Closure

Our story, you say, is like a beautiful book or movie.

Looking back on all the time we had, all the things we did, all the paths we walked, it shines bright and full of love. And there we sit, you and me together, full of love and despair. We have never walked our path with only mind or heart.

Bird and Fish can fall in love.

And love is always strongest. So strong it spanned our distances, held us together and drove us on. Our love kept us warm in lonely cold and soothed us when we burnt. It would have kept us together for a long time, even after it lost the power to save us from hurt.

But where will they build their nest?

We sailed on dreams and hopes, syncopating alongside each other forming our heavenly symphony of two. We’ve seen the limits of our measure, the range of our chromatic progression through its twin-centred universe. And with all the harmonies that our two melodies spun, we failed to make home in one rhythm and one baseline.

The bird can make a nest on the water.

And now we did the one thing that needs more love than even living love itself. The most terrible pain is that of giving the greatest gift and preserving our symphony not in the future but in the past. Sealed with love and with tears, paid with indescribable pain and leaving us both, alone and together, stranded on a white shore – bruised and healed.

The fish can fly.

Alongside this most terrible pain, the most beautiful thing has survived. Everything is lost, all things are saved. Our melodies run free now, arching through a long reverb and carrying on with the most silent tones and the smallest breath. Uneasy, alone and small, nothing is lost. Our music survives, we survive, change key and the whole world transforms. One line ends and two new ones are born from it.

Here is another hope from me. It is going to be fine.


[quotations in italics: Richard Powers – The Time of our Singing]

Coming Back

When I got off the bus from Budapest to Vienna today, the air was scented with early spring hope, just like it had been in Budapest this morning. Returning to this “real world” of mine after a month of being away to different places feels rather like coming back from spending half a year in a string of different alternative universes.

On this last bus trip of holiday-February, I finally finished Richard Powers’ The Time of our Singing, certainly one of the most moving and inspiring books I’ve read so far. Finishing the last chapters of this book’s fantastical journey as well as events from the last weeks put me into an emotional state that I can not put into words. A blend of feeling enriched, drained, grown, broken, sad and tranquil.

Having arrived back from England last night and then travelled back to Vienna today, university life and all it incorporates will start again tomorrow. With a chance of it being one last time. Though making statements like that usually results in something going wrong.

I have pictures and stories to tell of times in Budapest, in Tyrolia (Austria, Mountains) and in England. These will come soon. Now I need to unpack my pack back, wash my laundry, revive my flat. And among the top priorities: rejoice with the piano.

a bird

(written for the blog on 19.09.2008 and so far not published)

this is fiction

outside, the leaves of an apple tree jiggle in the wind, like hot air rising up from the grass and distorting the vision. i sit in the kitchen and rest my head on the back of my chair, tilting it to one side and watching the light outside. sunshine.

as i sit, and think and move and my cup on the table steams lightly, aimless thoughts circle my head. the music is playing in the living room, but i stay in the kitchen and watch the world outside. for this moment, nothing seems pressing. no agenda to attend, nothing to prepare and nothing to remember and do. the simple act of sitting and watching, in this very moment, how it should last.

in my dream, i recall, there were walls covered with plants. overgrown with grass and fern, some trees even. everything sprouting just there, vertically, suspended. and i remember running my fingers along the leaves, wet with moisture.

yesterday, after she left, i noticed a big bird outside, right where we had been sitting. black and stout it seemed to linger and, turning its head from one side to the other, search for the last bits of our conversation still hanging in the air, hovering a little longer. as i watched that bird, it seemed the strangest creature to me. how infinitely different not merely in appearance, but as a whole, as a living entity. me, enclosed in my world, and the bird somewhere else, somewhere neither i could go nor it could leave.
soon after that, it flew away over the trees, over the houses, to some other place in some other world, where it might meet more of its kind, or be alone and move its head and taste the remnants of a human conversation.

nayílhô

新年快乐！Happy new year!

Byebye 2009, hello 2010; once again a fresh full year ahead. Once again, the unique feeling of the first day of the year. Then, getting used to a new number, looking forward to the change of seasons, to things to come, time to pass, another birthday, too. Time will pass quickly, I suppose, as it did last year. Many things might happen, let’s hope many are good. I had a very nice New Year’s Eve, this time.

In school, when I had my Jostein Gaarder period, I ventured to memorise all the sayings of Jose and Ana’s Manifesto (from: Jostein Gaarder – Maya) together with my dear friend Sarah of those days. Despite never making it beyond saying number 28, they have remained at the back of my mind and every now and then I go back and resolve to memorise them again. Now, not long ago, I began translating them into Sablung. And for the beginning of the New Year, here is today’s respective metaphor:

Es gibt eine Welt, der Wahrscheinlichkeit nach grenzt das ans Unmögliche. Es wäre viel begreiflicher, wenn es ganz einfach gar nichts gäbe. Dann könnte sich auch niemand fragen, warum es nichts gibt.

līs it sr', lāsīluṅ ha jhāsilmaim lüyet. chai thinaṣ sru ṣī zeboprachaī ṣīn lau naṣ it lhaṣmane tam hā' to'.

Vienna winter impressions

Some impressions from this December, around Vienna with family.  

My father spent a few days in Vienna at the beginning of December. Arriving by train, leaving by train. Being at train stations, I am always tempted to board a train and be off to some far-away place.

Classes at the university finished almost one week before Christmas, and my sister and father came visiting by car. We spent some nice days enjoying the snow and Christmas mood in the city.

Strolling on Naschmarkt in search for tonka beans, enjoying the magic of the inner city after delicious Kaiserschmarren with friends or freezing to death on the impressive central cemetery.

Now I’m in Germany, sitting in the living room with the fire crackling nicely next to me and the garden full of snow (though it has rather been in melt-freeze-mode today). Enjoy the holidays!

preview of the porn project

Lately, I have begun to paint with watercolours again. Again means, in this context, since school many years ago. Mostly in the late evenings when I’m too tired to concentrate on more important things, I sit at my desk and occupy myself with these things while the scent of watercolours brings me a happy and peaceful state of mind.

Thus, I have carried on something that began with a few sketches and by now has already taken quite concrete form in my head. Now, I have finished the first 4 pieces of this series and though I don’t have a scanner, I have put together a little preview.

This series, the porn project, deals with scenes of pornographic media. Rather than morally criticising or trying to imbue these with more abstract meanings, the porn project simply provides different renditions of the given subject. Considering how big a role pornography plays in modern life, both hidden and visible, I don’t find it necessary to discuss taboos or moral points of view. Quite simply, I playfully explore this topic, which plays a significant role in my day to day life.

The images shot04, shot05, shot07 and shot08 mark the first stage of this project. Later stages will differ by varying degrees and incorporate other ideas. Enjoy.

Lichtjahrsnacht

"Das Wirbeltier schaut sich unvermittelt um und sieht im retrospektiven Bild der Lichtjahrsnacht den rätselhaften Schwanz der Sippe. Erst jetzt hat der geheimnisvolle Weg sein Ziel erreicht, und das Ziel ist das Bewusstsein um den langen Weg zum Ziel. Wir können nur in die Hände klatschen, Extremitäten, die wir dem Konto für den Erbschatz der Sippe gutschreiben können."

Jostein Gaarder: Maya. Das Manifest, Karo 6

Vor langer langer Zeit habe ich mit einer Freundin aus mythischer Vorzeit begonnen diese 52 Sprüche auswendig zu lernen. Leider bin ich nie über die Hälfte hinaus gekommen, und sie musste schon früher aufgeben. Doch schon mit der Hälfte an Sprüchen hat das Aufsagen beim Patiencelegen viel Spaß gemacht.

Ich vermisse oft die Vergangenheit, und frage mich fast genauso oft, ob ich das tun sollte. Denn die Vergangenheit, zumindest diese Vergangenheit, hatte (entgegen āryadevas Behauptung) ein wirkliches Ende. Es gibt einen Punkt, an dem sich genügend Beteiligte einer Vergangenheit genügend stark verändert haben damit diese Vergangenheit zu einem Ende kommt. Und doch bleibt sie weiter an mir haften und ich frage mich, wie es für die anderen Beteiligten ist.

अतिक्रांतस्य नास्त्यादिरंतो 'नागतस्य च। केन ते दृ*श्यते योगो वियोगश्च चिरापि न।। ”Es gibt keinen Anfang der Vergangenheit und kein Ende der Zukunft, warum schaust du auf das Beisammensein und nicht auf die Trennung, auch wenn sie lang ist?”

āryadeva: catuḥśataka, Kapitel 1, Vers 21 nach Karen Lane mit möglicher Rekonstruktion der zweiten Strophe durch Anne MacDonald

Independence

As I was leaving the institute, today, a young woman approached me on the corridor. She explained making short interviews for a Chinese newspaper (her being an Austrian) and had come to our institute because of the question being: “Tibet: Independence yes or no?”. …She probably couldn’t have chosen a more difficult question to answer just like that, standing on the corridor. Even pramana (Buddhist logic) might have been a subject easier to explain.

Tibetan independence is, in fact, a topic hardly discussed at our institute (at least not in classes) but obviously of high interest to anybody occupied with the subject of tibetology (and a number of sinologists too, for that matter).

So, what are my thoughts on Tibetan independence; what is my point in this ongoing and politically heated discussion? It is a subject I have been thinking about and reviewing quite a lot recently. Partly because of my growing interest in Tibet’s historical situation during the first half of the 20th century (along with interesting figures such as dge ‘dun chos ‘phel) and partly because of my advance into sinology and thus the history of China in the 20th century. That is not to say the older Tibetan (and Chinese) history isn’t as important in the whole discussion, of course.

As I biked home after giving my little statement on the topic, a million things came to my mind and I wish I had asked for her name and email address, so I could write them to her (and correct some of my mistakes… it is friday after all). So now I’m writing some thoughts here, to get them off my mind.


To me, the topic of Tibetan independence is clearest the farther you go back in time. In the times of the great Tibetan empire under the rule of kings, the country did not only reach its biggest expansion but also quite probably had the most active contact (be it in war, trade, or else) with it’s neighbours. A glance at Silk Road history in the region of today’s 新疆 (Xinjiang), most of all roughly in Tang Dynasty times, shows clearly how much influence the Tibetan kings waged on those far away lands and kingdoms, Khotan, Miran, Loulan, Dunhuang… the list is long. Heather Stoddard, among others, speaks of the "Doring” (rdo ring) in discussing dge ‘dun chos ‘phel. These “long stones” seem to have existed not only in Tibet (specifically Lhasa) but also Chang’an. The famous doring of Lhasa, standing in front of the Jhokhang temple’s main entrance is engraved bilingually in Tibetan and Chinese with the 821-822 peace treaty between Tibet and China. Not that this treaty had any long-lasting effect, but nevertheless it shows the active political relations between two countries. Also, in discussion about dge ‘dun chos ‘phel, I stumpled about the mchod rten dkar po, “white Chörtens (Stupas)” that were set up as markers of the Tibetan borders (to Bhutan, India, Nepal, but also China and others) and found, for example, at the Kokonor.

But after the fall of the rule of kings, the topic of Tibetan independence seems to get more and more difficult to answer clearly. Over the course of time, Chinese influence in Tibet grew (for example with the post and influence of the ambans). From the Chinese point of view, Tibet (successively) albeit slowly became part of the emperor’s influence and thus, theoretically, a tributary state. The Tibetan view of this was, of course, different and over time it is clear that the Chinese influence gradually diminished again until it had almost faded by the beginning of the 20th century.

The beginning of the 20th century truly was a period of great hope and chance for Tibet. The 13th, and afterwards even the 14th Dalai Lama had great plans for reformation and renewal of the country, organisations were forming in and without connection to movements in China, and so forth. In 1910, Chinese troops made their way to Lhasa but were defeated (the 13th Dalai Lama had taken temporary refuge in India). In 1911/12, the Qing Dynasty fell and together with that many of it’s more remote or tributary provinces declared independence. In 1912, the 13th Dalai Lama proclaimed Tibet’s independence (as did Mongolia; just recently the original of a document has been found in which Mongolia and Tibet assure each other’s independence as states having freed themselves from the oppression of the Qing Dynasty) which sadly was hardly recognise by other states around the world.

The reactions to 1911/12 over the whole of China and it’s periphery are very interesting, in themselves. As was typical for the end of Chinese Dynasties, tributary and remote provinces and countries declared their independence from the court, which in turn further weakened the court’s power and caused it fall. Throughout Chinese history, this has happened times and times again, but it must be clear, too, that this was always followed by a new dynasty arising and incorporating those far regions, again. Thus, a proclamation of independence from 1912 is difficult to judge, considering the overall political situation and dynamics in east Asia at that time.

1927, after the establishing of the Nanjing government, 蔣介石 (Chiang Kai-shek) proposed the separation of Tibet into three regions (Amdo and Kham had already been largely unconnected to the Lhasa-governed central Tibet for a longer time) which was administratively completed by 1936 with the establishing of the regions Xikang (parts of Kham) and Qinghai (Amdo).

Even after that, though, there were still strong Tibetan movements for reform, for independence or for cooperation with the Chinese (communists). The Tibetan Improvement Party, for example, was formed 1939 in Kalimpong, India, or the world’s first Tibetan Newspaper, the Melong, based in Kalimpong, kept trying to shake Tibet out of it’s long and blind slumber of conservative ignorance.

Finally, the conservative system resisted change and closed its eyes to the danger approaching swiftly. It was Tibetans, finally, who built roads for the “liberating” Chinese tanks…

In conclusion, I have no side in this discussion. Tibetan independence keeps being an incredibly difficult subject, partly caused by the fact that there still is too little scientific discussion of new Tibetan history that would have to take account of all the surrounding factors and influences. What is clear, though, is how incredibly political this whole issue has become. The Chinese (CCP) on the one hand and the (exile) Tibetans on the other both almost always approach this from a very subjective perspective. A Tibetan not wishing for Tibetan independence would be “betraying his cultural heritage”, a Chinese not following the party’s (hard)line on Tibet will be silenced with the same charges – betrayal of the motherland, political splittism.

One thing, though, must be noted without doubt: the situation as it is now, in Tibet, is wrong. Without discussing independence of real autonomy, the every day violations of human rights, martial law and cultural genocide planned on a large scale are delicts that many future generations will have to take responsibility and find answers for, either way.

University woes

This semester, I’m attending a class on a subject I’m very interested in: The Silk Road. And even though the course’s scope is formally limited to the “Western Regions” (西域), the area largely confined to the Tarim Basin and today’s Xinjiang, all the other parts of the Silk Road and the countries it bound together can hardly be left unmentioned.

This great “highway” of cultural, economical, spiritual and linguistic exchange connecting places as far from each other as Nara, in Japan, and Damascus at the Mediterranean sea fascinates me greatly. The lecture’s title is “A journey to the Western Regions. Art and Archeology of the Silk Road”, it is being held by Erika Forte of the department of art history Vienna and mainly focuses on the time of greatest activity along the Silk Road in that region, being between Han and Tang Dynasty times (roughly 3rd – 8th cent. a.d.).

When in the first lecture miss Forte explained she means her course to be, apart from two introductory lessons, be held on the basis of student presentations, my heart sank. Student presentations are something I don’t hold in much high regard since we all are merely striving for knowledge, while the teacher most often has so much more knowledge to give.

Also, student presentations are a time when the unprofessional and often unscientific behaviour and methodology of students gets exposed maybe the most easily. Thus, our first lesson of student presentations has left me quite disappointed and a little annoyed.

Be it the young Chinese boasting in his booming voice about how Xuan Zang was the greatest of the Chinese Buddhist Pilgrims who went over the Silk Road to India, solely basing his presentation on information gathered from Buddhist sources and publications, taking every myth and religious exaggeration for unquestioned truth, or the apparent Inability of people not specifically studying Indology to at least more or less correctly pronounce words like Sanskrit or Nālandā Vihār. Thus teachers can almost ruin a very interesting topic by almost completely giving it into the hands of the students.

Of course, I know I am being harsh in my judgement and high in my expectations, but this is, after all, the university. And that is another thing that has been on my mind of late. These days, the university of Vienna is “burning”, meaning student protests have erupted, auditoriums occupied, and the like. Students in other parts of Austria have joined in and even in Berlin students are talking about joining out of solidarity.

While I do not oppose protesting, and agree with a number of the issues being discussed (like gender equality, anti-discrimination, better funding of institutes and personnel, etc), I find some of the most loudly voiced slogans of these protests rather ridiculous. It isn’t very clever or educated protesting against the re-establishing of student fees with slogans like “Education is a basic human right”, living in a very developed country with a very thorough school system. University education must be seen for what it is: an exclusive science. Certainly, this cannot be called a “basic human right” and thus be demanded as available freely to anyone – in a country, where you pay for your child’s kindergarden! Where is the “basic”, there?

A feeling that has grown inside me over the course of my studies is that so many people at the university in fact would be better off not being students. With that, I don’t want to label them inferior in any way, but everyone has own talents and abilities and let’s face it, university is and should be tough learning. These people are at the university studying something they might or might not be interested in because both expectations of their family and our culture are forcing them to. Doing an apprenticeship is regarded the lower choice and studying the key to every high and well paid job.

This unrealistic and ridiculous trend shows itself well in the recent adoption of the so called “Bologna System” by all European universities. This system, being essentially the bachelor-master system, seems heavily dictated by the economy, streamlined to churn out people with easily classifiable skills, unified for the international market. The curricula, now rigidly structured, dictate the student what he or she has to study and leave very little freedom of pursuing own interests and finding a field of specialisation. Selecting one of five available masters at our institute doesn’t quite seem like specialising, does it?

Parallel, introductory phases have been introduced. These, most often limited to the first semester, mean you have a certain number of classes you must all pass in order to be allowed to go on studying in the following semester. Should you fail any of the required classes, you’ll have to wait and try again in the next round (note that most of those classes have 2 or 3 successive exams, giving you lots of chance to better your marks). Similarly, the new university law (which was the cause of the current protests) also gives institutes the possibility of filtering the students admitted to their studies in any way they find suitable (that might be exams, grade point average, etc). With courses like journalism, law or medicine sometimes being overrun by foreign students (mostly Germans fleeing from the grad point average limited universities at home) this seems rather realistic and badly needed than unfair and evil. Testing the fresh students’ dedication for a subject and their overall ability of studying also seems rather beneficial to them, in my opinion. Better to find out you might not be so ideally qualified for a subject in the first semester than somehow dragging along for years until you finally abandon it or fail.

Maybe, if students were un-trendy and anti-social individuals again, all these problems would be solved easily.

More Music

A glance into the media section of my homepage (the navigation is on the right-hand side of the blog) reveals that I have just added three new songs, embedded as Youtube videos. These songs are own compositions, fairytale and ostinato being from 2008 and movement & repetition from 2006 and recently re-recorded.

There are actually some more songs among those I did several years ago (when I began making songs) which I am thinking about uploading these days. As with everything released publicly, one is afraid of it being neglected or rejected. Therefore, I’ll ponder a little longer.

Otherwise, I’m busy being back at the university, studying and working. Among my classes this semester is a very interesting one about the Silk Road in Chinese territory (the so called 西域 western regions), another one about the life and works of dge ‘dun chos ‘phel and one about Rahul Sankrityana’s travels to Tibet (reading his travel diaries मेरी जीवन यात्रा).

And now, without further ado, have a listen.