Kimchi Talk

I want to be mourned, in my death, a la Donny in the film The Big Lebowski.  
I told James to put my ashes in a coffee can, then, this is the important part (!): 
feed my ashes, (some) of it, to Max.   That would be my ideal funeral. 

I wanted to answer the difficult questions about myself. One of them was to write my own eulogy. And I couldn’t do it.  Not because the idea of death saddened me, but because I had nothing to write about. 

I became christian, I wanted to do good, felt like a fraud, the end. *

The footnote to my eulogy would include: 

*“This broad, missed out on all the fun, died as a christian, hoping, maybe that her fraudulent life might, possibly, maybe get her to heaven.”

 I just really wanted to avoid hell, more so than having a tea party with Jesus.
The idea of christian heaven never appealed to me. Secretly I wondered,  do I really want to spend eternity tethered to Jesus and god?
I couldn’t even stay married for the rest of this life. 

So I stepped out, because the question of “what if” was bigger, much bigger than my desire to go to a christian heaven. There came a time when my life wasn’t good enough, heaven wasn’t good enough. 

Today when I think about that question, (about my eulogy), it’s irrelevant. 
I only have today to do my best. I just have to make that decision every day and then, go play in, and with, the universe. 

Have you captured this feeling, my friend? 

Music: Dreamville by Reaktor

Dr. Gabor Mate, Mr. (David) Goggins and Mr. Gavin de Becker). 
What do these men have in common? 
Other than forced alliteration on my part, they all had close encounters with death, much too early. Incredible, unimaginable life events of the horrific kind, exploded their awakening as a child.
Yet, they have all triumphed: conquered and overcome. 
I want that. 

Thich Nhat Hanh said, it’s not enough to overcome, we have to be able to touch peace and joy.
What motivate these men to give back to humanity? 
The answer they provide are not easy, nor attractive.  But they all called me to rise up.   

13 “Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. 14 But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it."

These men carved that road with a machete, should you desire to enter through the narrow gate. 

A concurrent book review of When the Body says No by Dr. Gabor Mate, Can’t Hurt Me by Mr. David Goggins and The Gift of Fear, by Mr. Gavin de Becker. 
(Suggested Supplemental reading: Sun Tzu)

Music: Dreamville by Reaktor & Jukgal Production

The bible is known as the greatest book ever written.  As an apostate, I can still agree to that. 

As a Christian it was the only necessary literature to guide my life.  I dabbled into C.S. Lewis and Tolkien, however, I was adamant about guarding my mind against the heathen’s literature, lest the devil takes my soul.  

One of the first things I did when I renounced my christian faith, was to engorge myself in books.  Books I was not allowed to read, books that were thought to be demonic, aka "science books".   I have also re-read certain books of the Bible after leaving the faith.   Boring genealogies aside, the bible is, at its core, a story about humans being human.  

The scribes have recorded the depths of human courage, of sacrifice and love. 
There is also a plethora of evil: men who lust for power, and stories of incest and infanticide, to a horny king (a voyeur that watches women bathe and  has her husband killed).  Indeed, the Bible comes alive outside of the Christian cave.  I still wonder, however, what other caves am I in?  There is only one way to find out, and find a way out. It’s to dig.   
Be it the inerrant word of god or not, the bible has many stories to heed, stories to think about and laugh about. 

***

 Jesus Interrupted by Dr. Bart D. Ehrman

And so I did not leave the Christian faith because of the inherent problems of faith per se, or because I came to realize that the Bible was a human book, or that Christianity was a human religion.  All that is true - but it was not what dismantled my acceptance of the Christian myth.  I left the faith for what I took to be (and still take to be) an unrelated reason: the problem of suffering in the world.  

There came a time in my life when I found that the myths no longer made sense to me, no longer resonated with me, no longer informed the way I looked at the world.  I came to a place where I could no longer see how-even if viewed mythically-the central Christian beliefs were in any sense “true” for me, given the oppressive and powerful reality of human suffering in the world. 


Music Dreamville by Reaktor

I wanted to commemorate my divorce with dignity and mutual respect.  To bookend this momentous event and to garner genuine appreciation of our time spent together in the cult of christianity, James and I, embarked on a secret covenant called 

“The Divorce Competition”.  

Actually, this covenant is implicitly signed by every divorce(e). 
The winner/gagnant(!) of this post-divorce contest, will need to score points in these scientific categories: 

Who will look more attractive physically? (me obviously, ok debatable)
Who does Max like better? (Max is a whore who loves every damn human being, so no contest)
Who will enter into a relationship sooner?  (James)
Will Justin Bieber die before 30? (TBD)
And so on. 

James has won in the “relationship” category, whereas I decided to linger in the experiment.  I tried the so-called “quantum dating” the young’uns pioneered in this post-post-post-modern era. I’ve explored the seedy underbelly of affairs, as well as used dating as practice for job interviews. It just depends on what you’re looking for.  Unfortunately as a woman, when dating, I need to always consider the “rape-y” factor of any situation. But I digress…

***

Dating after my divorce reminded me that we all desperately seek to be happy, even if for a brief moment of ecstasy. In our search for this elusive by-product called “happiness”, we have accepted to be less kind, less human. It’s a common practice to cause pain first, then ask questions later.  How unfortunate. 

“… although it is easy to give paint to others, it is hard to accept without returning it."                       Yoga Sutras of Patanjali

***

I am grateful dating has served as an activity of self-exploration. 
You are a different reiteration of me, and I am a different reiteration of you.  I understand that we are different persons with different people, within different environment with unending variables affecting our every decision and state.  To understand, that I do not understand is what I can say with certainty.

The world is a wonderful place with a lot of wonderful-to-be people.

It would be wise, however, to take heed of  Marcus Aurelius’ instructions in dating as well as in life:  “when you wake up in the morning, tell yourself: The people I deal with today will be meddling, ungrateful, arrogant, dishonest, jealous and surly.” 

When dating, proceed with caution, with compassion for yourself and others.

Some, hopefully well meaning, white folks came to Korea to evangelize the gospel of Jesus according to their version of christianity.  
Later on, some, hopefully well meaning, Korean folks adapted and adopted Christianity.  That’s where I had my first watermelon.  During the 80s, fruit was a delicacy.  
I’m not sure if it was a tactic or simple benevolence, however, the neighbourhood church drew me in with this fruit.  
I ravenously ate the fruit, drank its punch, well into my 30s.  

As an apostate, I reminisce about my former life.  
Most of my behaviours were dictated by the fear of hell.  I was terrified of hell, and willing to do everything in my power to avoid it, even if it meant repeating the sins of my colonial fathers.  So there I was, in Guyana, hoping to save some souls to guarantee my real estate in heaven. 

I was ignorant of Guayana’s Jonestown massacre when I set foot in the back of that Bedford. 

I was eager to evangelize so I didn’t go to hell.   

I do not know what exactly I accomplished, other than bringing old clothes and imparting a need for unnecessary and unsustainable junk. 

I am ambivalent about my stint as a missionary.  
I am unsure, what the right feelings are.  At best I hope they dismissed our presence as a passing carnival. 

Music Dreamville by Reaktor

A concurrent book review of the wisdom found in Breath, a book by James Nestor & The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali. 

The advancement of humanity, our ever growing desire to delegate and offshore our responsibilities, of what it means to be part of nature, has inevitably led to sub-contracting our well-being.  Automation over mindfulness.  

This is very much prevalent in our current age, but it started long ago.  When humans coined the idea of productivity for profit, we forgot, or at least ignored the very basic thing that makes us human.  We have  followed a process of “dysevolution”, coined by Harvard biologist Daniel Lieberman:  passing down traits that are detrimental to our health. 
Even down to our breath. 

We forgot how to breathe.  
Breath, prana, ch'i, life force.  This wisdom of old has been buried.  
It's time to unearth this discipline, to bring new life in our time.  

Are you breathing right now?  
(most of us don't, we tend to  hyperventilate)

Music: Dreamville by Reaktor

Being an immigrant in Canada means you are (somewhat, if not fully) bilingual but also bi-cultural.  Language is only a small component of the greater cultural language an immigrant needs to speak.  I am no longer Korean, or Canadian.  I am a Korean-Canadian immigrant.   
If you are part of the immigration story, you can’t escape this duality.  
Case in point: your mannerism and way of being will differ, when you are breaking bread with your “f-o-b”(-by) friends versus your white friends.   

I am estranged from the motherland. The Korea I grew up in the 80s, where I shat in a hole has now been replaced by space bidet, that washes and dries the anus clean.  I cannot relate, to say the least.  The plastic surgery, the-pressure-cooking-our-kids-to-perfection, the “Han”, to a government that readily uses its people as a commodity… Korea has a complicated history.  That much I can relate.

Sure, K-pop and Korean bbq are great exports, but underneath all the plastic, and plastic surgery, Koreans are complex.  We struggle under the fog of imperial rule and trauma of war and colonization. I am curious about the everyday man and woman who struggle quietly.  

The Korea of the ordinary.  This is worth learning from, this is of interest to me.
I am unsure if we ever had any respite from all this struggle.  More reason as to why, I believe, the triumph of the every man of the every day matters.  

I am but a witness, an outsider to my homeland. I learn more about my culture from fluent Korean speaking foreigners living in Korea on YouTube. These are rather interesting and strange times.  I am grateful I live in Canada.   A country, albeit not perfect and certainly not absent of racism, painted by Korean BBQ, roti, beef patties and every delicious culture in between.   
As I comfortably sit in Trudeau’s lap, watching Korea from afar, I hope to understand my people better, so I may understand myself more.   

Music: Dreamville by Reaktor; James Chang

As a wide-eyed, brainwashed christian, I thought I could change the world. 
I was mostly fattening up the wallets of middle-aged, maniacal korean men with a penchant for power.  
I now understand I can't change the world.  It isn't my problem to solve.  
I am ordinary.  
This is not pity, rather, it's an admission that I am part of a whole.   
To be special, an outlier, you will be set apart, burdened with an affliction to carry much suffering.   (Jebus got nailed...literally.)

Within myself, however, I can change the world.  
Some need help, some more than others.  Psychedelic was what I needed.  

Chapter 1: 1:18 It found me - Important Disclaimers, my "why"
Chapter 1.2: 4:59 Set, Setting and Safety
Chapter 2: 13:40  Science-y Stuff
Chapter 3: 19:11  So It Begins - Yamas and Niyamas
Chapter 4: 24:16  The Experience, the conversation at the well
Chapter 5: 34:04  Dénouement, détendre, relâcher 

Music: Dreamville by Reaktor & James Chang 
Books referenced: How to Change Your Mind by Michael Pollan; Drug Use for Grown Ups by Dr. Carl Hart; The Immortality Key by Brian C. Muraresku

Art, especially fine arts, is often considered superfluous, extravagant. 
Bills need to be paid, there are children to feed, a boss to suck up to first.
Thinking about a nice painting, to put in a house I cannot afford comes after accumulating more debt. C’est la vie, n’est-ce-pas?

The barrier of entry for appreciating art, seems to revolve around a certain amount of financial sustainability.  At the end of one spectrum, art is elitist and frivolous.   Even so, art is a necessity of life.  Art is a testament to a life well lived and experienced.   Besides a pleasant aesthetic, there is truth communicated through the barriers and boundaries of time and culture, a shared experienced that transcends our own selves. 

It’s quite simple to me.  Art gives space, provide pause and beauty.  I cannot deny what I feel.  Emotions are carriers of truth.   I’ve experienced this countless times, a deep feeling of gratitude; that I am part of something bigger than myself, that beauty exists apart from my bias.    That there is good in this life. 

An unwelcome friend, over-staying their welcome.  This is how I am learning to view my depression.  A friendship I do not want to nurture, but present nonetheless.  

The origins of my disease harkens back to my childhood, the environment I grew up in and the relationships I was born into.  I can understand now, how I’ve adopted early coping mechanisms for survival that no longer serve me in adulthood. 

Maybe depression isn’t so much a friend, but a messenger.  There is a deeper message to take in,  with patience and a compassionate curiosity to listen. 

Pain requires my ultimate presence. 
Still, after crying, and feeling sorry for myself, there is still work to be done.  (Gotta put on my big boi pants)  What is the point of diagnosis, if not a search for the cure?  I am very slowly, learning to re-assess my yamas and niyamas.  

Knowledge should lead to action, even when I feel like a piece of shit. 

…“to one of discrimination, everything is painful,” it becomes, “To one of discrimination, everything is pleasurable”. 

                                                 The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali