Stepping Stones Across the River

Temples in Taiwan are as common as bus stops. They can take up entire city blocks, or the corner of a thin alley. They all radiate cathode light, an incense of burnt wishes and the hope that questions will have acceptable answers; that problems will have familiar solutions or that one’s dreams and hopes are not too far out of line with the vision of the gods.
Unlike the solemn and whisper of western religious sanctuaries, Taiwanese temples are unfettered, flip-flop casual and without holy pretense. Still lives of fruit, flowers, boxed snacks and cans of liquid refreshment adorn tables that offer to the Chinese pantheon of gods a snack while they consider the mortal requests of those who are still learning how to craft our own destiny.
Taiwanese temples offer DIY fortune telling.
 We all have questions, spoken or not. We all have answers, touched upon or not.

It works like this:

Fire up the incense; face out toward the world and feel the invitation of divine intervention. Let it creep up your spine and wiggle into the interstitial spaces between the flesh; drop three sticks of incense into the cauldron outside the temple.
Then face inward, to the pantheon of gods, deities and local heroes, recognize they are all in you in the first place. Drop another three sticks of incense in the alter cauldron; reach inward and ask the proper question. Then pull one black patina’ed bamboo stick from amongst the tribe of bamboo slivers in the unpolished brass can. Chose an intention, a path, a belief, choose a commitment to unfold life on a path of our own creation. We all walk into the temple looking for a little guidance, a wink, a nudge; we want a nod from the future that we are choosing wisely.

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We all know that fooling ourselves is fiendishly easy. 
But, fooling the gods is another matter.

There are no fortune cookies in Taiwan, but in every temple, next to the brass canister of inscribed bamboo are a pair of wooden crescent moons that easily cup in the hand. They look like petrified fortune cookies, but they are the oracle’s way of confirming the honesty of your inquiry. Should they fall one face up and the other face down, the chosen stick will give an insight into your question. Otherwise, try another question.

There is a book that holds the explanations of all the sticks. No one really understands old Chinese. It actually gives me an odd sense of satisfaction that most people in Taiwan, like me, need to read the explanatory text to understand how to dream more deeply into the path at hand.
Really though, in Taiwan, if you read English there are oracles all around that whisper and remind, point and nudge, to the path held in one’s heart.

Taiwan is a goofy place. It’s like it was designed by a nine old.

I am not at all saying that it is childish here, but that there is an unvarnished sense of playfulness. Nine year olds know how to play, they are experts at it. At the same time they know there is a larger wider world, and some of their ideas just might make a difference too; if the adults would listen.

Nine year olds believe in good ghosts, have secret hideouts, ride on two wheels with expertise and abandon. They hold their friends close, argue freely, and are always on the outlook for a tasty snack and fun time. How else could you explain night markets, and streetside silver carts brimming with treats, scooter culture and fist fights in the legislature?

As evidenced by the bing lang sirened lights, overwhelming collage of placards splashed with neon and photoflash, and buildings dressed in a dance of zig-zag, floodlit bath or slow stream of liquid color, the Chinese love affair with illumination touches that place in all of us that wonders at the magic of light.

Sure, there are gangs and mafia, like any playground with its cliques and bullies. Sometimes it is hard to take them seriously with the perm’ed hair and Hello Kitty motorcycle helmets. But, then the gangsters of the west cannot seem to keep their pants on their hips. Perhaps all outlaws need a black hat badge of some sort.

Here too are the closer connections of family. We cultivate independence in the West; Taiwan grows a tangle of interdependent tendrils of connection and support. While there is as much theft and corruption as any other human community; the former president is currently behind bars for having his hands on tainted money. The US could take a page from that playbook, and the one for healthcare as well which provides easy and affordable access to skilled providers; it includes dental and Chinese medicine. Even foreigners who work here and contribute to the common welfare are included.
While some of the largest chip foundries in the world hail from here, the real strength of the country comes from the free wheeling lemonade stand capitalism; Taiwanese do business like morning glory grows vines. People dig in here and DIY.

Taiwan is a unique gem. More traditional than their mainland cousins, modern in a way that would seem like science fiction to the West; tinted with the scent and habit from its crossroad connections with Asia and the West, Taiwan has a fractal like attraction and depth.
Pause for a moment and you can end up mesmerized and entranced for a lifetime.

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The air is a few grades denser in Taiwan; if fog felt like it looks, it would feel just like this.

It is familiar as the smell of warm baked bread, or salt ocean spray, except it contains the oily residue of life and the vibrancy that comes naturally when an abundance of it is compressed into a small space.

Overstuffed upholstered chairs, like Japanese Manga marshmallows, absorb the sway and jostle of the bus as it wheels a grey snake of concrete highway that winds through hillside emerald. Hills invaded by explosive drapings of flora and trees. It is wildly jungleously green. Achingly green, as only humidity and heat produce. Layered highways lead to a desert camouflage of grey, rose, beige and yellow tiled structures, the boxes, alleys, and neighborhoods upon which the life and blood of Taipei thrive.

The twitchy, hyper-vigilance that is the required body armor of the mainland begins to melt away. It is like being able to converse deeply in your mother-tongue.