Transcendentalism

 "Amidst materialists, zealots, and skeptics, the Transcendentalist believed in perpetual inspiration, the miraculous power of will, and a birthright to universal good. He sought to hold communion face to face with the unnameable Spirit of his spirit, and gave himself up to the embrace of nature's perfect joy, as a babe seeks the breast of a mother." - William Channing, sometime before 1844.
In the 1800s in the USA a diverse group of talented writers and artists were given the label 'Transcendentalists'.  They included Thoreau of Walden Pond fame, Walt Whitman - Leaves of Grass  and Emerson's 
"Standing on the bare ground,--my head bathed by the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite space,--all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eye-ball. I am nothing. I see all. The currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I am part or parcel of God".
"What 19th century American poetry have to do with a retired English teacher in Xi'an, China 2015?" I hear you ask.  Good question.  I love it when my students start to question things I say.  It means they are actually thinking.  19th Century America had vast expanses of rich, luxuriant nature to inspire sublime poetry.  21st century Xi'an has vast crowds of noisy people bustling about, often enshrouded in thick clouds of smog.
     Chinese cities,  in a graphic and tangible fashion, embody many of the challenges facing the modern world.  There are far too many people; they consume countless kilo-watts of non-renewable energy; they pursue new and shiny  material possessions with alarming avidity; they produce mountains of non-recycled garbage on a daily basis.  Available resources are being rapidly consumed and the surrounding environment is becoming increasingly polluted.  The government makes the appropriate noises of concern, but power rests with decision-makers whose continuing prosperity depends on society continuing with more of the same.  I know its not a new story; many are the mighty civilizations that have destroyed themselves through their own behaviour. To a greater or lesser extent this painful reality is mirrored in every 'civilized' city on Earth - it just happens to be very obvious in Xi'an.  Collective humanity seems to lack the moral strength to change.
     Where can we find salvation, or even hope?  Don't count on any particular religion.  Some of our cruelest, most brutal, wantonly destructive wars have been sanctioned (if not caused) by religious zealotry.  Religions need to incorporate certain behaviours in order to survive; behaviours which attract to ordinary human beings - lust for wealth, fame and power..  In doing so they inevitably reflect ordinary human failings.  The original goodness of the founders always becomes submerged over time. 
So, back to the Transcendentalists.  Xi'an is my Walden Pond.  I meditate on the traffic.  There are dancing aunties exercising in the morning, laughing students seeking their lunch at noontime and weary commuters hustling homewards in the evening.  The shopping centres and malls are ubiquitous and  massive.  I'm surrounded by advertisers, but since everything is written in Chinese....I'm immune. A retired western person is uniquely situated to be 'In the world, but not OF the world.'  Because I only teach a little English - only to those that request it.  Because I have enough money to survive and I'm not craving more.  Because the pressures from home are far away and the customs of the land where I am living have no hold on me.  Because I'm moved by curiosity, by wonder, and sometimes by gratitude. The unnameable Spirit of my spirit has room to play.  And when....after some time....you know that personal preferences are arbitrary, inaccurate and fleeting.... you realize that the natural response of one human being to another....is love.
      There are about 10 million people in Xi'an.  Walt Whitman would see 10 million leaves of grass, all bound within the same root system so that there is no particular significance in what happens to one leaf. When you feel this truth the feeling is not death, it's joy.  
       Maybe you don't believe me.  Belief and non-belief don't matter for the leaves of grass.  They are waves in the thought patterns that blow like drifting winds from one cranium to another.  They come, they stay awhile and then they go.  See, here comes another...is it strong or is it gentle?  You cannot hold onto the wind.  Instead, just feel its caress.  Learn to say 'hello' with welcome and 'good bye' with gratitude.  See yourself in another yourself and laugh with the wind as it plays over the grass.