So I’m in Tokyo for a conference for work. I had no
Internet connection for over a day while I travelled; in fact I don’t
have one right now, as I type this — I plan to post it later, once I
get to the conference center, where there’s a wireless connection.
[update: I posted it]
I’m sure that many people have written about this before. Having
no Internet connection made me feel like a lost cyborg, I have to
admit—I’m so used to looking things up, surfing when I get
bored, catching my daily news and comics—It was like the rushing
and murmur of humanity that surrounds me had gone silent, and my eyes
and ears had been cut off from the larger world. My horizon shrank
down to what I could physically see and hear, which for most of that
time was either an airport terminal or a small section of an airplane
cabin that faded out beyond the British engineer on my left and the
sleeping Japanese guy on my right. Plus in-flight entertainment.
It was meditative.
I was forced to deal with the noise and chaos in my mind myself,
rather than being able to look outward for stimulation and a sense of
order. At the time, it was unpleasant. Claustrophobic, itchy,
boring. When a clamor arose inside me, instead of turning to a louder
clamor from outside to drown it out, I had to listen. Now I’m glad
that I did it. I didn’t take a book, I didn’t read the in-flight
magazine. I did watch a movie, The
New World, an intense, scenic piece about Jamestown and
Capt. Smith and the Indian Princess whose name I can’t remember,
because I don’t have the Internet as I write this. It was actually
contemplative as well. And I peeked at the cartoons (The Family Guy,
for example) silently playing on DVD on the British Engineer’s laptop
to my left. I was grateful to not hear the soundtrack—he had on
headphones—it looked even noisier than I was interested
in hearing.
And I had a Japanese phrase book. While useful and interesting, it
didn’t hold my attention (sleepy and jet laggy) for more than a few
minutes at a time.
So I got to really think. It was good. We’re supposed to meditate, after all. Regularly. Which I suppose means more than once
every few months, in an ideal world.
Bring thyself to account each day, ere thou art
summoned to a reckoning. For death, unheralded, shall come upon thee,
and thou shalt be called to give account for thy
deeds.—Bahá’u’lláh
Memorization: for when you don’t have the Internet.
I thought about my family, my children, my relationship with
Bahiyyih, my service to the Bahá’í community and to
humanity (or the lack of it), my daily habits and patterns. Basic
stuff.
I’ll have to remember to do it again.
You are a really funny guy. Go meditation go! Love love to you.
Thank you, sweetie! Actually, that’s a variant of my Most Successful Joke Ever — I ad libbed in a skit on “India Night” at the Baha’i World Centre, playing a skate boarder visiting the Lotus Temple. The guide (a real-life granddaughter of Collis Featherstone, I think, who had actually guided at the Indian Temple as well), who was trying to explain reverence to me, asked, “Have you prayed before?” to which I answered “Yeah, once” or something like that. Anyway, it must have been in the timing or presentation, but the audience, including Ruhiyyih Khanum, in the front row, laughed out loud at it. My moment of shininess.
The next night we did the same skit again, but I couldn’t bring myself to give the same line again, despite being set up for it, because I thought it was a one-time thing, not to be captured.
One, very pedantic, comment about The New World: the woman’s name is never given in the film, I understand. But it is Pocahontas. In addition, Native Americans never had princesses, nor any heriditary position of honor analagous to royalty. This is a complete misnomer started by the Europeans when they arrived.
I know that no slur was intended, but this kind of thing bugs me. Like I said, pedantic.
Love~
Amy
That’s a good point, Amy, and it’s supported by the film — “princess” was clearly a title given to her by the Europeans, because she was a chief’s daughter. No matter that she had been disowned (in the movie, anyway) by the time she was welcomed by the Europeans.
It was a beautiful movie, more “observational” than narrative, choosing simply to show the events, with as much beauty as possible, rather than explain them. It would be nice to see it on a better quality screen some time — an airplane seat-back LCD is not exactly cinematic 🙂
Here’s Roger Ebert’s review of it. An excerpt:
And then later in the review:
A couple more recent films that also show more than they explain (I’m sure it’s a common approach, but I think it’s interesting), also as reviewed by Mr. Ebert: The Death of Mr. Lazarescu and Flight 93.