We toss around words like "changing the world" pretty easily these days. I just added it to a blog title earlier this week. Seems like I've been saying it all my life. I recall the wise words you can love the world or want to change it, but not both. True confession: Until age 35, I never loved the world. I could not.
Tucked away in the deepest heart of Japan, somewhere beyond city life, probably beyond country life, resting in a humble shack on a simple shelf in a nearly bare room, you can find a really powerful idea about beauty. This idea, this way of life, this way of being, goes against everything the contemporary American culture sells. It is so radical, it goes toe–to–toe with any notion that the way things are—even when they are falling apart—are not the way things ought to be.
Anger. It’s a bad thing, right? It’s low-brow for spiritual types. Better to “OMM” your way through, don’t you think?
No. I don’t think.
Anger is not primitive on the journey of enlightenment. Jesus overthrew the tables when he got angry at the moneychangers. Buddha might have been grieving for the world at large when he left his wife and child and the life of a prince, but my guess is he was also just a wee bit angry that his family shielded him from the true nature of the world for those less fortunate throughout his entire early life.
Wilhelm is my Austrian friend. Tall and stout, with a heavy accent and infectious smile, he is one of those people who really know how to enjoy the good things in life. From a rowdy round of soccer (football, as he calls it) to those very expensive restaurants that serve tiny meals on beautiful plates, he is both my good friend and private fashion police. “Robin,” he said while celebrating a special occasion with an especially fine wine, “you're in the amazing business.”