So, I've decided to start writing in a blog again. Writing is certainly a valuable way to put my thoughts into something manageable.
I have been reading Zen poetry lately, and came across a piece of which I am particularly fond a few days ago. It's by Ryushu Shutaku, Tr. Lucien Stryk and Takashi Ikemoto
For all these years, my certain Zen:
Neither I nor the world exist.
The sutras neat within the box,
My cane hooked upon the wall,
I lie at peace in moonlight
Or, hearing water plashing on the rock,
Sit up: none can purchase pleasure such as this:
Spangled across the step-moss, a million coins!
I read this just after I had returned from Mountain Justice Summer camp in Harlan, KY. The land there was beautiful. I saw some old growth forest, mostly rare/endangered Hemlock (which, by the way, are threatened by the ,) conglomerate and sandstone mountain structures that were literally billions of years in the works, and I felt completely at ease in the simple knowledge that I am alive, and I am privileged to experience the mystery of being so.
I was really struck, when, on the way home, my friend Dana said that she thought me to be "cheery." The more I think of it, though, there is no reason for her not to think so. Any time I've ever been with Dana, I've been doing what I love, that is, working to save our natural resource, experiencing the natural world firsthand, or gathering with people who at least have a similar perspective to my own as to the hows and whys of living on Earth.
In Huntington, I find I'm not so cheery. I absolutely dreaded exiting Dana's car and going back into my home. I knew that this place would just get depressing, and, thought it may have been self-fulfilled, that prophecy came to be.
I'm now constantly asking myself "how?" There are too many institutive concepts commonly accepted as reality, it just constantly drives me nuts.
I visited my friend Craig yesterday. He was watching the old Clint Eastwood Western, Pale Rider. I was astounded, really. The concept of the entire film was completely transistable to MTR. The concept of the film is that there is a small mining community, Carbon Canyon, in which just a few locals pan for gold, but are threatened by a large mining conglomerate who use a method of damming and pressure-spraying gravel to expose gold. I cheered when one of the characters described how it wasn't right for man to change the flow of a stream just to get resources.
The town is nearly oppressed to the point of no standing, when Clint Eastwood's character, simply referred to as "Preacher," comes into town. He rescues one of the mining town citizens from several mining thugs who are threatening him physically.
When Preacher comes to the small mining community, he bands the entire village into one activity, that is, removing a large boulder from a stream without simply blasting it, as not to interrupt stream flow. When doing so, mining thugs approach, and Eastwood's character sends them packing with a sledgehammer injury to the groin. I squirmed.
One line that I absolutely loved was given by the Don Blankenship of gold mining, Coy LaHood, who said "When I left for Sacramento, those tinpanners' spirits were completely broken. Bring a preacher in, though, he might give 'em faith. Those people get an ounce of faith in 'em, and we won't ever be able to get through." (paraphrased).
The concepts of oppression and the steadfastness of community are by no means new. What's interesting to me is the discussion that I had with my friend after the film.
When watching, he completely understood why the community was standing up for their rights. He understood why they went to great pains to avoid changing the stream flow, and why the mining baron was no more powerful than any of the citizens in this scripted world, but simply did not understand why there is need or purpose for fighting for the homeplace in the here and now, in the real world, where the good guys do not always prescriptedly win, and where the consequences of inaction are as real as can be.
I'd like to think that the discussion at least created a spark of new thought for the both of us, though.
