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I woke up early this morning (around 6am) and decided to go to the grocery store to do my week’s shopping. On my way out of the building I noticed that in the vestibule was a person sleeping, with his head completely covered by his jacket and his shoes and keys neatly placed at his side. He didn’t look particularly homeless (neither from his attire nor lack of any other bags or storage nearby) and I stared at this sleeping figure for a brief moment before heading out to the 20 degree weather and the store. On my way back in some 40 minutes later, there he still was, sleeping. I tried not to make too much noise entering the building so as not to disturb his slumber. I wondered on the way up to my apartment how he came to be sleeping there. The keychain next to him made me assume that the keys were for opening doors, so I assumed he normally had a place to go. Perhaps he had been in a fight with his partner or roommate and was kicked out of the house with no other place to go? Perhaps he had arrived too early to start some work shift and decided to grab a little sleep? Perhaps he had come in very drunk from the previous night and simply passed out in the vestibule? I assumed (mostly from the presence of the keys) that he was not homeless, but perhaps I am mistaken and he was trying to find a place out of the punishing, sub freezing and windy streets, having locked up his belongings somewhere else.
It was one of those common moments of downtime when you search for yourself on the internet to see what a prospective client or employer or date might while doing their research on you. As I was perusing the various links displayed in front of me, I noticed that there were three facebook profiles with my exact name, which in and of itself is no big deal, there are a few other people out there that share my name. What was odd is that two of them had a profile picture that was me, and one of them was a profile picture which, although it was posted at one time to my blog, was never used on facebook. A click on that link led me to a profile with my name and my picture, but of someone based in the UK. No other info was available on this other Stephen Suess, but I found it mildly disturbing that someone was using both my picture and name and thus representing himself as me. I reported the violation to facebook and they fortunately disabled the account immediately. I did find out a little later that this is doppelganger week on facebook, but the likelihood that someone I share a name with also looks like me is statistically miniscule, and it would have been nice at least to have been asked before taking my photo and using it that way, no? And besides, I am not famous. Interestingly, a couple hours after reporting the incident on facebook, I can no longer find ANY other “Stephen Suess” on facebook’s search, not even my own (although I can log into it), even though there used to be four. Another mystery…
Like many previous hygiene mysteries in my past, the correct answer probably has to do with training and control. Yet still I wonder: Looking at the picture below of the bathtub with shower handle that is in the apartment I am staying in here in Paris, however does one prevent the water from going all over the place and still clean oneself? I have tried several things. Using the shower head to wet my body, then lathering, then rinsing. Using one hand to shower and the other to clean, then switching hands. Sitting down the entire time. But I feel clumsy and/or not fully clean with each of these. Is a shower curtain so visually unappealing? Any ideas?
With all the places I have been in the past two years, I can’t help but compare and contrast things about the cultures in which I find myself. Each has their own pluses and minuses, and each has an amazing way of revealing something about the human condition and its many adaptations. And I often find a small mystery in one culture that can only be answered by beginning to understand another. Case in point: Mexicans vs. Argentines.
I noted with some frequency when I was living in Mexico the distaste Mexicans have for the Argentines. They would use many words to describe them, but it boiled down to the fact that in Mexico, Argentines are seen to be rather snobbish and arrogant, and it was quite often I would hear Mexicans complaining about how demanding and rude the Argentines were in their eyes. I never really knew exactly what they were going on about, but my Argentine friends in Mexico seemed every bit as down on Mexicans as Mexicans were on them. There was clearly a clash of cultures going on here, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
Now that I have been in Buenos Aires for a month, I think I am beginning to see where the clash is. And it is interesting to note that here in Buenos Aires, I have yet to hear a single negative word spoken about Mexicans or Mexican culture for that matter. In fact, the few Argentines who have spoken of Mexico speak in often glowing terms. This is most likely due to the very small (non-existant?) number of Mexicans that are living here compared with the much larger number of Argentines living in Mexico. (Then again, there does seem to be some real cultural animus towards Peruvians and Bolivians here, but that is a separate matter. Every culture has their own xenophobia.)
One of the things that I have noticed here without a doubt is how direct the people are when speaking. It is not uncommon to hear a grandmother swear like a drunken sailor, have people tell you directly that they are or are not interested in seeing you today, hear strong opinions of all types on delicate matters, etc. In short and in general, they don’t pussyfoot around. Your feelings might be hurt, but you know where you stand with the Argentines.
Things could not be more different in Mexican culture. In Mexico, one almost never says directly what one thinks, it is considered to be rude. I remember many times pulling my hair out trying to understand what Mexicans were really thinking. I actually moved out of my first apartment there because my roommate was so non communicative and afraid of conflict. My friend George, who lived several years in Mexico gave me the following advice that sort of sums it up. He told me that when leaving a party early, for whatever reason, you just have to lie and say “I’ll be right back”, even if you have no intention of coming back. It would be rude to just say “goodbye” or “I have another party to get to” or “I am tired”. George told me that Mexicans much prefer a nice lie to the harsh truth. And I have to admit to experiencing many frustrating planning misadventures just because people thought it rude to say “I can’t make it next Wednesday”. They would much rather agree to something and then just let it drop. Argentines, on the other hand are precisely the opposite. And I have to admit to preferring it that way. My feelings don’t get hurt very easily, and I like to know where I stand with people.
They really remind me a lot of my own family. Maybe because there are so many Germans and East European Jews here, and they have had a rather large impact on the culture, or maybe it is because of something else. In my family, we just say what we are thinking to each other, and nothing is very hidden. I like the fact that we can say what is on our minds and at the end of the day still know that we love each other. This isn’t the same thing as being rude. It is obviously important to take care with people’s feelings. But I can totally see now why there is such friction in Mexico between these two cultures. At the heart of it is a very different sense of propriety and expression.
In sum, and to put it in a kind way for each, one culture places a much higher value on directness, the other a much higher value on politeness.
All over the US, many crosswalks will have a button on them. The purpose of this button is to alert the system that you wish to cross. I have long wondered whether these do in fact link to any system, or are merely there to make the control-happy residents of this country feel as if they have some measure of power over something when in fact they have none. Perhaps it is just the equivalent of the “barber pole” progress bar prevalent in so much software. The bar doesn’t do anything other than alert you that a process is happening (and often times is totally faked), but it does give the illusion that progress is being made and thus calms the user. Similarly, perhaps the button is false comfort, but comfort nonetheless since it supplies the illusion of input or control. What do you think? Does the button actually do anything? 
That’s right, it is time for another of my thrilling exposés, digging deep into the private lives of (semi)famous dead people, based on nothing other than my own sense of gaydar.
I just came back from a visit to Casa Luis Barragán, which was his home and now serves as a museum of sorts. I say of sorts, because you can only visit by appointment and tour, and they will only show you portions of the house. The quality of what we did see was phenomenal and the tour was conducted in a pedagogical manner, taking care to point out the motifs and themes present in the work in a clear way. You can go on either an English or Spanish language tour, although you will need to reserve a place several days in advance. It was a little upsetting that photos of the interior are completely forbidden. We were only allowed to take a few snapshots on the roof and in one of the interior courtyards. I was however blown away by the architecture and design, and even more fascinated by how much the house tells you about his private life. It seems pretty obvious to me after the visit that Luis Barragan was gay, closeted, conflicted as hell about it, and more than a little paranoid.
One of the first things one notices about the house is the intensely private nature of everything. This was a house that turned its back completely to the street, only opening up to its internal garden. All street-facing windows are either translucent, obscured or very small. Even the large roof terrace, which would have afforded a lovely view of the park and surroundings, was circumscribed by high walls to maintain privacy. The rather extreme lengths that Barragán went to in his own house to maintain this privacy is a bit suspect.
There is high tension in the house contrasting the simplicity and monastic quality of the architecture with the splashes of color and sometimes erotic and exotic objets d’art that permeate (penetrate?) the house.
The house itself (and other works) take some inspiration from colonial architecture, especially the architecture of churches and convents. There is a simple, monastic quality throughout the house and an attempt to recreate the massive feel of these older buildings with details that present a thicker, heavier and more permanent-seeming environment. Also taking inspiration from religious settings and Barragán’s own sense of belief, one finds the motif of the cross represented in almost every area of the house, along with many artifacts that are religious in nature (such as carvings of Jesus on the cross, paintings of The Passion, etc).
In addition, it was interesting to note that Luis probably had a bit of the prude in him, as the only guest room in the house contained a single bed in a room resembling a monastic cell. Either he didn’t approve of couples sharing a bed under his roof, or this wasn’t the only spare bedroom in the house. When I noticed that there was also a single bed in Barragán’s own room, I asked our guide about it, and whether Barragán had ever had a wife. His response was that no, Barragán did not have a wife, and that there in fact used to be a larger bed in his own room, but in the last years of his life he was stricken with Parkinson’s, and it was easier for his attendants to move him from the single bed.
There were a number of places in the house that were off limits. When we asked about them, we were told that they were “in use”. When pressed, our tour guide explained that parts of the house were still lived in, by a man in his late 50s who was “a friend and collaborator” of Barragan. Apparently the house was left to him when Barragán died in 1988. Interesting, no?
At one point in the tour we were in one of Barragán’s various private offices, and on the wall was a picture of the architect as a young man. He was a bit of a dandy, I could tell that much from the photo.
Since coming back from the house, I have combed the internet for biographies of Barragán and not a single one mentions anything about his personal life. The closest we get is that he was friendly with various artists and collaborators. His biographies are as obscure and protected as his house. From the various clues, what I can piece together is that this man was very guarded about his private life, and was probably not a little conflicted and tortured by the tension between his deeply held religious convictions, his homosexual desire, and his public or professional persona.
I wonder, if he had been born many years later and had been able to live an open life, what influence that would have had, if any, on his work. It is clear that, personal issues aside, his art was very much a product of his particular worldview and his particular place in the history of modernism. He has had an amazing impact on a great number of architects. The formal language he left behind is of incredible value, and the spaces he created impart a simple, meditative peace to those that experience them. It was most likely his personal search for this meditative peace, for a way to reconcile the disparate parts of his life, that led him to create in the way that he did.
I had another great meditation course at Tushita this morning. Then we were informed that because it was the full moon, there would be a special reading of the Sanghata Sutra. Interested in hearing the reading of the sutra (upon discovering it would be read in English), Juliette and I decided to stay for it. When we got to the gompa, they had laid out copies of the sutra on several low tables in front of the meditation mats, and Hedwig (yes, again Hedwig) explained to us how the reading would commence and how being a full moon day this was more auspicious than other days in which to read or chant, and that it would disperse more “positive energy”(her words) than on a normal day. We were told that we would each read the sutra aloud simultaneously but at our own pace.
A couple of months ago I was in Bhutan and on a few occasions was in a monastery in the presence of many monks who appeared to be mumbling, chanting, reading — the composite sound was quite nice and unique to the environment, but I remember having no real idea what they were doing. As we began to read, that particular mystery was solved and although the composite sound was still quite nice to my ear, it no longer contained the question I had posed. I knew now that we were doing the same thing, only in English.
As I got several pages into the text however, I was not so happy. The sutra is full of hellfire and brimstone, reward for good behavior and punishment for bad in a way very similar the Hebrew Torah and Christian Bible. In other words, just in the ways that religion likes to motivate people, by threat and promise. I certainly didn’t come all this way in life just to pick up that old bag. I put down the sutra after skimming the rest, mildly off put.
It was interesting how at odds this sutra was from the lovely odes to universal compassion for all beings that are at the center of our meditations. And to me, how at odds with the core of Buddhist ideas involving awareness and release from craving or aversion. Oh well. The meditations are still great, and compassion is still great. As always for me, the imagery and ritual get in the way of the big ideas.
Beijing has been very interesting, and raises a huge number of questions for me.
The city is spotless and there seems to be new construction everywhere (probably in prep for the Olympics). I can’t get over how shiny and new everything feels (even the old stuff). The air pollution, while not great, is way better than Xian.
The Forbidden City is OVERWHELMING. There is no other way to describe it. It is massive and impressive as hell, but very difficult to integrate in a 3 hour visit. It is the kind of place that needs to be visited piecemeal over many months. It is so extensive that one really gets overloaded and loses the awe of the place. By the end of 3 hours, we just wanted to escape.
Taxi hailing is a mystery in this city. There are taxi stands that one can go to and SOMETIMES taxis will stop, sometimes not. Outside of that, one SHOULD be able to hail a taxi anywhere, but they take one look at us and mostly keep on going. Can anyone enlighten me? I do seem to be able to get them if I wait in front of a hotel and ask the doorman to hail.
Gay life seems pretty open here, much more so than in India. We went to a nice bar last night called Destination. I met a sweet guy from Los Angeles and we hung out. (I did feel a little guilty I admit, like I should be more focused on local, ahem, cuisine.)
What is the sound of the meditation room (or “Dhamma Hall” as they called it in Igatpuri)? Burping and farting mostly, with some coughing, sneezing and smaller helpings of unidentifiable cracking or wheezing. I am finally able to concentrate mostly on my breathing, but interrupted often by the massive amounts of flatulence in the hall.
Today I am supposed to further refine my concentration by focusing on a small triangle defined by the top of my nose and extending to the two corners of my mouth. I am supposed to notice the flow of air within the nostrils. I watch this for hours (and hours) and by about 4 in the afternoon I start to feel that the inside of my nose is all tingly and feeling a little numb. I am worried that this will interfere with my ability to feel the air inside and that I am a doing something wrong, perhaps forcing too much air back and forth and that I have caused some odd muscle twitching that will impede my progress. At least the throbbing and shooting pain in my back has now transformed to just regular pain. On the other hand, all of this cross-legged sitting is starting to do a number on my knees, the right one in particular.
On a side note, I have finally understood something that has long confused me about meditators. In the past I never understood (if the goal of meditation is a kind of tranquil calm and relaxation) why meditators would drink tea which has caffeine in it. I realize with this practice that a mind that can focus is of utmost importance, and caffeine is a big help in sharpening the mind. Mystery solved.
At that evening’s DVD discourse entitled (surprise) “Vipassana 10 Day Meditation Course: Day 2″, I am thrilled to learn that the odd feeling in my nose is exactly what they were looking for and a sign that I am becoming aware of subtler sensations. For some reason I find total elation in this and am able to think of this as the very rational, scientific, experience based technique that Goenka tells us this is. Goenka starts to explain the reason for the conditioning we are going through, with the goal being to train the mind to notice ever subtler sensations within the body. He gives us a little preview of day three telling us that we will further restrict the area of study to the trapezoid defined by the corners of the mouth up to the bottom of the nostrils. I can’t wait.
Hard to believe it has already been a month that I have been in Thailand. What started as a serious case of culture shock is now a fairly strong satisfaction over the wonder of travel here and what I have learned. I plan to be back (for my birthday bash) next June, and hope to see even more of the country at that time.
In an hour I leave for the airport, where I will catch my Air India flight to Bombay. Stay tuned for a whole new round of culture shock (or not).
By the way, I mostly figured out the hose thing next to the toilet and how to use it to clean one’s ass. As with most things, it just takes a little practice. With the right angle and pressure control, one can get very clean with almost no water splashing about. I still needed at least one square of TP, however to dry off.
Enjoy folks, I’ll be here all year.
