Pieces of China: Part 1
Chinese Recollections: Dignity and Poise
Across the road from the hotel, beside the rubble of abandoned demolition, sits a tiny cave-like shop selling more things than would seem possible in such a small space. It is immersed in the fumes of traffic and sewage, and thick dust blows up from the potholes when motorcycles bolt past. The shopkeeper greets me with the noble eyes of a good king, and the serene smile of a saint. His riches are not the broom handles or tea cartons that surround him, but poise, courtesy, carefulness, and kindness. I relish my daily visit, observing him with fascination. He is a portrait of rare dignity. Returning my look with a cavernous depth, he smiles as if from his whole being.
I revisit that smile in my mind’s eye time and time again. It reminds me that although a slave may possibly be stripped of dignity, a servant’s dignity can easily exceed that of the one whom he serves.
That dignity seems evident to some extent in everyone I see in China. I realise I am purposely searching for someone displaying any hint of anxiety or self-consciousness. There is no sign of either affliction! Neither is there much sign of overt spirituality, but it’s as if people carry an invisible temple within them. They seem somehow aware of themselves in a way I have not seen anywhere else in the world. Ancient wisdom sits beneath youthful, forward-looking openness.
The most fitting word I can find to describe the cultural atmosphere is “auspicious.” Every action follows a kind of stately confidence and measured deliberation. There is symbolism in every colour and form. The corners of buildings are even rounded so as not to block subtle energy. From the character on a hanging lantern, to the positioning of a charm, to the assumption of a Tai Chi pose, or the pouring of tea, everything carries a significance hidden beyond the veneer of outer appearance.
Along the waters of a small port, row upon row of fishing boats butt against one another. The archetypal pirate ship must have been born somewhere in these ranks. Dark flags point out above turned wooden railings, perched along blunt, formidable bows. Families wearing contented smiles move slowly and talk loudly, peering out at me from behind piles of netting. A child of four or five pushes out from her floating home, poised on a square raft, paddling with a long plastic spoon. She drifts further and further away, not looking behind her, but singing cheerfully to herself; absorbed in her journey. On reaching the boundaries of comfortable distance, she drops into the water, swimming smoothly back home with a bright grin and the raft in tow.
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July 26th, 2008 at 10:44 pm
Great story Sumangali. I eagerly await reading the second installment