LET IT FLOW
A fluffy snow flurry greeted me at Choonchun retreat house in Korea. On March 1. Coming from Malaysia, someone made a wish on our behalf to see snow though the odds were against us. While my body was in a state of shock coming from year-round heat, my eyes feasted and instinctively gazed into the white sky above to be in wonder. “A gift from heaven,” my wife remarked. I felt loved and cared for by the Giver of all good gifts.
I am back in Seoul now, sitting in an ever-efficient and predictable Starbucks on the 2nd floor near the window engaged in people-watching. I don’t know how but I developed an odd habit of looking at people’s eyes, complete strangers, when I think and write. So sitting on the 2nd floor looking down helps me to avoid possible discomfort of people from a stranger soullessly peering and tracing the people waking by.
When not engaged in looking down at people, my eyes take in the wide view of the ten-lane major thoroughfare, counting more buses in two hours than all the buses I would see in one year back in Southern California. Looking above and beyond the immediate buildings, I see the trees bare in brown and exposed except for a handful of slender pine trees. Rather than the sky hanging above the tree line, I see the blue sky right through the trees. We are at the foot of Gwanak Mountain and near the university campus, so we are surrounded by young people as well as hikers, all decked out. It is 39 degrees outside, and I hear people walking by saying, “Spring is here.” For me, it is dead winter. . . Funny how we all see things differently based on our experiences.
Coming to Korea from Malaysia felt peculiar. Aside from the fact that the flight was around six hours which was a welcome change, my wife and I struggled to find words to describe how it was different. After a few silent minutes, my wife summarized, “I feel like I’m coming home.” As I sit with the statement and while I resonate with the sentiment, I also am beginning to feel like Malaysia is our home, for now. How I would feel returning to Malaysia from Korea would be telling.
As we continued probing, we both remembered Ruthie’s prophetic word a year ago about “having multiple addresses”. Before coming to Korea, I was trying to order something online in Malaysia, and for a split second, I wasn’t sure what address to put down. There was one other time I was required to write my home address, I hesitated enough to realize my hesitancy. If “multiple addresses” are to become a reality, then I’d better learn to be at home wherever it may be amid transiency and flow.
A few minutes ago, an army of five ahjummas (a term for older ladies in Korean) found their seats right next to us. I quickly resorted to my reliable AirPods Pro to drown their booming voices. When the group surpasses four people, my working theory is that it becomes very possible to have multiple conversations taking place at the same time, thus making the groups louder. And this group is not an exception this morning.
“I feel like an eagle scanning the landscape below,” I replied to my wife in a group spiritual direction session a week after we arrived in Malaysia. As we were participating in a visio divina on Van Gogh’s Wheatfield with Cypresses painting, I shared that I have been multiple things in my recent life: a blade of ripened wheat grass, a rock, a tall cypress tree, and a wildflower. Being feeble and helpless while being swayed by the wind of change is like being a blade. Keeping steady, focused, and insistent in the midst of changes and staying with our vision is like being a rock. Being visible and providing hospitality by hosting the birds of the air is like being a cypress tree. Pursuing my innate natural beauty, and strength, and embracing all colors of life is like being a wildflower. I have been all of these in recent years. Now, I see myself outside the painting, like an eagle riding the air, scoping the earth below: to discern further and farther how to engage.
The ahjummas left within an hour. But my AirPods Pro is still on and playing Spotify. I find myself sometimes following the songs and sometimes following the song of my heart.