THE KNEAD OF A MAN
A SHORT STORY BY RICHARD SWAIN
This is my earliest memory; it was a tearful plea to my mother that another woman had tried to physically take me, claiming I was her son. My mother laughed and told me to go back out and play. I have wondered if there was a connection between my young fear and her trusting faith that has helped shape the person I have become.
My name is Aung Win. I do not consider myself weak or superstitious, but too often throughout my life, an unsettling self-talk challenges my measure as a man. If you look for the meaning of the name Aung, a key definition is a particular burden of obligation upon one who is responsible. It would be unfair to say others have pressed this upon me, but more that I have undertaken a lifetime of self-evaluation, perhaps to excess.
I am a fisherman, like my father and grandfather. We are known as the Intha people of the Shan State of Burma, and the majority of my life has been spent on the water of Lake Inle. Our home is on the water, as is the school, store, and temple. Seldom do I step on land.
As I write these words, I am thirty-eight years old, married, father of twin sons age eleven, and a member of our village committee. In our community, a committee of ten elected members has an inordinate amount of power over the lives of our people. Our committee leader is also the spiritual master of our temple. He once shared with me some words of the Emperor Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, “Every moment think steadily as a Roman and a man, to do what thou hast in hand with perfect and simple dignity, and a feeling of affection and freedom and justice.” First of all, I am impressed that a Buddhist leader would quote such a historical person, and second that he would consider me worthy of such good advice. Perhaps he sees my efforts to be accountable to myself and others; if so, this would be positive.
My wife is named Zeya, which means yellow rose. We have known each other from our earliest years. My older brother is married to her older sister, and it was always assumed that we would follow their path to marriage. For us, it is our path, as an early friendship continuously led to a deeper relationship of love. We married later in age than most, as I felt a burden to first show myself worthy of such a beautiful and capable woman. Zeya followed her mother as a teacher in our school, and she is dedicating these formative years of our sons to their education. As proud as she is of my efforts as a fisherman to provide for our family, she is committed to breaking the cycle of back-breaking work, desiring that her boys might be the doctor or the merchant.
Zeya is correct, the Intha fisherman places a heavy burden on his body. Over several centuries we have mastered a method of fishing that is both an art form and a productive use of our limbs. With one foot balancing at the tip of the stern, the other foot guides the oar through the water. The free hand holds the net that is repeatedly cast upon the water. Drawing a heavy catch on to the boat while maintaining the movement of the skiff surely pressures both mind and muscle. Our sons practice this method of fishing and will compete with other youngsters during festival competitions, but they have accepted their mother’s expectations and will not follow in the footsteps of their father.
Recently our committee has been debating a contentious issue that has left me both anxious and on the defensive. A key to our water life centers on our floating gardens. Surrounding our village are communal gardens where the women, and some men, grow all our vegetables, grains, and flowers. Along with our fish, these precious commodities sustain our bodies and provide products for trade. As our country has become more open to visitors from the outside, our lake has been overrun with tourists that speed too near our gardens. The wake from their high powered skiffs, sometimes twenty feet long with ten people aboard, disturb both the growth and quality. I have led the minority voice to create a safety zone around our gardens. As our village receives a small revenue from these tourist dollars, the majority opinion from the committee is to avoid antagonizing the businessmen with restrictions. Some lifelong friends have accused me of ignorance to a new way of life, and say I should be quiet and resign from my position. This was very hurtful to hear. Our spiritual leader has tried his best to navigate through these diverse positions and calm the dissent. He called me to the temple one day and shared a thought process that has been helpful to him over the years, and said it might be of benefit for my consideration. He opened my mind to IKIGAI.
IKIGAI is not from Buddhist thought, although it has a parallel with its mindfulness. Iki is the Japanese word for live, and gai is the Japanese word for reason. Simply stated, IKIGAI is the reason to live. To say it another way, it is the concept of finding purpose in life, the reason for which you wake up in the morning. Buddha lived in the 4th century BCE and the origin of the word IKIGAI dates back to 794. Spiritual leader said these paths of thought have mingled over the years and that it is not a perversion of our faith to consider its benefits. He spoke of the five pillars of IKIGAI:
What a blessing to meditate on these pillars and seek their application in my daily life. It is too early to say it has been transformative, but I may say this as time goes on. While all five principles have direct benefit to my personality and circumstances, it is number 2 and number 5 that especially resonate with my spirit. I have often thought that I get in my own way by overthinking situations, and the two simple words, releasing yourself, is like a new breath of fresh air. Finding that moment of pause and release is an ideal segue to being mindful of the here and now. My old way of thinking would have me missing the joy of a current moment as I would expend energy attempting to manage a future unknown.
Zeya suggested I meet one-on-one with the men of our committee who have been angered by my position on the floating gardens. She felt I could overcome the barriers that had arisen with a more relaxed and harmonious approach. I have met with two of the men so far, and I am encouraged by our progress.
On every Saturday the women of our village meet in the communal hall to bake bread and share it with all our people. It is our way of life to highly honor our elders and to take care of those who are less fortunate. This ritual of collective growing and sharing has truly been the tie that binds. The men take turns transporting the grain to the miller and returning with our wonderful flour.
Today I helped the women by moving the flour sacks from the storage room to the preparation tables. It was an opportunity to find joy in small things by watching them knead the dough. Working and reworking the dough, adding water, salt, yeast, and again reworking what will be our delicious and sustaining bread. I thought of my life being like dough that was constantly being kneaded, shaped, and reshaped. There is so much that I do not understand about life, and yet, I feel somehow that there is an order, that I am moving in a designed path, and I feel blessed beyond measure.
RICHARD SWAIN
A SHORT STORY BY RICHARD SWAIN
This is my earliest memory; it was a tearful plea to my mother that another woman had tried to physically take me, claiming I was her son. My mother laughed and told me to go back out and play. I have wondered if there was a connection between my young fear and her trusting faith that has helped shape the person I have become.
My name is Aung Win. I do not consider myself weak or superstitious, but too often throughout my life, an unsettling self-talk challenges my measure as a man. If you look for the meaning of the name Aung, a key definition is a particular burden of obligation upon one who is responsible. It would be unfair to say others have pressed this upon me, but more that I have undertaken a lifetime of self-evaluation, perhaps to excess.
I am a fisherman, like my father and grandfather. We are known as the Intha people of the Shan State of Burma, and the majority of my life has been spent on the water of Lake Inle. Our home is on the water, as is the school, store, and temple. Seldom do I step on land.
As I write these words, I am thirty-eight years old, married, father of twin sons age eleven, and a member of our village committee. In our community, a committee of ten elected members has an inordinate amount of power over the lives of our people. Our committee leader is also the spiritual master of our temple. He once shared with me some words of the Emperor Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, “Every moment think steadily as a Roman and a man, to do what thou hast in hand with perfect and simple dignity, and a feeling of affection and freedom and justice.” First of all, I am impressed that a Buddhist leader would quote such a historical person, and second that he would consider me worthy of such good advice. Perhaps he sees my efforts to be accountable to myself and others; if so, this would be positive.
My wife is named Zeya, which means yellow rose. We have known each other from our earliest years. My older brother is married to her older sister, and it was always assumed that we would follow their path to marriage. For us, it is our path, as an early friendship continuously led to a deeper relationship of love. We married later in age than most, as I felt a burden to first show myself worthy of such a beautiful and capable woman. Zeya followed her mother as a teacher in our school, and she is dedicating these formative years of our sons to their education. As proud as she is of my efforts as a fisherman to provide for our family, she is committed to breaking the cycle of back-breaking work, desiring that her boys might be the doctor or the merchant.
Zeya is correct, the Intha fisherman places a heavy burden on his body. Over several centuries we have mastered a method of fishing that is both an art form and a productive use of our limbs. With one foot balancing at the tip of the stern, the other foot guides the oar through the water. The free hand holds the net that is repeatedly cast upon the water. Drawing a heavy catch on to the boat while maintaining the movement of the skiff surely pressures both mind and muscle. Our sons practice this method of fishing and will compete with other youngsters during festival competitions, but they have accepted their mother’s expectations and will not follow in the footsteps of their father.
Recently our committee has been debating a contentious issue that has left me both anxious and on the defensive. A key to our water life centers on our floating gardens. Surrounding our village are communal gardens where the women, and some men, grow all our vegetables, grains, and flowers. Along with our fish, these precious commodities sustain our bodies and provide products for trade. As our country has become more open to visitors from the outside, our lake has been overrun with tourists that speed too near our gardens. The wake from their high powered skiffs, sometimes twenty feet long with ten people aboard, disturb both the growth and quality. I have led the minority voice to create a safety zone around our gardens. As our village receives a small revenue from these tourist dollars, the majority opinion from the committee is to avoid antagonizing the businessmen with restrictions. Some lifelong friends have accused me of ignorance to a new way of life, and say I should be quiet and resign from my position. This was very hurtful to hear. Our spiritual leader has tried his best to navigate through these diverse positions and calm the dissent. He called me to the temple one day and shared a thought process that has been helpful to him over the years, and said it might be of benefit for my consideration. He opened my mind to IKIGAI.
IKIGAI is not from Buddhist thought, although it has a parallel with its mindfulness. Iki is the Japanese word for live, and gai is the Japanese word for reason. Simply stated, IKIGAI is the reason to live. To say it another way, it is the concept of finding purpose in life, the reason for which you wake up in the morning. Buddha lived in the 4th century BCE and the origin of the word IKIGAI dates back to 794. Spiritual leader said these paths of thought have mingled over the years and that it is not a perversion of our faith to consider its benefits. He spoke of the five pillars of IKIGAI:
- Starting small
- Releasing yourself
- Harmony and sustainability
- The joy of small things
- Being in the here and now
What a blessing to meditate on these pillars and seek their application in my daily life. It is too early to say it has been transformative, but I may say this as time goes on. While all five principles have direct benefit to my personality and circumstances, it is number 2 and number 5 that especially resonate with my spirit. I have often thought that I get in my own way by overthinking situations, and the two simple words, releasing yourself, is like a new breath of fresh air. Finding that moment of pause and release is an ideal segue to being mindful of the here and now. My old way of thinking would have me missing the joy of a current moment as I would expend energy attempting to manage a future unknown.
Zeya suggested I meet one-on-one with the men of our committee who have been angered by my position on the floating gardens. She felt I could overcome the barriers that had arisen with a more relaxed and harmonious approach. I have met with two of the men so far, and I am encouraged by our progress.
On every Saturday the women of our village meet in the communal hall to bake bread and share it with all our people. It is our way of life to highly honor our elders and to take care of those who are less fortunate. This ritual of collective growing and sharing has truly been the tie that binds. The men take turns transporting the grain to the miller and returning with our wonderful flour.
Today I helped the women by moving the flour sacks from the storage room to the preparation tables. It was an opportunity to find joy in small things by watching them knead the dough. Working and reworking the dough, adding water, salt, yeast, and again reworking what will be our delicious and sustaining bread. I thought of my life being like dough that was constantly being kneaded, shaped, and reshaped. There is so much that I do not understand about life, and yet, I feel somehow that there is an order, that I am moving in a designed path, and I feel blessed beyond measure.
RICHARD SWAIN