Showing posts with label Language. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Language. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
International, Identity
At my studio yesterday three of us had gathered in the hallway to chat about an event we are planning. There wa A., whose showroom is filled with colorful handmade crafts from his native Morocco, and L., a painter who just moved to the Boston area from France, and me, born here but with a lingering longing for other lands. Briefly, but briefly, our conversation veered into French, which I understand to some degree but barely speak. I managed to put together a complete sentence and ask a question, communicating with the others. Speaking a foreign language subtly but suddenly shifts my inner gears. Having access to other languages, but not being completely fluent in them, I can only express myself simply and directly, without resorting to cleverness, elaboration or obfuscation. I can no longer fool myself. When I shift into globetrotting mode, all that matters is that I am a human being, interacting with other human beings, transcending our particular place-based identities. My persona falls away and I become, simply, a person. It is such a blissful relief.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Isagogics
Flipping through my dictionary, I found this somewhat relevant "I" word which means:
Introductory study; especially, the study of the literary history of the Bible, considered as introductory to the study of Bible interpretation.
Yesterday at synagogue, we started a fresh round of Torah reading with the first part of the creation story. But before anyone uttered the first word, "B'reishit" (normally translated as "in the beginning"), our rabbi gave a brief overview of the different ways or levels in which the Torah can be read.
There is the peshat (surface) level, where each word is taken literally. Of course, even peshat isn't so simple, as certain words can have multiple meanings and there are some words that appear in the Torah only once, making it difficult to be completely sure what that meaning is. And plenty of the words in the Torah derive from even more ancient languages (how's your Ugaritic?) or refer to things, places or creatures that no longer exist. The next level is called remez, focusing on allusions or allegories in the text. The third level is called derash, where we look to the text in the Torah to answer a contemporary question, teasing out relevance with creative interpretations. In other words, we take the stories as written and make up new stories to breathe life into the text. And finally we can read Torah on the level of sod, the hidden and mystical.
Our Torah study session on Saturday mornings (before services start) is just a therapist's hour in length (we're lucky if we're at it for a full 50 minutes), and you could spend multiples of that time discussing just the first few verses of the Old Testament on all four levels, especially when you have a group of 30+ people, many of whom have something valuable to share.
In fact, one could spend a long time discussing just the third word of Genesis, "Elohim", which is in plural form even though it just refers to a singular God. Is it possibly a reference to the fact that at the time the Old Testament was written people believed that a whole group of gods had created the earth? Read in such a way, the Bible raises more questions than it answers. And our rabbi reminded us that even though the creation story is lovely and rather poetic (e.g. "God divided the light from the darkness" and "Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters"), in a few chapters God gets upset and destroys it all (you know, the flood!).
Sounds to me like God is an artist who, displeased with her first attempt at creating, wrecks it and tries, tries again. It is comforting to remember that even God didn't get things right the first time. The other piece that stuck with me is the idea that God created the world with words - not with a magic wand, not with esoteric gestures, not with a great wind.
Words.
And so we create our own worlds with our words. The words we use to describe the people and situations in our lives are like paints. Do we pick the ones that create a hopeful and inspiring picture or choose words that perpetuate negativity and confusion? Can we step back from our experience and look at it, much like a painter steps back to examine her canvas, and find words to describe it that are positive and encouraging?
I often feel like I need to (re)write my own story, starting once again with b'reishit, in the beginning, developing a plot from a much kinder and compassionate place than I've been able to access during previous drafts.
Introductory study; especially, the study of the literary history of the Bible, considered as introductory to the study of Bible interpretation.
Yesterday at synagogue, we started a fresh round of Torah reading with the first part of the creation story. But before anyone uttered the first word, "B'reishit" (normally translated as "in the beginning"), our rabbi gave a brief overview of the different ways or levels in which the Torah can be read.
There is the peshat (surface) level, where each word is taken literally. Of course, even peshat isn't so simple, as certain words can have multiple meanings and there are some words that appear in the Torah only once, making it difficult to be completely sure what that meaning is. And plenty of the words in the Torah derive from even more ancient languages (how's your Ugaritic?) or refer to things, places or creatures that no longer exist. The next level is called remez, focusing on allusions or allegories in the text. The third level is called derash, where we look to the text in the Torah to answer a contemporary question, teasing out relevance with creative interpretations. In other words, we take the stories as written and make up new stories to breathe life into the text. And finally we can read Torah on the level of sod, the hidden and mystical.
Our Torah study session on Saturday mornings (before services start) is just a therapist's hour in length (we're lucky if we're at it for a full 50 minutes), and you could spend multiples of that time discussing just the first few verses of the Old Testament on all four levels, especially when you have a group of 30+ people, many of whom have something valuable to share.
In fact, one could spend a long time discussing just the third word of Genesis, "Elohim", which is in plural form even though it just refers to a singular God. Is it possibly a reference to the fact that at the time the Old Testament was written people believed that a whole group of gods had created the earth? Read in such a way, the Bible raises more questions than it answers. And our rabbi reminded us that even though the creation story is lovely and rather poetic (e.g. "God divided the light from the darkness" and "Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters"), in a few chapters God gets upset and destroys it all (you know, the flood!).
Sounds to me like God is an artist who, displeased with her first attempt at creating, wrecks it and tries, tries again. It is comforting to remember that even God didn't get things right the first time. The other piece that stuck with me is the idea that God created the world with words - not with a magic wand, not with esoteric gestures, not with a great wind.
Words.
And so we create our own worlds with our words. The words we use to describe the people and situations in our lives are like paints. Do we pick the ones that create a hopeful and inspiring picture or choose words that perpetuate negativity and confusion? Can we step back from our experience and look at it, much like a painter steps back to examine her canvas, and find words to describe it that are positive and encouraging?
I often feel like I need to (re)write my own story, starting once again with b'reishit, in the beginning, developing a plot from a much kinder and compassionate place than I've been able to access during previous drafts.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Improv, Weeks 4 & 5
Today was my last improv class, and I was left hungering for more. It seemed as if we, or maybe I, had just gotten into the swing of things when the workshop came to a close.
Last week, in class #4, just three of us showed up, giving us each more time to play, act and express. I "starred" in a comedy skit featuring two people who met shopping at Whole Foods and who were obsessed with reading food labels and with what they put into their bodies. In the course of our improvised dialogue, I invented a gadget called the iCombine, like an iPod for health nuts, which allows you to select images of various foods with a stylus and then the screen shows you if they combine in a nutritionally positive way or not. If anyone reading this likes the idea and can create it, let me know and I'll tell you where to send me my royalty checks.
One of the roles I played today was that of an illegal Mexican migrant worker who speaks no English, and the feds have come to check everyone's papers. My acting partner and I "escaped" being caught and possibly deported by traveling on the underside of a farm truck, hanging onto the axle and onto each for dear life. The coach then asked me to deliver a speech, in English and Spanish (which I speak, albeit rustily), to a crowd of thousands who were gathered to protest recent immigration legislation. I learned afterward, from my classmates and the coach, that the part of the speech I delivered in Spanish was much more emotional and powerful than what I had said in English, that my whole demeanor changed when speaking Espanol. Their remarks confirmed what I've felt ever since learning Spanish, that this language gives me access to parts of myself that seem to be somewhat locked up in English. It is truly odd to contemplate that, in some ways, I am more authentic when not speaking my native tongue, that English limits my expressiveness. Perhaps it is the nature of Spanish itself or that I feel freer using another culture's words, intonations and gestures, as they are not burdened by early conditioning about what can be said, and how. Hopefully I will be able to translate my Spanish self back into English.
To close, some thoughts on how to approach life itself as an improvisation:
1) Say YES! When life "offers" something, just as a partner in improvisation will offer up a scene or a plot, accept the offer. For me, this is a great form of spiritual practice, as my earlier "training" in life has had me saying "maybe", "I'll think about it", or just plain old "no." Somewhere along the way I picked up that being enthusiastic was not in keeping with (my idea of) being sophisticated, or maybe my ego would be unhappy that someone other than me came up with a great idea. It is time to let these notions drop.
2) Make offers! In addition to saying "yes" to another actor's offer, it is important to keep making offers oneself. If not, it is the equivalent of having your tennis partner hit balls over the net while you just stand there, watching them roll away, refusing to swing your racket. Most of us would not play tennis this way, but sometimes we play life this way. And sometimes I feel as if I am the one hitting balls across the net, only to have no one hit them back. It is hard to know if I've chosen the wrong partners or if I'm simply hitting the balls too hard.
3) Take risks! You could say that making an offer is taking a risk, but for people who are comfortable making offers, the risk might be to make new kinds of offers, or to behave in ways that are somewhat "out of character", as it were. Taking risks requires moment-to-moment awareness, stepping into a potentially scary space to try out new behavior. Easier said than done, but I intend to continue to try.
Last week, in class #4, just three of us showed up, giving us each more time to play, act and express. I "starred" in a comedy skit featuring two people who met shopping at Whole Foods and who were obsessed with reading food labels and with what they put into their bodies. In the course of our improvised dialogue, I invented a gadget called the iCombine, like an iPod for health nuts, which allows you to select images of various foods with a stylus and then the screen shows you if they combine in a nutritionally positive way or not. If anyone reading this likes the idea and can create it, let me know and I'll tell you where to send me my royalty checks.
One of the roles I played today was that of an illegal Mexican migrant worker who speaks no English, and the feds have come to check everyone's papers. My acting partner and I "escaped" being caught and possibly deported by traveling on the underside of a farm truck, hanging onto the axle and onto each for dear life. The coach then asked me to deliver a speech, in English and Spanish (which I speak, albeit rustily), to a crowd of thousands who were gathered to protest recent immigration legislation. I learned afterward, from my classmates and the coach, that the part of the speech I delivered in Spanish was much more emotional and powerful than what I had said in English, that my whole demeanor changed when speaking Espanol. Their remarks confirmed what I've felt ever since learning Spanish, that this language gives me access to parts of myself that seem to be somewhat locked up in English. It is truly odd to contemplate that, in some ways, I am more authentic when not speaking my native tongue, that English limits my expressiveness. Perhaps it is the nature of Spanish itself or that I feel freer using another culture's words, intonations and gestures, as they are not burdened by early conditioning about what can be said, and how. Hopefully I will be able to translate my Spanish self back into English.
To close, some thoughts on how to approach life itself as an improvisation:
1) Say YES! When life "offers" something, just as a partner in improvisation will offer up a scene or a plot, accept the offer. For me, this is a great form of spiritual practice, as my earlier "training" in life has had me saying "maybe", "I'll think about it", or just plain old "no." Somewhere along the way I picked up that being enthusiastic was not in keeping with (my idea of) being sophisticated, or maybe my ego would be unhappy that someone other than me came up with a great idea. It is time to let these notions drop.
2) Make offers! In addition to saying "yes" to another actor's offer, it is important to keep making offers oneself. If not, it is the equivalent of having your tennis partner hit balls over the net while you just stand there, watching them roll away, refusing to swing your racket. Most of us would not play tennis this way, but sometimes we play life this way. And sometimes I feel as if I am the one hitting balls across the net, only to have no one hit them back. It is hard to know if I've chosen the wrong partners or if I'm simply hitting the balls too hard.
3) Take risks! You could say that making an offer is taking a risk, but for people who are comfortable making offers, the risk might be to make new kinds of offers, or to behave in ways that are somewhat "out of character", as it were. Taking risks requires moment-to-moment awareness, stepping into a potentially scary space to try out new behavior. Easier said than done, but I intend to continue to try.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Dorchester Dim Sum
Here I am, just a few postings into this blog, and you've noticed that I've already bent my rule about beginning postings with the letter "I". We do make exceptions for alliteration. Might as well get that out of the way.
Eating dim sum is always an adventure, especially if one has dietary restrictions. At this particular restaurant in Dorchester, a relentless procession of middle aged Chinese women, each with a different cart, approached the table I was sharing with a friend almost seconds after we sat down. The contents of these carts remained obscure - most contained steaming meat and seafood which remained hidden inside opaque white buns or dumplings.
I had to speak fast, before these eager ladies deposited plates and steamers of "je ne sais quoi" onto our table.
"I don't eat pork," I said, as clearly as possible.
Sure enough, all Cart Lady #1 heard or understood was "pork", and began to lift the lids of all of the pork dishes in the cart, about 75% of the total. Depending on your perspective, the prevalence of pork either made our choices that much easier or deprived us of a good portion of the menu.
We began with a seaweed salad, which my friend spotted on the cart's second shelf, hanging out alongside some cubed jello. Then we added a crispy concoction of fried potatoes and shrimp. The cart lady stamped our bill but hung around, expecting us to pile on some more.
"That's it for now," my friend said, receiving a blank look in return. "Come back in ten minutes," she added, pointing to her wrist to indicate a watch. The cart lady shrugged her shoulders to let us know that she didn't understand.
Before we had taken too many bites, Cart Lady #2 had pulled up, tempting us with her fragrant wares. The dumplings looked divine, but when we asked her what was in them, most had pork.
"Do you have any with vegetables?" I asked.
She shook her head no.
"Do you have any with chicken?" my friend inquired.
Rummaging through the cart, Lady #2 found a steamer of fluffy white buns filled with chicken. I was dubious, but for the sake of variety we ordered them. The dough was on the sweet side, and somewhat sticky, and the piece of poultry inside was small and nastyish, not offal but not really meat, either. We didn't finish those. We also tried shrimp that came wrapped in silky white coverings that were the shape, but not the texture, of crepes. Lady #2 squirted a dark sauce on them after placing them on our table.
Stamp, stamp. Our bill, unintelligible to me, was now decorated with two more colored dots.
I decided that - for me, at least - dumplings in translucent pouches were a better bet. From Cart Lady #3 we ordered a basket of shrimp dumplings (the beef ones looked iffy) and my friend wanted to get some buns with bean paste (I didn't touch those).
At that point we decided to call it quits on the ordering. It was a hot day and we went easy on our bellies, leaving behind an orphaned white chicken bun and a white bun with bean paste.
The waiter took our stamped sheet and returned with a bill we could understand.
The sum for our dim sum? $20.
Eating dim sum is always an adventure, especially if one has dietary restrictions. At this particular restaurant in Dorchester, a relentless procession of middle aged Chinese women, each with a different cart, approached the table I was sharing with a friend almost seconds after we sat down. The contents of these carts remained obscure - most contained steaming meat and seafood which remained hidden inside opaque white buns or dumplings.
I had to speak fast, before these eager ladies deposited plates and steamers of "je ne sais quoi" onto our table.
"I don't eat pork," I said, as clearly as possible.
Sure enough, all Cart Lady #1 heard or understood was "pork", and began to lift the lids of all of the pork dishes in the cart, about 75% of the total. Depending on your perspective, the prevalence of pork either made our choices that much easier or deprived us of a good portion of the menu.
We began with a seaweed salad, which my friend spotted on the cart's second shelf, hanging out alongside some cubed jello. Then we added a crispy concoction of fried potatoes and shrimp. The cart lady stamped our bill but hung around, expecting us to pile on some more.
"That's it for now," my friend said, receiving a blank look in return. "Come back in ten minutes," she added, pointing to her wrist to indicate a watch. The cart lady shrugged her shoulders to let us know that she didn't understand.
Before we had taken too many bites, Cart Lady #2 had pulled up, tempting us with her fragrant wares. The dumplings looked divine, but when we asked her what was in them, most had pork.
"Do you have any with vegetables?" I asked.
She shook her head no.
"Do you have any with chicken?" my friend inquired.
Rummaging through the cart, Lady #2 found a steamer of fluffy white buns filled with chicken. I was dubious, but for the sake of variety we ordered them. The dough was on the sweet side, and somewhat sticky, and the piece of poultry inside was small and nastyish, not offal but not really meat, either. We didn't finish those. We also tried shrimp that came wrapped in silky white coverings that were the shape, but not the texture, of crepes. Lady #2 squirted a dark sauce on them after placing them on our table.
Stamp, stamp. Our bill, unintelligible to me, was now decorated with two more colored dots.
I decided that - for me, at least - dumplings in translucent pouches were a better bet. From Cart Lady #3 we ordered a basket of shrimp dumplings (the beef ones looked iffy) and my friend wanted to get some buns with bean paste (I didn't touch those).
At that point we decided to call it quits on the ordering. It was a hot day and we went easy on our bellies, leaving behind an orphaned white chicken bun and a white bun with bean paste.
The waiter took our stamped sheet and returned with a bill we could understand.
The sum for our dim sum? $20.
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