Why Am I Here?

This post is the text of a speech translated from Chinese to English that I gave during my “gap year” to volunteer in Taiwan after high school and before college in 2001-2002. I was 18 when I was wrote this, and I am now 30 years old. Looking back, time has truly flown by, as I had expected. 

I am 18 years old, and I just graduated from high school. Last year, I applied and was accepted into MIT, and I have deferred it for a year to volunteer with Tzu Chi. My current plans are to study for four years of college, four years of medical school, six years of surgical residency. Eventually, 14 years later, I will probably be 33 years old. I know that time will fly, that my life will go by quickly. I also do not know when I will die. Will I die tomorrow or the next month or the year after? I have no way to predict that. I feel that, amidst life's impermanence, since I do not know when I will die, I must first do what I need to do.

When I was in the tenth grade, around age 16, I decided to defer college for a year (a so-called "gap year"), because at that time I did not know whether in the future I would have the opportunity to come to Taiwan Tzu Chi, to follow Master Cheng Yen and to learn from so many Tzu Chi volunteers. I felt that there was a need to spend a year to volunteer with Tzu Chi full-time. (By the way, deferring college for a year is the choice of about 7% of all American high school graduates and the choice of the majority of college students in the UK.)

I feel that this decision was quite simple because I feel this is what I need to do. So I am very fortunate. In coming to Tzu Chi, I feel that I have found a purpose in life.

Since I was small, I was both anxiously and enthusiastically in search of answering some questions on how to best use the time that I have in my life: "What will I do with my life? What do I need to do? What should I do? What is the meaning and purpose of my life?"

This was particularly so during the weekends or holidays, or playing basketball, or playing the cello, or whatever activity after activity that fills the lives of high school students, I would ask: What does this have to do with the purpose of my life? Am I doing what I should be doing? I would feel that, among unlimited decisions and options and choices, what should I do and what path and what direction should I take? What kind of person should I become? I would think: If I do not know the basic direction of where I am going, then how could I make any decisions about how to get there, how to live?

I remember vividly when I was in the seventh grade at age 13. I read an English version of Still Thoughts (now re-branded as Jing Si Aphorisms). One saying said something to the effect of, "If you do not know what you are going to paint, a stroke here, a stroke there, in the end your painting will be a mess and it won’t be pretty." Even though I do not know how I will die or when I will die, when I die I wish to leave behind a beautiful painting. And to do that, I need to properly plan my life.

More importantly, when I read Still Thoughts at age 13, cover to cover in one sitting, the main message stood out to me very loudly and very simply: The purpose of life is to benefit others. In one day, this book had answered a year of my desperate questioning on my life’s purpose. 

I remember that someone asked Master Cheng Yen: When she first started doing Tzu Chi, did she ever imagine that Tzu Chi would become this large? I think the Master never thought about that. Master’s response, however, was something as follows: In my life, I have only done one thing. The only plan that I have made was to benefit living beings, help those who need help. Master Cheng Yen’s courage to help others, her tenacity, and her confidence and faith – are very moving to me.

Some have asked me in the past: Why are you in Tzu Chi? I would then respond, Why is Master Cheng Yen doing Tzu Chi? I hope that I would do Tzu Chi for the same reason that the Master is doing Tzu Chi – or any other activity for that matter. I would like to offer my entire life to others and use every minute and every second for their benefit.

Actually, in the US, it is very easy to do so-called "volunteer work" – and there are many organizations that have service opportunities, volunteer organizations. But Tzu Chi and every organization is different. It is the spirit and the values of Tzu Chi that I wish to learn. When I see Master Cheng Yen, she uses her every second to benefit others. When I see volunteers doing Tzu Chi all around the world, whether they are in Thailand or Taiwan, Jordan or Japan, South Africa or Southern California, I am so moved. Tzu Chi volunteers are the best model for me to learn from at this time. From their bodies and their actions, I can learn how to be a person and how to live. This is therefore the first thing in life that I must do. Everything else is a second priority. 

The Beauty and Benefits of Tzu Chi Uniforms

A previous version of this post was published in Tzu Chi USA Journal.

From a stranger’s perspective, the volunteer uniform of Tzu Chi must seem like an anachronistic, culturally awkward anomaly. When you first hear of them, you may think, "You’ve got to be joking me. Uniforms? In America? I just want to let you know that this is not Taiwan! This is not Communist China, comrade! What about our individuality? Our ability to express ourselves? Uniforms are for people working at McDonald’s or the military. Not that there's anything wrong with those places..."

So the complaints begin, and then people see the uniform. At that point they start to sputter, "What kind of uniform is this? White pants, white collars, buttoned up all the way, with belts and white shoes? Women tie their hair back, boys cut their hair down. This is like the military. I’m not here to join the military. Plus the color white is impractical! It’ll get dirty in two seconds!"

As the complaints come, you can feel the anxiety, the sense of the loss of control. Young people seeking to be fashionable, be warned. You may need to compromise your insistence on doing your own thing. Joining an organization does require—oh my goodness—at times doing things in unison with others.

But like everything in Tzu Chi, there are reasons, and although you may have concerns initially, with careful examination and reflection, your worries should subside. Indeed, there are rational reasons for (most of) "the way things are done" in Tzu Chi. The Buddha always told his followers to question everything, to never just accept anything just because he was the Buddha, a sage, or someone wise. This applies to uniforms and other "rules" as well. If it makes sense, accept it, and if it does not, just forget about it (fugeddabout it).

Uniforms eliminate, for one, a number of physical barriers that fashionable clothing creates. Fashion creates a feeling of haves and have-nots. I have the money to buy pretty clothes and jewelry, and you do not. But when choices of individual clothing are eliminated, so too are the tensions that come between social classes: no more status, no more who is wealthier than who.

More importantly, as volunteers, we need to be professional. Yes, it is true that if you volunteer at a hospital, the Red Cross, or work with Boy Scouts or Girl Scouts, or even work at the department store or McDonald’s, you will observe that uniforms create a sense of professionalism and unity. This requires that we not only dress alike so that people can recognize us, but also that the way we dress is neat and clean, not disheveled and messy.

Third, uniforms build community recognition, like a name-brand. As volunteers we represent the organization. By wearing the uniform, we are building up a presence so that strangers can recognize us. In some countries where Tzu Chi volunteers are long-recognized for their reliability and efficiency, Tzu Chi volunteers are called "the blue angels," donning the blue and white uniform. In those places, uniforms are lucrative. Everybody wants to wear the uniform and they are sometimes imitated, worn by pretenders seeking to collect money for their own purposes.

There is a fourth reason which I only recently understood and which is the most esoteric but possibly the most important: The uniform changes our mindset. No, I am not talking about “magic” or anything like that. I am talking pure psychology. There have been recent research that shows that students perform better and are perceived to be performing better, when they are dressed formally rather than casually. What does this mean? It means that our clothes – this superficial piece of thing covering our body – changes our mindsets. The psychologists called it "enclothed cognition."

It is in this changed mindset that Tzu Chi volunteers not only wear the uniform, but the Tzu Chi face, the smile, the genuine warmth and care. By wearing the uniform, you need to remember the entire uniform, not just merely the clothes—the warm smiling face, the hair nearly combed, shirt tucked in, shoes clean, and so on. This is why the uniform is called “the garment of gentleness and tolerance” (柔和忍辱衣).

Thus, most images of buddhas and bodhisattvas are dressed most elegantly – sometimes simply and sometimes extravagantly. The clothes that we wear and the appearance that we present give off a feeling to ourselves and to others. This feeling can change our minds. When wearing a very expensive piece of jewelry or beautiful fine clothes, we are more mindful and careful. In the same way, when we wear nice clothing, our minds too are also sharpened to be more careful.

Yet the purpose of wearing Tzu Chi uniform’s and other "spiritual garments" are entirely different from that of secular clothes. Whereas in most situations people “dress to impress” others and to make themselves feel attractive through their clothes, in Tzu Chi the reasons for wearing the uniform are quite different. The clothes should make us feel more humble, more dignified, with the purpose of benefiting others, not to aggrandize oneself. 

Once, when I was chanting a prayer and as I was making mental and physical offerings of incense, flowers, fine garments, beautiful houses, everything in the universe, at that point I realized that even the clothes that we wear are an offering to others—we offer others our bodies and with it our garments to others.

When we have given others our bodies, what use to us is our own clothes? As a friend and fellow volunteer Isaac once recounted to me in person when he visited Afghanistan in 2002 on a relief trip with Tzu Chi, he could not help but give away nearly everything he had on him—gloves, scarf, etc.

So, too, has Shantideva, the eighth century Indian scholar of Nalanda University, taught in his truly wonderful Bodhicaryavatara, one of my most favorite books, particularly in the third chapter on adopting the spirit of awakening:

Surrendering everything is nirvana, 

and my mind seeks nirvana. 

If I must surrender everything, 

it is better that I give it to sentient beings.

It is with this attitude, too, that I have also become more comfortable in wearing anything, not only Tzu Chi uniforms, but "fancy clothes." I wear not the attitude of "look how nice I look," but rather "I wear this for the benefit of others."

But if you wear the uniform – or any piece of clothing or qipao (a beautiful traditional Chinese-style garment) – and you feel a morsel of pride or arrogance on your physical beauty (or alternatively you gripe about your perceived ugliness), then, alas, you've totally missed the point. The clothes are not about "you" or however you perceive "you." It is quite the contrary. 

When Master Cheng Yen established Tzu Chi Foundation in 1966, she immediately knew that volunteers ought to have a uniform for the above four (if not more) reasons — equality among volunteers, professionalism, community recognition, its capacity to transform our minds. Up to this point, most will agree, but many may still protest against the white pants and white shoes. Is this really necessary, some ask, to have white clothing? Don’t you think it will get dirty quickly?

Actually, when Master Cheng Yen was creating the uniform, she knew to draw on symbols, as does much of Buddhist and Chinese culture (which are, by the way, separate and distinct). The blue top represents the sky, the white pants represent the clouds. (Actually, I’m not sure what the white collar represents.) In sum the actual uniform represents the vast expanse of the sky, which should be our attitude towards all sentient beings, enveloping and embracing everyone.

Several decades ago, when Master Cheng Yen went to visit the poor with other volunteers, as they left the wet area, everyone’s shoes were covered in mud—except for Master Cheng Yen’s, which were without even a speck of dirt. People were amazed. How did she do that?

I was mindful, she said, no doubt very matter-of-factly. (Just do it!)

Thus the uniform not only reminds us to be professional and efficient in the organizational sense, but reminds us to uphold the practices of Tzu Chi—mindfulness, attention, and care (a critical "skilful means" in Buddhist language). In many ways the uniform is like a protecting shield, armor against our wild inattention. When we wear the uniform, we should be acutely aware that we represent tens of thousands of Tzu Chi volunteers around the world. Master Cheng Yen. Gratitude. Great love. Mindfulness. Sentient beings.

So, you see, there’s much more to the uniform than you’d first think. The uniform is not just about ME, MYSELF, and I. Step back a moment, realize that individuality is just a Western concept of your identity. Take a breath and remember why you joined Tzu Chi. You joined because you wanted to help people. In fact, you were inspired that so many people had the heart to help people. People. That’s right. People not just yourself. And by people, we in Tzu Chi mean, all sentient beings. Yes, including that mosquito buzzing in your ear that just bit you.

In the world of Tzu Chi, if you listen and observe so carefully to that point that you can listen with your eyes and watch with your ears, you discover a whole new world of much greater meaning that you had ever imagined. I invite all Tzu Chi volunteers, old and new, to just open your eyes and ears, to absorb and reflect more mindfully this world and Tzu Chi’s place in it. I know we’ll discover more than we never knew before.

How to Enter Someone's Mind

A previous version of this essay was published in Tzu Chi USA Journal.

"To speak is to enter someone's mind," once said, I believe, by Robert Thurman, eloquent speaker and eminent Buddhist scholar-practitioner in America. Indeed, there is something profoundly sacred and ethical about entering someone else's mind other than one's own. It prevents the listening person from thinking their own thoughts and instead their own thoughts are pushed aside with the speaker's words.

Perhaps it is the way that my own mind works, but people's words often stick in my head—good words, bad words, neutral words. Words that don't mean anything. Words that inspire me or depress me. They literally stick and without my wielding, they float to my mind at random times of the day, like they are haunting me, and I hear their voice. Perhaps, it is for this reason that I appreciate my moments of solitude, in the company of my own mind. I can finally hear myself loudly and clearly. There are no interruptive, intrusive thoughts of others.

As the Buddha often said to his followers, "Say good words, do good deeds, think good thoughts; this is the teaching of the Buddha." Such a simple yet essential teaching! If one gets right speech alone, one will have one out of three down. When looking into ancient scriptural texts including those pertaining to vows of a bodhisattva, it is no surprise that there are numerous elaborations and explanations on speech:

gentle, not harsh

truthful, not false

calming, not agitating

relevant, not gossip

concerted and concise, not idle

Gentle, not harsh; calming, not agitating
My mother and I often talk about the way in which we talk. My mother's voice is deep and others tell me that it sounds like she is scolding others; in fact she is just excited, passionate, and opinionated. But, as one classmate suggested to me, it is amazing what raising one's voice to be a pitch higher and a tad slower and gentler can do for those with low-pitched voices, and the opposite for high-pitched voices. The sound of one's voice becomes much more soothing, more gentle.

I remember one time when I visited a friend's house for the first time -- they are, I note, Indian-Americans, Sindhi to be exact -- and on the first day there, I thought the family members were having a terrible fight. People screaming up and down stairs. Loud voices. Scolding. Loud sighs. This continued to the second day. Third day. And finally on the fourth day, I realized that in fact there was no fight occurring at all; it was simply the way in which they were speaking. It is true that there is something cultural about the way we speak -- and it may be that certain cultures are accustomed to speaking more loudly than others. Nevertheless, it also means that there are many opportunities for misunderstanding, especially when a person of one culture is on the receiving end of another person's culture.

And it's not only about the way the voice sounds, but also the choice of words that one uses. For example, when I first met a friend who happened to be Indian, he would often use the word "Fine." It was a "Fine" that in the US usually means "Fine! (I got it -- get off my back -- fine!)" It was in that context that I thought, incorrectly, that he used the word "Fine" when he was annoyed or frustrated. But it was only until I visited India for the first time in 2007 and I spent three full months in Ahmedabad with other English-speaking Indians that I realized that their use of "Fine" was equivalent to our use of "Okay". At that point I realized again, what we say can be totally misinterpreted by others. Hence, both the speaker and the listener have a responsibility -- the speaker to be more careful and the listener to not take things so seriously in case there is a misunderstanding. This is also a teaching from Master Cheng Yen in her Still Thoughts Aphorisms (Jing Si Aphorisms).

I'll be extending this post in coming days on the other features of a bodhisattva's way of speech. Stay tuned.

From Blog to Open Book: A Journey

Tzu Chi, having its origins in Taiwan and having spread mainly through Taiwanese- or Chinese-speaking social networks and immigrant communities, has had very poor materials, publications, and documents in English. This gap has persisted for many years, particularly in the US where I am most familiar.

It was and still is in the context of this gaping hole in English communications for Tzu Chi that I began writing through the Tzu Chi USA journal in 2002. That year, I had just returned from Taiwan after living in Hualien (where I volunteered for Tzu Chi for year and which served as the basis of a rough manuscript of my experiences) to start my freshman year in college in Boston. That year, Tzu Chi USA journal, led by my mother, was transformed from more of a newspaper to more of a magazine. (The journal was only put onto the web later years, following incredible changes from the internet in how we read.)

Now, approaching 30 years of age, because of this blog, I am looking back to some of these pieces in Tzu Chi USA journal -- and also the 100-or-so page manuscript that I wrote while I was in living in my one year in Hualien, Taiwan.

Returning to some of the pieces I wrote (some more than 11 years old), though, I am frankly a bit embarrassed by some of my own essays. The language, the style -- it all seems a bit juvenile -- which I guess was expected, as I was still, at that time, a "teenager", at 19 years old.

In 2011, I shared one of these pieces from my 100-page reflections with one of my academic colleagues in economics and public health, and much to my surprise, he was so moved by the piece that he cried (see here). The piece was on comparative experiences in Taiwan and Thailand in hospice care, which I had worked on in a writing class in college and somehow -- accidentally really -- published in a medical journal.

Though my colleague encouraged me to finish my book (Thanks, Professor Jamison!) and though I have been meaning to do so, I have never had time to finish that manuscript that I had started in 2001-2002 (first college and then graduate school got in the way, you could say!). Now, I've got a bit more time (I am totally finished with school and I have a real job now), and so, it is with this live blog that I hope to eventually turn my writings, both past and new, into an "open book" on Tzu Chi. I am taking a page from my colleague at my day job, David Roodman, who wrote an "open book" on microfinance through blogging. (One of his posts on an NGO working on microfinance even today gets about 1000 hits a month.)

If I may entice you, here are some of the topics for forthcoming posts. Whenever I see the activities of Tzu Chi volunteers and all that has happened from its beginnings in 1966, I feel that I have unlimited content to work with. So this list is not comprehensive, and I very much welcome your suggestions on what topics I should prioritize and write/edit first!

• My essays from Tzu Chi USA journal
• New Beginnings
• Bridging Gaps
• The Innovative Origins of Tzu Chi
• I’m Talkin’ ‘Bout My Generation in Tzu Chi
• A Word on Tzu Chi’s Uniforms
• Chapters from my manuscript
• mental preparations    4
• 1 to follow in their footsteps    5
• 2 go away, worries! just do it!    8
• 3 the meaning of spiritual practice    10
• the education of being human    14
• 4 great love has no strangers    15
• 5 busy body, not busy mind    22
• 6 the peace project camp    26
• 7 teaching english at the outreach school    29
• 8 high school angst, relived    32
• the thousand arms of avalokiteshvara    33
• 9 typhoon toraji: relief and rebuilding    34
• 10 dear thailand tzu chi: chronicles of love    37
• 11 between living and dying: the world of hospice    63
• 12 body donation, silent teachers    78 
• 13 happy volunteer in indonesia    80
• the culture of great love    87
• 14 making xiang shi bao   88
• 15 the abode of still thoughts    89
• 16 disaster after disaster – the awakenings     95
• 17 the movement to spread the seeds of love    100
• 18 the simplicity and joy of monastic life    105
• 19 leaving hualien    108
• My other essays with different outlets
• Why am I here? (speech)
• To enter someone's mind

When Reason Met Sentiment: Left- and Right-Brain Activity in Tzu Chi Volunteer Work

In my last post I described my observations and experiences from a simple vantage point, without too many thoughts or concepts or analysis. You could call it my "sentimental mind" or alternatively my right-brain thinking.

But sometimes, when I think about Tzu Chi, another part of my brain turns on. I call it my rational, conceptual mind. Conceptual mind means I am critical not only of myself but of the way we do things. It's the left-brain thinking. This mind promises to give suggestions and recommendations for improvement. But it also opens one up to criticism.

For future blog posts, I will link as a label whether I think the post has elements of "right brain" and "left brain" thinking.

Returning to the simple premise of yesterday's charitable activity: Find poor people and help them. This simple basis, however, can be translated to many different activities and channels, not only the one I described yesterday. On the basis of this, two questions naturally follow:

• What does it mean to be poor?
• What does true "help" mean? 

I will be analyzing these two questions further in the coming days... Stay tuned! 

Warmth in the Bitter Cold: Tzu Chi's Winter Relief in Washington, DC

A cold Saturday morning filled with the wish to help others. A warm greeting with a smile and a handshake, a conversation with someone unknown who becomes known, an expression of our concern and care. Small actions expressing kind intentions are not to be underestimated. 

7:47am. That was the time that David, our team leader, told us to meet him at Union Station. 7:47, not the Boeing jet. But the message was the same: be there on time! And a trip it would be on an early Saturday morning. As I understood it, our group of eight would be embarking on a trip to care for the homeless this winter.

As Saturday dawns, I get up a few times: 5:00am, 5:22am, 6:00am. I don't want to be late. Pulling myself out of my bed, I give myself an hour to get ready -- to give greetings and prayers to the world, the universe and all the beings in it; to drink my breakfast power-shake; to shower and grease myself up with coconut oil to avert the cold; to pile on three layers of clothes; and finally to don my blue and white Tzu Chi uniform, and to pack my bag with some water, snacks, chapstick, and baby-wipes (for our hands).

As I step out of my apartment, I call Vikrant who is out of the country. "I'm going to a Tzu Chi charity activity right now, going to care for some homeless people," I say. "Okay, be sure to wear your gloves!" he reminds me.

My gloves! I forgot my gloves all week despite the cold front. Telling Vikrant I will call him later, I turn back down the hallway to my apartment and pick up my gloves. Now, I am ready.

I walk to the metro station near my home. The Metro officer is opening the gates just as I arrive. In the station I am momentarily dismayed to see that the first train that morning will be arriving in 18 minutes. Washington, DC's metro station is notoriously neglected and delayed, especially on the weekends. What to do; I arrive at Union Station at our meeting spot in 7:52. Being the first one there, I wait not long and shortly in waves all eight of us arrive. Of the last four, David, our team leader, in his black leather jacket makes him look like Morpheus. You know, from the Matrix but without the pills.

As we stand in the middle of Union Station, David divides us into two groups, with two separate driving paths. His instructions are deceptively simple: Look for homeless people. Bend down to their eye level, rather than look down at them. Ask them how they are and if they'd like some coffee and pastries. Observe if they need anything such as a jacket, blanket, gloves, or scarves (all of which we have limited quantities) and offer as appropriate. And men, protect the women. His two fists and arms take a strongman's pose.

At which point I must interrupt, hiccupping in Chinese. "But of course, in Tzu Chi, women are like men" -- and Yijun, another volunteer, attempts a fill-in "and men are like ______" (pause): There is a saying, concocted by an anonymous volunteer, that in Tzu Chi women are like men and men are like superman (女人當男人用，男人當超人用), in observing that Tzu Chi volunteers work incredibly hard, irrespective of traditional gendered roles. (As an aside, there is a response to that saying, that women are like men and men are like women, 女人當男人用，男人當女人用. Both sexes adopt qualities of the opposite sex, with men gentler and women more assertive and strong.)

Anyway, keeping those instructions in mind and with supplies in our car, we are off. As we roam around in our heated vehicle, we see our first case, a large man sitting by himself on a bench, holding a cup with change. "Good morning sir!" "How are you?" our team of four chime in. "Can we offer you a cup of coffee?" He nods. One of us pours the coffee, another pours the sugar and cream. The man, we notice, never speaks. He simply nods or shakes his head, mouthing mumbled words with no sounds. He holds his cup, jingling it. "I'm sorry," one of us responds, "We do not have change on us today." He looks disappointed. We wish him well and take leave.

Continuing on the road, we look for homeless, left and right. Where are they today, I wonder? "I think they've gone for shelter in the cold," I ponder aloud. The streets seem more empty this morning, and a few times we see someone, our thoughts turn into "Hmm, maybe nots"; after second thought they do not really seem homeless after all. Does a big heavy jacket with two grocery bags stuffed with newspapers make you a homeless person? Hard to say, really.

After driving a few blocks, we soon discover that it is not so easy to randomly encounter homeless people on the streets. We need a bit of so-called 'luck' in encountering these rare circumstances. Indeed, it is not so easy to help people in general, as it requires at least three conditions: (1) someone wishing to give (the giver); (2) someone willing to receive (the receiver); and (3) something to be given (the gift). If any of these conditions are not met, the exchange cannot happen.

In Tzu Chi there is an emphasis on the equality of these three. I think this is wonderful. What does that mean, you ask? The giver recognizes that the receiver is no different from the giver in wanting happiness and freedom from suffering; they are equal. That also means that there is mutual gratitude between each. It should never be the case that the giver in Tzu Chi feels that the giver has something to give (like a naggy friend telling you "I am giving you this," arms on waist with I-am-so-important look.) Instead, Tzu Chi volunteers practice by bowing down in gratitude to the recipients of Tzu Chi's relief, Tzu Chi volunteers also bow in gratitude to its donors, and Tzu Chi volunteers also bow to each other. This magical practice (at least I think so) is called the "emptiness in three spheres" (三輪體空) and is something that Tzu Chi volunteers strive to realize. (See here for an exposition of this concept by Master Cheng Yen in Chinese.) These three spheres are overlapped with the three values of gratitude, respect, and love.

Slowly, we meander over to Foggy Bottom, not far from George Washington University, and we catch a glimpse of clumps of blankets on benches in the Foggy Bottom circle -- at last, some people. "Good morning sir!" we say as we approach them. The first man recognizes us, "I know you guys! You've been here before," he says to one of our volunteers. He is so happy to see us that he falls over on his pile of stuff. We too are happy to see him. "Could we offer you some coffee?" "You most certainly may." And we offer the two gentleman coffee. The first man eagerly pulls us to the bench as he has many stories to tell us. As he plops down on the bench, he begins to recount his military career history across many countries in Asia during the Reagan era.

As he continues, for maybe 10 minutes, our fingers and toes go numb. Eager to wrap up the conversation, I ask, "Do you have any need for blankets or jackets?" The cold has reminded me of not only my needs, but the needs of the people we are supposed to be serving.

The military man says, "Actually, I could use a jacket. Thank you, folks! You're so kind."

"No, thank you; I've got plenty," says the psychiatrist in his Caribbean accent, pointing to his warm jacket and shoes. He pauses.

"But our friend over there," he says, looking to the opposite bench, "could use one. He needs a jacket and a blanket and some gloves."

I am touched by this man's concern for his fellow companion. As he walks me over to see this man, "You see, he got drunk last night and fell down. We had to pick him up and put him on the bench, cover him up in blankets. Can you imagine that? No gloves!"

All one could see from the bench was his feet touching the floor, while the blankets wrapped his upper body and head completely. Were it not for his feet, it would seem only like a pile of blankets. "He's Japanese," the psychiatrist tells me. "A PhD in electromagnetism. He's an alcoholic. His name is Mo-something Tanaka."

"Ohio-gazaimasu" (meaning good morning in Japanese), I say in a loud voice, glad that finally my high school Japanese having some use and hoping it might wake him up. But the man doesn't budge.

"When he wakes up, I am going to have a long heart-to-heart talk with him, to go to the detox lab. I've been sitting here all night to make sure that the police don't come and pick him up, but I can't do that every time," the psychiatrist explains.

He also tells me his uncle is Li Kai Shing, and his father is an engineer from China. I don't know whether to believe that part, but nevertheless he conveys a genuine concern for his fellow man. I thank him for caring for his fellow friend, and I'm touched. Would I have the courage and energy to sleep on the bench over night to watch someone drunk and passed out? Probably not. And there we were in Foggy Bottom, to discover people benefiting others, regardless of who they are in the world, people like this homeless psychiatrist.

By experiencing the bitter cold first hand juxtaposed with our "Winter Caring" activity, I had a mere glimpse of the difficulties of being homeless. I hope that when I feel the freezing cold, as my toes and fingers go numb, I will remember that it means that there are people out there who are struggling to stay warm. Ringing in my mind was the theme of this year's Tzu Chi annual new year blessing: a simple frugal life helps to nurture compassion; from real virtue one cultivates great love. By observing this frugal and difficult life, empathy and compassion -- the wish to immediately help others -- naturally arises.

As we say goodbye to the Caribbean psychiatrist, African-American veteran, and the sleeping Japanese man, the veteran tells us to come back soon. I hope we do, too.

Many thanks to my seven team members for their companionship, joy, willingness to serve, and their observations. Hat-tip to Pick-Wei and CJ on their Morpheus observation. 

Listening with Your Eyes, Watching with Your Ears

Welcome to the reopening of my blog on Tzu Chi, a blog which I had opened in 2009 and closed shortly thereafter. This time, I've entitled the blog Listening with My Eyes. The blog will feature a few of my observations, experiences, and reflections as a Tzu Chi volunteer. I started volunteering with Tzu Chi in 1996 when I was 13 years old. This year as I turn 30, I hope this blog will reflect some of my learning through Tzu Chi and a variety of experiences, all of which I am deeply grateful for.

For starters, one may wonder where the title of this new blog comes from. In fact it is a saying by Master Cheng Yen. For many years I had a vague sense that this saying was intended to instruct one to pay better attention.

But I came to a new understanding of this saying upon reading this article on synethesia in the New York Times in 2007. Medical science has shown that there is a condition -- and not an illness -- in which one's sensory perceptions are "crossmodal." This is a fancy term meaning that extra or other sensory capacities become available to one's normal sensory capacities, such as the ability to observe color linked with numbers, or the ability to perceive spatial distance with certain concepts, or the ability to 'listen' or 'see' in one's skin. Or, as Master Cheng Yen instructs us, to see with one's ears and hear with one's eyes.

In light of medical science's discovery of synethesia, I take this particular saying by Master Cheng Yen to mean that we ought to try to see things in a totally new way, a very fresh and refreshing way, to let our powers of attention expand and grow in yet unimagined dimensions. She is encouraging her supporters and students to use one's entire being and all powers of concentration, those known and still unknown.

By bestowing this title to this re-opened old but new blog, I hope that I am able to constantly be mindful -- and ever-more mindful -- in observing the world around me as I share some of my thoughts as a Tzu Chi volunteer.

I welcome your thoughts and look forward to a fruitful exchange. Thank you for your interest!