I was once blessed by seeing a recreation of the Rainbow Bridge at the
National Treasure Museum in Taiwan. Like so many sticks, cantilevered,
forever falling into themselves - no nails, nor conventional joints -
just cantilevered sticks, whose linear members upon endlessly falling
manifested themselves parabolically.
I stood under it and sublimated. When I walked away, I silently wept
knowing that I could not contain each piece, each interaction in my
mind. I dried my face, bought a camera and returned. I photographed
each exquisite architype, there being no way to capture the majesty of
the mathematics and the form in a single frame.
I stood back, staring into the bridge, and in my mind's eye, I reviewed
each perfect shot I had taken. After a while, I realized the folly of
trying to compartmentalize majesty. One can know and express each atom
- or each architypical atom - of a fine barbequed rib, but at the same
time never express the experience, the penultimate joy of eating with
abandon.
Jamming the folly of seeing the whole by its parts, I threw the camera
away. In all my tellings of the story of the Rainbow Bridge, I have
not related this part until this very day.
You see, it's been a long time crossing, Bridge of <Sighs>.
I ventured back to HsinChu. In the center of town is an open market of
foods of the most delicious - and a racket to wake the dead from
everyone shouting out their orders. One basically goes from vendor to
vendor - more than an acre's worth - just getting one morsel - one
bite, until you fill a paper boat sufficient to your meal. The
barbeques were astonishing.
After dining, I wandered about the bizarre. The heat was amazing in
HsinChu. Think of Hell. Think of the southernmost part of Hell.
Think of a sauna in the southernmost part of Hell. And now think of
some Bozo Texino in that sauna shouting, "Hey, everbuddy! I know
someplace hot! Let's go to HsinChu!"
At the center of the bizarre I found a temple, carved of intricate
wood, filigreed in demons large and small, incense flaring around the
central demon.
"Do you speak English?"
"Yes - some."
"What is this place?"
"This is Taoist temple, very old. I think you say 3000 years."
"I can't believe wood lasting 3000 years."
"You American. This wood. This temple. Older than you, OK."
"Taoist - like Old Man - Taoist?"
"Old Man?? Yes, yes, Old Man. OK, why you ask question you already
know? Did you try hot pepper barbeque over there - it's my brother and
sister place."
"Yes, it was very good."
"Thank you, I tell them. Why you look like that on your face?"
"We think of true Tao as simple, religious Tao as too complex. I think
this place is religious Tao, too complex for simple mystery. Probably,
I'm not making sense."
"No problem for me. I am Baptist! Also, Buddhist. Maybe Tao also. I
think I am here today because now I am Tao. Important to visit temple.
What about you?"
"I think I am American."
"<laughing> OK, I didn't want to say to you, but I think same thing of
you. You are angry?"
"<laughing> No, not angry. But what is this temple?"
"What mean? It temple. <suspicious look growing>"
"OK. <pointing at central demon> Who is that guy?"
"You here and you not know? That is God of Hell. This is temple for
entrace - this is Gate to Hell."
"Taoists here have gods?"
"God of Hell very important for Tao. I think even Baptists have God of
Hell."
Later in a bar adorned with dolphins, called Everydays, I met Louise,
drumming up business for her tour company. I asked if she knew about
the Gate of Hell. She was happy that a visitor made it past the food -
but questioned why I would bother and also asked if I tried the hot
pepper barbeque. After assurances that I did, I asked her if she
understood Tao God of Hell.
"No, I'm not Tao. OK, maybe next year, I am Tao. This time, I am
Methodist. Last month, Buddhist. Maybe because it's all the same.
<laughing>"
"Do you visit the Gate of Hell?"
"OK, we all visit, but don't discuss unless something bad or crime
happens. God of Hell knows."
"What do you mean?"
"If you think someone does a bad thing, and he says no, you tell him
you will visit God of Hell and tell him. And tell him to remember the
bad thing someone does. And then, when he dies, he cannot escape his
crime. God of Hell will remember and make him suffer."
"Where do good people go when they die?"
"What?!?"
"If bad people go to hell, where do good people go?"
"OK, I'm sorry, I thought you understood about Taoist. Everyone goes
to hell. Some people are happy and some people are kept sad by that
God. Did you ever think about Methodist? They have the same idea.
It's all same."
I visited the temple and food court often, until I realized that the
vendor's spaces radiated about the temple like the petals of a lotus
blossom, in perfection of cubic splines.
I asked Louise about it. She told me I needed more beer - or maybe
less - if I could see lotus blossom in barbeque stands.
Either way, she was right.
One thing I learned - a hot peppered barbeque isn't hot enough until
the God at the Gate of All Hell smiles.
Pearl
"Seeing the whole, not just the parts, since 1992."
Been a long time crossing, Bridge of <Sighs>.