor.

Gudo smiled. “Everything in this life is impermanent,” he explained. “Life is very brief. If you keep on gambling and drinking, you will have no time left to accomplish anything else, and you will cause your family to suffer too.”

The perception of the husband awoke as if from a dream. “You are right,” he declared. “How can I ever repay you for this wonderful teaching! Let me see you off and carry your things a little way.”

“If you wish,” assented Gudo.

The two started out. After they had gone three miles Gudo told him to return. “Just another five miles,” he begged Gudo. They continued on.

“You may return now,” suggested Gudo.

“After another ten miles,” the man replied.

“Return now,” said Gudo, when the ten miles had been passed.

“I am going to follow you all the rest of my life,” declared the man.

Modern Zen teachers in Japan spring from the lineage of a famous master who was the successor of Gudo. His name was Mu-nan, the man who never turned back.

I mean, wtf?  The whole problem in the first place was that the man was drunk and neglected his family.  So the teacher helps him see the light by convincing him to permanently leave?  LAME.

Sorry, random rant.

A hang glider takes off from a ridge just south of Palmdale, CA.

An ex roommate of mine was avidly into hang gliding, and a couple of weeks ago I stumbled upon some photos I took from a day invited me to come out and spend a day in the fascinating world of unpowered flight. Though I work extensively with air and space craft on a daily basis as an engineer, it is always a pleasure and a privilege being invited by a pilot to tag along and see the front lines of aviation, where it all happens. It turned out to be a fantastic experience, and I came away with a new appreciation for the science, craft, and art of riding the wind.

Hang gliding sites see traffic rise and fall with the seasons and changing wind patterns; this being a late-winter/early-spring day, the launch site just a couple of miles from my house (at the time) on Avenue S in Palmdale, California is in prime condition. “The Santa Ana’s are blowing today,” my roommate tells me, referring to the east, northeast, and northern winds that pick up in colder weather. “This should be good.”

A group of about 8 pilots and 5 observers and ground crew get down to work setting up for the day. As they unpack, assemble, and flight-check their gliders, I get some shots of them working, and scour the mountaintop for good vantage points from which to capture the moment of takeoff. The late February wind at around 4,000 feet altitude is a bit chilly, and I am glad for my jacket. The birds don’t seem to mind however; looking up, I can see hawks and ravens alternately swooping and hovering, riding on the ridge lift. It strikes me how artful they are, how simple and elegant their construction — efficient, aerodynamic, and optimized in their environment to a degree our best aircraft cannot hope to match.

Hang glider Darin Flynn prepares to take off.

I snap a few shots of the hawks, and wander back to the setup camp, where the older veterans are imparting some last words of wisdom unto their younger colleagues. After one last equipment check, the time has come. The pilots don their helmets, and it is the moment of truth. The moment that requires them to trust in their equipment and team, to set aside everything their primal, survival-seeking inner selves are screaming… to take a running leap off the side of a 4,000 ft ridge into the arms of winds that don’t give a damn who they are or how much they paid for their gear.

It’s breathtaking.

It’s wild.

It’s more than a little bit insane.

And most of all, it’s beautiful.

Just after takeoff.

In trying to capture the dynamism of the moment when the pilots first take into the air, I find myself nearly tumbling off of the ridge from running with my face glued to the eyepiece. There is excitement, certainly; but it is juxtaposed oddly with the profound silence of it all. After the final “all clear” to the ground crew and that last step on terra firma, only the wind can be heard, whipping over the jagged rocks and through the scant trees on the windward side of the ridge. It’s the kind of wind that muffles your words, quickens your breath, and makes your eyes water; a wind that dares you to come up and play, yet warns you that you had better be able to handle its own particular kind of game. In the end, I am left with a sense of wonder, breathlessness, and a strange loneliness, as if the vastness of the air somehow swallowed my friends up for a little while. It’s a long, quiet drive down the ridge to the landing zone to pick them up.

I don’t care if I nearly fell off the mountain backwards getting some of these shots; you can bet that the next time someone I know is going up, I’ll be there camera in hand… and perhaps with a part of me wishing I was up there too, riding the wind with the best of them, armed only with a wing and a prayer.

It is a beautiful but hazy morning in the San Joaquin Valley, as I ride the Amtrak #701 north to Sacramento, sipping my habitual coffee as I type. In the early morning light, the endless fields of crops – the farms, vineyards, and orchards that supply the nation with a third of its food – are at once modern and nostalgic; both a testament to the industrial age of machinery, and a pleasant appeal to the pastoral legend of early rural America.

Yet the many fallow fields and piles of idle equipment also speak to the times; the megastate of California, the world’s 6^th largest economy, stares down the grim specters of severe drought, insurmountable debt, and a broken state government. And to be sure, these are but our regional reflections of hard times across the nation and the world over.

After the initial rawness of 9/11, the opinion was generally held that the dark times were temporary, and lofty rhetoric from our leaders spurred us on to seek a recovery of spirit and confidence. And in spurts and starts, some light did shine through. Yet eight years since the trauma, the times remain quite dark.

In the face of such extended troubles, optimism grows ever harder to come by. We may ask, is this the way things will always be? Are we, as a civilization, now inexorably committed to a downward spiral of our own making? I think not. At least, I disagree that our slide is inexorable in any sense. But recovery, and more importantly, long term survival, growth, and prosperity, depends wholly on a fundamental shift in our perspective.

For generations, we as a nation have held a strong sense of entitlement – the notion that we as a people are wholly unique in the history of mankind, and that, as such, we must therefore be first in all that we do, no matter the cost. This belief, in itself, is neither incorrect nor misguided; even the harshest (sane) critic of this country must admit that it is this very attitude that has spurred a great many of the world’s most profound feats of scientific discovery, invention, exploration, medicine, and the spreading of liberal democracy throughout the world.

But what has been profoundly lacking in our core principles (or perhaps what has been gradually lost from our system of ethics) is a sense of prudence – the judgment to exercise restraint on our ambitions and wants, and a tolerance for those times when life is not comfortable.

Our way forward lies in renewing that old American can-do attitude, the irrepressible optimism that divides us from our dourer estranged parent, Europe. But it must be tempered with the willingness to once again understand the nobility of, and need for, sacrifice. The sacrifice of the perceived right to excess – no longer, with 6 billion people (and more coming), can we disregard the environmental and socioeconomic consequences of our standard of living. The sacrifice of the perceived right to isolationism – no country, not even the most powerful the world has ever seen, can survive on its own. The sacrifice of the perceived right to comfort – security and success demand hard work, education, and solid principles. The sacrifice of the perceived right to dominance – our head start after WWII has evaporated, and we can no longer take for granted that we shall be the standard of excellence in the world; instead we must sharpen our skills and compete.

So, on this eve of our nation’s 233^rd anniversary, I ask my fellow citizens to reflect; when you behold the rocket’s red glare and the bombs bursting in air, consider not only the tremendous amount of good we have done for the world, but also the difficulties we face, and how we must reform ourselves to ensure our future prosperity; the fields of the San Joaquin, like our way of life, must not lie fallow forever; they must be replanted and grown sustainably. It is only the truly free whose primary concern is the improvement of themselves and society; those more fettered in life or spirit lack this luxury, which we must ever refuse to take for granted.