Hitting the Wall

This week I went though what some call the second phase of culture shock. Borrowing a term I heard once, I call it ‘hitting the wall.’ It’s a phase where daily life seems to be an illusion, like if you fold away the top layer you’d see everything being done in the way you’re used to. Sometimes during the period you let yourself get frustrated to the point of anger. That feeling is hard to shake.

I think in order to get over the wall or break through it you have to employ some interesting tactics. In the past it has helped for me to get away to a different place. You don’t know what you got until it’s gone, right? This time I found myself at the tops of temples looking out over farms, rivers, factories, and other symbols of Chinese history. Yet there I was at the top. Sometimes I found myself inside the main shrine room at a temple. Pious worshipers kowtowed and gave gifts while I stood in the back intently observing, always the outsider. At first I resented my position. Of course, that was the culture shock talking. Now I see that I don’t have to go away or resign to eating at McDonald’s or KFC to get over culture shock. I just have to believe that there is no wall.

What does this have to do with this week’s analect? I think that governing a state must be hard. Governing oneself is hard enough, let alone 1000 chariots. There are many ways to govern as well. Just look at the differences between China and the United States. I think both countries and every other country have developed in imperfect ways. Like most individuals, I think government officials will really only be able to say that they tried. Perhaps nine out of ten fail or maybe it’s the opposite. Either way I agree with Confucius when he said, “To govern means to be upright. Who would dare not to be upright if you took the lead in being upright?” (Wangdao 131). If there are still people taking the time to climb mountains and worship then someone must be doing something right. It all boils down to faith in my opinion. The wall you hit and continue to bang your head against is actually just your reservoir of faith, which means there is an open door somewhere.

If none of this makes any sense (which it might not knowing the state I’m in at the moment) no worries. Below is a poem that I wrote after visiting one of the temples. It could serve as entertainment or further confusion :)

Processions with a cacophony of percussion
One beat in a thousand hits right on time
Smoke and ashes are the veil between life and death,
faith and fear
Dropping to fragile knees the old give all
The young follow their footsteps in flashy shoes and jeans
Their lives are colorful
but are they rich,
like the temples and the thick incense
that embrace the fabric of shirts, hats,
skin, memories, and lives?
If the scent does not linger
the smoke is not true
Truth lingers
carries on in waves,
the child of wanderlust
Everything is affected
and it bring us here
But I am just an outsider
This worship is just as foreign to me as I am to it
yet the smoke lingers on me
not knowing any differences
filling my nose with sweet-smelling wishes
my yellow hair a pillow for the ashes of prayers
I will take it,
the smoke and ashes
and prayers
One day a new wave will find me
Its wandering ways will be mine
and the smoke alive in my skin will linger here
no longer an outsider