Petals From The Sky Part 25

She looked at me with a deadpan expression. "Until not a single speck of sand is left. Washing rice is actually washing our heart and purifying our mind. We have to rinse and cook with one mind and one heart. Only after that can we have our mindful lunch."

She went on, looking even more serious. "Moreover, Zen cooking advocates three virtues: purity, freshness, harmony. That's why we're vegetarians. Because rich meat dishes confuse both our heart and mind, leaving no room for discipline and reflection. Not to mention the unnecessary killing of other sentient beings."

Her seriousness and her eagerness to lecture impressed me, but they also made me want to giggle. With an effort to keep my face solemn, I asked politely, "Shifu, do you mean rinsing rice is actually a form of meditation?"

"Yes, of course."

Now I couldn't help but tease. "Then, Shifu, is there any sleeping meditation, mindful sleep?"

To my surprise, her answer was, "Well, of course."

"You're serious? How?"

"Simple. You go to bed, focus on your breath, and empty your mind. Not only that, you'll fall asleep faster and more naturally and you'll be freed from nightmares."

But at night when I lay in my bed, my mind, instead of being empty, was visited by New York thoughts, like ghosts wandering toward me from eight thousand miles away.

Yi Kong asked me to meditate three hours at a time, both in the morning and afternoon. Every day she'd come into the room to burn incense, pay respects to the small Buddha statue on the altar, then sit with me. Sometimes, during the burning of one incense stick, we'd recite together the Heart Sutra or the Incantation of Great Compa.s.sion-to acc.u.mulate merit for suffering souls, dead or alive. Other times we'd chant-Praise to the Incense Burner, Praise to the Ten Directions, Fragrance for Discipline and Meditation, and, of course, the Heart Sutra-until I felt my mind being carried away by Yi Kong's powerful voice, toward another level of consciousness.

Sometimes during our zazen, zazen, sitting meditation, when Yi Kong noticed that I was becoming restless or falling asleep, she'd wake me up and lead me in walking meditation. During tea break, we would enthusiastically engage in conversations about arts and Dharma. This always made me feel achingly nostalgic, remembering the years when my world had known no man, no Michael, no Philip, no Lisa, no love, no confusions, but only Yi Kong and her beautiful art objects, and, of course, the always trouble-free, compa.s.sionate G.o.ddess of Mercy. sitting meditation, when Yi Kong noticed that I was becoming restless or falling asleep, she'd wake me up and lead me in walking meditation. During tea break, we would enthusiastically engage in conversations about arts and Dharma. This always made me feel achingly nostalgic, remembering the years when my world had known no man, no Michael, no Philip, no Lisa, no love, no confusions, but only Yi Kong and her beautiful art objects, and, of course, the always trouble-free, compa.s.sionate G.o.ddess of Mercy.

This retreat brought back all the pleasant memories of earlier years. I still felt very fond of the nunnery. Of course, I admired Yi Kong the most, but my second favorite nun was the very young Enlightened to Emptiness. She was so simple and innocent that I secretly wished she were the little sister I'd never had.

But soon my fondness for the young nun was tested. One day, feeling restless during meditation, I decided to visit Yi Kong. A few steps before I reached my mentor's office, I took several deep breaths, smoothed my black robe, and tried to calm myself.

The door had been left ajar, and as I was about to knock, bits of conversation flowed into my ears.

A familiar young girl's voice chimed, "Wow, this is a masterpiece!"

Then Yi Kong's authoritative voice. "It's skillful. But the face is too sweet. Guan Yin can look beautiful, but never sweet. Don't forget that Guan Yin listens to the tears of the world and then reaches out to help. So her expression should be compa.s.sionate, slightly sad rather than sweet."

I peeked in from the doorway and saw Yi Kong and, to my bitterness, Enlightened to Emptiness. A realization hit me-Yi Kong was teaching her to appreciate Buddhist art as she had me fifteen years ago! I could almost smell something bitter simmering in the air as another realization arose: Yi Kong seemed to be training Enlightened to Emptiness to be her Dharma heir!

Now Yi Kong was taking down an art book from the shelf and showing it to the young novice. The familiar voice snaked its way to my ears, asking the young nun the same question she had asked me years ago: "I'd like to teach you Zen painting; do you want to learn?"

"Oh yes, Shifu, I do!"

Though my decision whether or not to be a nun had occupied the very center of my mind, life in the nunnery was going on without me.

Feeling both sad and angry, I walked aimlessly for a while until I b.u.mped into something lumpy and let out a loud "Ai-ya!" "Ai-ya!"

"Hey, watch out, miss."

I looked up and saw a big-bellied man with an oily, vulgar face. I almost asked, Mr. Vulgar, what do you think you are doing here in this nunnery? Mr. Vulgar, what do you think you are doing here in this nunnery?

We eyed each other suspiciously for a few seconds before we whispered a simultaneous "Sorry." Then, to my utter shock and disbelief, I watched him drag his bulk into Yi Kong's office.

When I was back in my room, my mind was still possessed with that man's vulgar face and the question: what was he doing in Yi Kong's office? Certainly not appreciating art objects. Then a realization hit me so hard that I gulped-he's a big donor to the fast-developing nunnery! That's why Yi Kong had to entertain him!

On the final day of the retreat, while I was helping the nuns to sew meditation cushions, Enlightened to Emptiness came and told me that Yi Kong wanted to see me. I followed her to Yi Kong's office. My mentor was sitting in front of the Guan Yin picture, her face serene as usual. After Enlightened to Emptiness had closed the door and was gone, Yi Kong signaled me to take the seat opposite her.

After I sat down, she said, "How's your meditation going?"

"Fine, Shifu."

"I know you have never had a natural inclination toward meditation. But a lot of people don't. So don't worry about it. Just keep trying."

I nodded. She went on. "I have another plan for you." She paused to search my face. "That is, of course, if you like the idea."

"What is it?"

"The temple will sponsor you to go to China. Remember those pictures of the stone sculptures and cliff statues in Anyue grotto in Sichuan? I want you to doc.u.ment them for our nunnery." She shuffled some papers on the table. "And if we have enough money in the budget, we might even be able to publish your research later. We've already contacted the Circular Reflection Monastery there, and they're very happy to host you. Besides, Enlightened to Emptiness will also go with you as your a.s.sistant."

My heart sank a little upon hearing the novice's name. So Yi Kong was definitely going to train the young nun to succeed her.

"So do you want to go?"

"Of course, Yi Kong Shifu." It wouldn't pay much, if anything, but it would be my first actual job as an art historian.

29.

Wedding Pictures Two days before I was to leave for China, as a farewell treat I took Mother to a teahouse that had a soothing atmosphere and served the best kind of tea.

We sat down just as a young tea ceremony instructor had begun telling the story about the imperial Meng Ding tea.

"Once upon a time in the Qing Yi River," she narrated in her silken voice, "a fish spirit had been meditating strenuously for ten thousand years until she finally transformed into a beautiful young woman.

"One day, dressed as a farm girl, she went to gather tea seeds on the peak of the Meng Mountain and encountered a young man out collecting herbs. They fell in love the instant their eyes met.

"As a token of love, the fish spirit gave her tea seeds to the young man. The lovers vowed to meet again the following year at the mountain peak when the seeds would sprout. The fish spirit said to her lover, 'That will be the day of our marriage.'

"A year later, when spring came again, as they had pledged to each other, the fish spirit and the young man met again on the mountain and married. On their wedding night, the bride took off her white lace shawl and threw it into the air. Mist formed instantly to nourish the tea leaves he had planted. Ever after that, the tea grew luxuriantly, and the couple lived a happy life that was soon blessed with a son and a daughter.

"As good times rarely last long, so the fish spirit's marriage to a mortal was finally discovered by the Qing Yi River G.o.d, who ordered her to return to the river at once. Taking leave with tears and a broken heart, the young mother said to her children, 'You must help your father to take good care of the tea leaves on the mountain...and make sure the mist keeps moistening the leaves.'

"Sixty years pa.s.sed like a horse-leap over a ravine. When the husband had turned eighty, and his children and grandchildren were all grown up, he found his never-ending longing for the fish spirit so unbearable that he jumped into a river and ended his life.

"So great were his accomplishments in tea growing that the emperor conferred on him posthumously the t.i.tle Master of Popular Wisdom and Wonderful Compa.s.sion. The tea he planted on the Meng Mountain was honored as gongcha, gongcha, Tea of the Imperial Offering." Tea of the Imperial Offering."

After the instructor had finished the story and her tea ceremony demonstration, Mother looked relaxed and happy. She sipped her tea with an imperial air. "Ah, excellent tea. And what a touching love story!" Then she went on to praise the tale and the storyteller's pretty Chinese dress and silken voice.

Before I had the chance to say anything, she pulled my sleeve. "Meng Ning, I suddenly feel very hungry; let's find a place to eat."

"But, Ma-"

"Let's go. I'm starving."

We were walking along Waterloo Road. The weather was as hot as the Meng Ding tea. And as intoxicating.

Mother blurted out, "I really love that fish's story. So moving!"

Her eyes glistened and lost their focus. "The story has a sad ending, but at least the fish and the young man were able to get married and have two children; it was not that tragic after all."

In the shop window, my mother's reflection silently overlapped those of other pedestrians on the busy boulevard. Stooping old people, briskly striding young men, shuffling children, giggling teenagers in torn jeans, sweaty construction workers, middle-aged women straining with loaded shopping bags, shiny Mercedes sedans cutting off battered bicycles, packed buses, overloaded trucks lumbering, taxis swishing by, the overpa.s.s looming above...

The Ten Thousand Miles of Red Dust reproduced in the light and shadow of a silent movie.

How peaceful, this world of mirrored images, where people intersect but never interrupt, interact but never interfere. Now even my excitable mother looked happy and relaxed in the shiny, cool gla.s.s. The deep wrinkles around the eyes of her seasoned doll's face turned into fine lines, like subtle cracks on the glaze of an antique vase. Even her dyed black hair had a more natural shade. Mother seemed to have forgotten her hunger, her eyes absorbing the commodities displayed behind the gla.s.s.

"Hey, look, Meng Ning, Sally Yeh in a wedding gown!" Mother stopped in front of a bridal salon; her eyes fixed on a huge picture of the Hong Kong pop singer. "Very fancy, isn't it? French sixteenth-century cla.s.sical court style." She was reading from a small ad next to the picture.

"Yes, but a distasteful imitation." Her easily distracted attention annoyed me.

Mother raised her voice to compete with the street noise. "Hey, look, she took the picture at the garden of Versailles, in France."

"Yes, Ma, it is the garden of Versailles, but not in France. Can't you tell the background is just a blown-up studio picture?"

Mother seemed determined not to be discouraged by any of my negative responses. "Hey, look how beautiful she is in her bridal makeup."

"No, too loud. Ma, don't you see that everything on her face is overdone? Too many colors on the eyelids, the nose shadow is too deep...and...you see those eyelashes? They're too long and too thick, too artificial! Besides, how come her grin is so big? In the past, women were not supposed to reveal their teeth when they smiled. A bride has to be bashful and demure, at least pretend and act that way, not baring her teeth immodestly like this-"

"It's theatrical," Mother said, finally cutting off my harangue. "Like in Beijing opera. You like Beijing opera, don't you?"

I did.

I remembered as a child how I was thrilled by the actors with their lianpu, lianpu, multicolored face patterns. My tiny heart never failed to be captivated by patterns moving on the actors' faces as if a giant portrait were springing to life! multicolored face patterns. My tiny heart never failed to be captivated by patterns moving on the actors' faces as if a giant portrait were springing to life!

Mother had eagerly taught me how to recognize their symbols. White Face is bad, so be careful of him; Black Face is righteous, so pay respect to him; Green Face is cunning and touchy, so stay away from him; Red Face is brave and courageous, so applaud him; Gold Face is either an emperor or a n.o.bleman, so emulate him.

But not until I grew up did I realize people can put more than one lianpu lianpu on their faces. That was more than my mother had taught me. And it takes one lifetime, or many lifetimes, to learn to strip away all the layers until you catch a glimpse of the truth. Or of nothingness, as you discover at the end of the tearful process of peeling an onion. on their faces. That was more than my mother had taught me. And it takes one lifetime, or many lifetimes, to learn to strip away all the layers until you catch a glimpse of the truth. Or of nothingness, as you discover at the end of the tearful process of peeling an onion.

Now as I searched Sally Yeh's painted face, her eyes stared back at me from behind the gla.s.s, as if beckoning me to enter her dream-world. I wondered who was the real woman hiding behind this pretty mask, and whether she was really as happy about getting married as she looked.

My childhood efforts to identify lianpu lianpu still groped in a maze. For the human face, as constant as it seems, is in fact as capricious and camouflaged as the human heart. still groped in a maze. For the human face, as constant as it seems, is in fact as capricious and camouflaged as the human heart.

I peeked at Mother. She was still studying the pop singer with great envy and absorption, oblivious to a giggling teenage couple and a band of four marching housewives pushing by her.

"Ah, how beautiful she is, wearing all her fancy jewelry," Mother said, hiding her bare hands behind her. "See, Meng Ning," she said, her voice soaked with feeling, "Sally Yeh is still single, so nowadays you don't have to get married to take wedding pictures. The newspaper says it's fashionable for young women to dress as a bride only to look pretty and to take pictures as souvenirs. I think you should also take pictures like this while you still look young."

I snapped, "But, Ma, I am not a pop singer, and this is just an advertis.e.m.e.nt."

Mother's face stiffened. "Of course you're not a pop singer. You're better, much better!" Then she sighed, muttering to herself, "Hai, then why aren't there many men knocking at your door?" then why aren't there many men knocking at your door?"

I pretended not to have heard her. She went on, this time staring right into my eyes. "Meng Ning, don't act stuck-up and chase men away. And don't be overly choosy so you end up getting only the leftover rotten apples at the bottom of a moldy crate."

I remained silent. She gave me a chiding glance. "You're very pretty and talented, so I really don't believe there're no men prostrating at your feet. It must be your att.i.tude. You know the proverb 'Gorgeous as the peaches and plums, cold as the ice and frost'?"

Seeing that I still didn't respond, Mother plunged on: "I have taught you many things, but never to snub men, especially the good ones like doctors, lawyers, or even engineers."

"Ma-" Suddenly Michael's face, looming large, squeezed out all thoughts in my mind.

"What?"

I blurted out before I could stop myself, "Actually, someone has just proposed to me."

Mother had a stunned expression, as if her teenage daughter had just told her that she was pregnant. "Really?"

"Yes."

She studied me with a puzzled expression, ignoring a withered old woman pushing through the s.p.a.ce between her and the shop window.

"Is it true?" A smile was gradually blooming on her face. "Then why didn't you tell me earlier? Who is he?"

"He...he's an American."

"ABC?" She meant American-born Chinese.

"No, he's...white."

"You mean a white ghost?"

Although Mother looked happy having learned that someone had proposed to me, she didn't look pleased that he was an "old barbarian."

Because, in Mother's opinion, foreigners were synonymous with wantonness and debauchery. When she was in a bad mood, they would even be carriers of an unspeakable disease. When I'd prepared my trip to the States, she'd said, "Ah, very brave, go to America and deal with barbarians. I'll never have your guts, I don't want to catch AIDS!" Of course she didn't mean s.e.x, but sitting on a chair someone with AIDS had sat on, that sort of thing.

"But, Ma, please don't use that ugly word. Michael is very nice to me and-"

"Mic Ko?" Mother pinched her eyes into slits. "When did this Mic Ko propose?"

"A month ago."

"How long have you known each other?"

"A few months."

Mother s.n.a.t.c.hed a paper fan from her handbag, snapped it open, and fanned impatiently. "Too quick! That's typical American. Can't wait, everything rush, rush, rush! Instant tea, instant coffee, instant s.e.x, instant marriage, instant divorce! Can't sit down for ten minutes to brew tea, spend another ten to appreciate the leaves, another five to smell its fragrance, and another five to sip. That's why Americans have no culture, because they have no time!"

After Mother had finished repeating the tea instructor's lecture and criticizing American culture, she paused to look into my eyes. "Ah, innocent girl. Love and marriage are never as simple as that. Don't believe the Chinese saying 'If you're in love, you'll eat your fill by drinking water.' I suffered enough from that with your father. And if it's with a barbarian, that's worse. Americans always think everything in their country is better than ours, except Suzie Wong."