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Observing the waxing and waning of the seasonal moon and its reflections... |
| The title of this blog, “Apricot Moon,” is inspired by meditations on the Chinese lunar calendar as presented in The Lunar Tao, Meditations in Harmony with the Seasons, by Deng-Ming Dao. In spite of its roots, the purpose of the blog is not to propagate an “ism.” It does not require any familiarity with Asian philosophy, or, for that matter, invite agreement or disagreement with any particular point of view. This is meant to be an observance of the passing of both the internal and external seasons, an examination into the myriad events and changes occurring in those seasons, an exploration of a landscape in which discovery and contemplation may be revealed and celebrated. May it also be a place where many voices can be heard, a meeting place for those who try to write eloquently and live genuinely. Here, then, are the recurring phases of the Apricot Moon… |
| First Movement The Clear Bright Festival arrives early in the Peach Moon, its celebration honoring both the dead and the living. During the Clear Bright, traditional families travel to the graves of their loved ones to maintain them. In China, these graveyards were usually situated on hills or mountains where the elevation, scenery, and drainage were optimal. The mourners clean the curved tombstones, sweeping, washing, weeding, and ensuring the graves are neat and tidy. All members of the family participate in this activity, from the oldest to the youngest: everyone is included. On the way to the cemetery, the older family members tell stories about the departed so the young get to know who their relatives were as they make this annual pilgrimage. After cleaning, the family makes an offering of food, often consisting of the deceased’s favorite foods and pleasures, including wine, tobacco, sweets, and anything else the dead loved in life. The food is placed in bowls with chopsticks, and sometimes the family partakes of the food at graveside to share the meal with their lost relatives. None of this food is wasted. This celebration may become a family picnic at the graveyard, or the family may venture to a local park to enjoy the meal. As the family departs from the grave, they bow three times to respect and honor their relatives. This communion with the dead helps to foster gratitude for one’s relatives, and instills a sense that the inevitability death is less of an ending and more of a threshold. To our eyes, the Clear Bright Festival may seem a melancholy occasion; we all grieve for the loss of those we love. While the festival ostensibly honors the dead, the acts of commemoration, communion, and commonality shared by all also celebrates life. The festival occurs when the harshness of winter is over and the spirit of spring warms the world. The air freshens, softer breezes blow, and the fully budded trees and flowers bloom and leaf out. The light becomes clear and bright. Colors intensify. Farmers plow fields, lovers court, and children fly kites. Families go out for picnics, and the sounds of singing, dancing, and merriment reverberate. For the Chinese, the ubiquitous, staccato pop-pop of firecrackers serenade both the departed and the living. Tears of grief and loss water the soil of life and the seeds of hope. The COVID-19 pandemic has been a free fall of sickness, loss, and tragedy throughout the world. No one is untouched by its devastation. Over two million people have died, tens of millions have lost their jobs, and many, many more will face deep hardship and suffering as a result of the virus and its accompanying conditions. An emergency room nurse is faced with caring for infected patients without proper protective equipment. A firefighter removes more corpses in a day than he sees in a week. Friends and relatives contract the virus and sicken; some recover, others don’t. Others, like me, have kept their job, work from home, practice physical distancing, and refrain from going out. An introvert by nature, my gaze naturally turns inward to reflect on the causes and conditions that have accompany this tragedy. Many, many people are suffering deeply. As the death toll rises, there are lessons we can learn, precautions we can take, and suffering we can reduce - if not eliminate eliminate - if we cultivate the wisdom to learn from catastrophe that has exploded in the midst of our human family. Second Movement The Peach Moon has waxed and waned, and the Clear Bright Festival has come and gone. The tsunami of the Covid-19 pandemic has ravaged the countries of the world. Even the places and people who seemed previously untouched have been affected, and the end of this tragedy is nowhere in sight. In the past month, over 200,000 people have died. Different countries have had varying degrees of success in coping with the epidemic, and the United States is the epicenter of the virus with 25% of the world cases. These are grave times, a time for deep reflection on the wisest ways to reduce further suffering, a time to mourn the loss of so many people, a time to honor those who cannot escape the conditions of contagion, those who endanger themselves to help others survive, all those who perform a hundred million selfless acts daily for the sake of others. Every day we witness the power and beauty of kindness, compassion, tenderness, and love that inspires us, as well as the depredations of profit, exploitation, neglect, and cruelty. History tells us this has happened before and it could be much worse. Tens of millions died in the great flu of 1918. The Black Death in Europe killed over one third of the European population. Our addiction to endless war has claimed the lives of countless innocent victims. But this is our time and our historical moment: suffering is suffering: we do not know where this will go, who it will touch. and when it will end. The grievous uncertainty of not knowing magnifies every unfolding event and development. . Surely, the death of one person is the death of us all, and particularly tragic if that death is premature, preventable, or unnecessary. To see death up close, face to face, is to bear the mark of impermanence, profoundly altering our worldview. Grave and profound, yes, but not all bad. Once our own fragility is exposed and we feel threatened, we can embrace it. In so doing, we can discover that we possess the discernment to make better choices that will result in lessening, minimizing, or even eliminating suffering in the future. That discernment operates on many, many levels, from the national to the mundane and personal. When the specter of illness, especially grave illness, is close at hand, the intimate reality of impermanence seizes our attention; it forces us to confront its reality. The Buddha once praised someone who came to him to ask questions about life and death. The Buddha taught this person that birth, aging, disease, and death came to every person, each in its own way and at any time of life; there was no escaping it. During this dialogue, the person often asked questions pertaining to the details of his own life, but the Buddha often remained silent in response, giving the questioner to understand that the reality of the impermanence of birth and death touched every life deeply and intimately. Through his ardent questioning and the Buddha’s silent responses, the questioner went away with a deep understanding of impermanence. When asked what advice he had given to the man, the Buddha replied that the questioner was like a good horse who moves after seeing only the shadow of a riding crop: he had fully realized the impermanence of all things. What is death like, up close? Taoists call it leaf, bird, and song. A leaf falls from a tree; it withers, browns, and dies. It still moves when touched by the wind, but it is no longer green, no longer attached to the tree, no longer dancing in concert with the shimmering, green mass of its fellows.In sitting with someone we love who has just died, there is often sense of muted shock before and as the loss sinks in, accompanied by a passionate hope that their eyelids will flutter, their limbs will move, or their lips will speak. But no, there is no flutter, no movement, and no sound; that bright spark that kindled their life has burnt out. The longer we watch in vigil with them, the deeper we realize that they are truly gone. While our beliefs may offer comfort in speaking about passing, transition, rebirth, the movement of soul or spirit or energy, their life is no longer here with us. This is the great humility that partakes of pain, of silence, and, for some, darkness, for others, hope. Still, life continues as we continue. Outside, the light is streaming; birds fly through the sky, and their song is still heard loud and clear. It is a disorienting feeling, unreal, since our life feels overturned and forever changed, while all around us, daily life proceeds as normal. Meeting death like this, we are now possessors of a two-fold, solemn knowledge: everything in life matters because we are mortal and alone, and nothing matters because we are mortal and will die. How we hold this knowledge will ennoble us lead us into bleak despair. How we live with this knowledge will determine the texture and quality of our life. During an epidemic like this, impermanence has a crescendo effect, increasing in tempo and proximity. When we hear about or see images of those far away sickening and dying, we feel sympathy and sorrow. When someone in our own community is touched by the illness, that feeling deepens. Deeper still does it penetrate when our loved ones become sick; and we embrace its deepest intimacy when we ourselves become the prey of illness. Some of us will recover, some of us will not. While the details vary, the principal is clear: birth and death are grave events; impermanence is as real as gravity, and our precious human life is exposed and vulnerable to it. Caring for the dead is a rehearsal for caring for the living and part of being human. Remembrance is not morbid; it does not extend grief but honors humanity. We still remember those we have loved, and their effect upon our lives still exerts force. We live now because of the lives of others; that recollection generates a spirit of gratitude and compassion. A Buddhist poem says, “Light goes with darkness as the sequence does of steps in walking.” In the midst of great sickness and death, there is much to honor and to celebrate. Many have responded to the pandemic with great courage, commitment, and kindness. Over and over, good people stand together to help and care for each other. Music, the universal healer, is flowing throughout the world. Musicians everywhere are making offerings to help people and lift their spirits, from benefit concerts to orchestral musicians playing from home, from opera singers warbling out the window to their neighbors and communities to neighbors assembling at their windows and balconies, beating on pots and pans in gratitude for the essential workers who are putting themselves in harm’s way for the support of their fellow beings. We all salute and cherish the doctors and nurses who play music or sing or dance for their patients and colleagues to cheer and encourage them. Impermanence also means that everything does change, sometimes for the better. Each and every one should be remembered and honored for their offerings. Next Movement The next movement is still unwritten. Look now to the Plum Moon…. |
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