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Dear friends,
We invite you to join us this Monday evening 7pm EDT.
Magda will facilitate at our online sangha.
Magda shares:
In her book Lost in Translation, Ellen Frances Sanders discusses the Nguni Bantu term ubuntu. Sanders describes ubuntu as the notion that “I find my worth in you, and you find your worth in me” and adds that it “can be (very) roughly translated as human kindness.” Human kindness is a virtue that is described in every language I can think of. For example, the Buddhist terms metta in Pali and maitri in Sanskrit are defined as loving kindness. I interpret metta and maitri as versions of the well-known Golden Rule, treating others the way we want to be treated. In my view this is done by being mindful of the worth in all of us, especially in our most vulnerable states, such as when we need refuge. Terms related to universal virtues, easily found in a variety of languages, are the ones I most aspire to identify with.
Throughout my life I have been exposed to reductionist language in multiple forms: first, in the Spanish dialects spoken in my Puerto Rican and Venezuelan homelands; second, in my bilingual experiences living in an American colony and in the continental United States. Much of this language has come in the form of labels that foster the illusion of separateness.
At Thich Nhat Hanh’s continuation ceremony, novice monks were given new names, each name reflecting a virtue to aspire to, a gift of freedom. This reminded me of an awakening experience I had in Japan. While practicing walking meditation in Arashiyama Bamboo Grove in Kyoto, I heard my inner voice whisper my middle name, “De La Paz” (of Peace), a name I had never used. I then remembered something my father had told me when I was a child: “You were born the day of peace.” While my father taught me valuable lessons, this was one I had never valued before. While I am not sure about the literal truth of his message, this memory has made me even more deeply and joyfully grateful for my father. He made me mindful of a name based on a virtue that I can identify with. My father granted me a gift of freedom, my true name.
Thich Nhat Hanh had a similar experience at the Bamboo Grove Temple in Saigon. One night he woke up at 3 and spent an hour standing barefoot on the humus in front of the bamboo thicket and plum orchard. He suddenly had a deep realization: “You are there for me and I am here for you; that is the teaching of interbeing.” Both of our realizations might be analogous: “You are there for me in peace, and I am here for you in peace.”
I admire Thay’s interlingual fluidity and wonder in which language he conceived the notion of interbeing. My own understanding of my name developed in my mother tongue, the language with which I still feel the strongest emotional bond. I love how Thay uses his knowledge of languages to promote interbeing throughout the world. One of my favorite examples of his linguistic versatility is his description of Martin Luther King as a boddhisatva, a term commonly used in the East, and Jesus as the Buddha of the West. Would he have called my father the boddhisatva of the Caribbean?
I am passionate about languages and read dictionaries from a-z of the new languages I encounter as I travel. I look for words with similar roots or cognates in other languages, words for which memorization comes most naturally. One such word has made a deep impression on me since I was a child: the word caridad. Caridad, defined as charity in English, is another virtue I aspire to identify with.
In my travels around the world I have seen this virtue described in a variety of languages. I found it in a hotel in Vienna, sponsored by Caritas Internationalis, a humanitarian organization that originated in Germany in 1897. Coincidentally called Magda’s Hotel, this humble place of Zuflucht, refuge in German, shelters and offers employment opportunities to refugees from around the world.
The day after I visited Auschwitz, I discovered the Yiddish equivalent to Zuflucht in the word Apdakh. Sitting in a Jewish temple in Krakau, my tears flowed as I reached a deeper understanding of the meaning of the words refuge and charity; I gained a greater appreciation of the need for a true home, and of the magnanimity of those who provide it.
I remember the first time I heard the chant Namovalokiteshvarya in Plum Village. The chant expresses reverence for Avalokiteshvarya, who embodies the compassion of all Buddhas. With my linguistic predisposition, I first thought I heard the word “amor” or love in Spanish. It was not only that “amor” and “namo” sounded alike. In all the wet eyes around me I could perceive the multiple meanings of love: peace, interbeing, charity, refuge, magnanimity, compassion.
Later in Japan I learned about Kannon, the boddhisatva with many hands reaching out to tend to the needs in the world. I was delighted to learn that Kannon is considered just one of multiple Avalokiteshvarya avatars. I was in awe: Compassion in so many languages!
In the labyrinth of my linguistic journeys, all languages lead me to the names I aspire to embrace: names of virtue, my gifts of freedom.
For dharma sharing you might consider the following questions.
1) What names of virtue help you feel free?
2) Can you think of language that reduces the illusion of separateness?
3) How can we expand our interbeing through language?