Visit to Canada

Who was he to deny the pleasures of being away?
The small Korean rural town, for all
Its quietness, its lovely understatement of each day,
The understatement of moon, cricket song,
Rasping spade, furrowed land, held him too long.
How many restless nights would he recall
His parents, his friends on the opposite side
Of the globe? Or the architectural stone,
Geometric language with its varied tone,
Or the different languages, different faces
Of Canadians? Who was he to deny
The pleasures of his friends’ and parents’ embraces?
And pleasures embraced him when he came –
Two weeks of long, long walks through the maze
Of Montreal, under the devoted prayer of blue,
Amid perfect weather that shed humid thought,
Amid the breeze that played upon emerald hue
Of trees, with a pianist’s masterly skill.
How strange it was to hear other languages,
To see new stores, coffee shops adorn a street,
To see his mother after nearly five years
With darker teeth, conflict asserted on her face
More than before, beyond groaning or tears,
To see the little graves of his beloved cats
In her backyard, summer’s delicate beams,
Still, sad beams piercing with the pain of dreams,
The fir tree in the middle much taller,
Strangely reassuring, like a faith grown
Or perhaps clarity, and two new cats,
Gray twins, quite friendly, and up to no good,
His mother in the kitchen, nodding warmly,
Cooking, smiling, pleased, almost satisfied,
Looking on her son with maternal pride.
He seemed taller, he was stronger, more mature,
More balanced somehow, though perhaps less pure.

How delightful it was to see his father!
The snow-white hair, sagging skin and sadness,
The internal conflict yet held no dominion,
For the reconciliation was sweet,
And the father, too, noticed he was stronger.
He had let go of trying to look good,
Of the part played in being misunderstood,
The part of the unappreciated son,
The part of one desiring to contend,
So that a quietness became its own end…
The son outgrew his complaints, acknowledged love,
Demanded nothing, savored quietness:
A fir tree grew in the absence of blame;
Without expecting generosity, it came…

Yet among all the pleasing and sad differences
That played upon his eye, like the shimmering dress
Of a girl in a dream whose affections never faded
Though she had become more sombre, more morose,
Yet among these, one that pierced most profoundly
Was the feeling he could never go back:
The tenderness remained, the reunions were sweet,
As was the architecture of each known street,
But the stories and debates of his parents and friends,
The once cherished movies and cozy rooms,
Their memories that looked with longing eyes,
The familiar sentiments, his books of literature,
The worldly goals, aspirations he once had –
All these were before him with a clarity that was sad.
Some of these were beautiful, some not,
And none quite satisfying anymore.
He once thought if he could just have the right
Lover, the right job, or settle elsewhere,
Master his craft, a mastering delight
Would at last have fulfillment for a bride,
Would at least feed the dream HE’S GETTING THERE,
Whatever THERE meant… It struck him like the dark
Teeth of his mother, light on the fir tree, the little graves…
It felt like many a comforting remark
She made to him when he was a child, and scared,
And like stroking his cats when they were alive.
The visit was lovely, yet Canada
And Korea were not so different:
He remembered a Korean farmer’s face,
Defeated, lonely, fearful, like his mother’s face.
Their consciousness was very much the same,
Modified perhaps, with different shades,
Different memories wielding different blades,
And neither Canada nor Korea was home,
Nor were his memories, his parents and friends.
He would have to find other friends; the only home
He would know is service, expanding kindness,
Deepening realizations, insight,
Bearing him back to Father-and-Mother-Light.

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