Macrobiotics Today, November/December 1994, Vol. 34, No. 6
"All Eyes Are One" Mario Binetti
They picked me up as agreed, right on time, as if I were still in Swit-zerland where it is expected that people are on time. Only this is Italy. They are young and beautiful, set to venture out into the world together. Chiara has discovered macrobiotics just a few months ago. As is appropriate, Silvio, her boyfriend is skeptical and determined to ask a few decisive questions of this "direttore" (director) of, from what they have heard, the most important and therefore, most "macrobiotic" macrobiotic center in Europe.
She is truly beautiful, with the typical Italian self-assurance, something Italians acquire during all the years of being a child in a country where children are adored like nowhere else. Many do not escape from the box that Italian society puts them in: to be cute, always dressed well - Italian style (nowhere have I seen clothes for kids with such style, yet somehow out of place), happy, outgoing and expressive, yet always loyal to the family to the point where up to age twenty-five it is not uncommon to find young adults still living with their parents.
"Macrobiotics cures everything?" Silvio asks. There we are, still two hours away from where we have to go, the celebration of George Ohsawa's 100th birthday by Italians, in Modena, the city where Ferrari cars are manufactured. How am I going to answer that question? He has read that statement in several books, he says. Luckily, Chiara gets me out of trouble. She senses that my answer would probably confuse him, which would make it even harder for her to convince him that this is not a crazy cult. So we change the subject to talking about cars. They have a nice car - a Lancia. Everyone would love to have one; the styling is a dream. Who cares that they have the worst breakdown record next to some eastern European cars like Ladas or Skodas. Italians are masters at making things look good. But it is not cheating or covering up. Everyone knows that's how life is, joins in, and laughs about it. Who cares about things being perfect and reliable, the excitement would be gone. The challenge of making things work, even within chaos, and having to be creative, would be missing in life - a whole culture would lose part of its identity. Silvio is driving fast, but it sure doesn't look like it. He is cool, but that's not an expression in their vocabulary. That's just how you are.
How Do You Spell Ohsawa?
The closer we get to Modena, the more nervous I get. Is the talk I prepared the right thing to say to these people? Who says that my view of Ohsawa has anything to do with reality? Who is going to show up anyway? Anybody at all? Chiara and Silvio must notice that I am preoccupied. They leave me alone and get into a conversation about soccer. There is always something to talk about in connection with soccer.
I am thinking how it must be for these two, just getting into this new lifestyle and already going to the 100th anniversary celebration of its founder. "How do you spell Ohsawa?" she asks. At our institute, the International Macrobiotic Institute in Kiental Switzerland, we often have students now who have never heard of Ohsawa when they first come to a macrobiotic studies course. They take their note pads and make sure they don't miss marking down the name Tao Te Ching when I mention it being an important and helpful book for understanding macrobiotic philosophy. They have never heard of it either. Then, after the first feelings of astonishment, I dig into this virgin land to plow the future for these people, introducing them to George and Lao Tsu. What a responsibility and challenge, yet what great fun?
No Ferraris Anywhere
We arrive in Modena. There are no Ferraris in sight. I guess the fact that they are made here doesn't mean that everyone drives one. There is a communist town government in Modena, as in many cities in the northern region of Italy - the wealthy ones. Economically, people seem to do quite well in this area and individual expression is highly valued. They don't seem to feel any contradictions. A classic paradox I would say - communist government and personal expression and wealth.
We are looking for the location of the celebration. It's behind a railroad track, kind of in a nowhere zone. It turns out to be a school or training center for fashion models, though not necessarily those who model high-class Armani suits. The owner is macrobiotic. He made a special deal for the organizers, and you never turn down a special deal, even if what you get is a borderline sleazy joint.
In the lobby there are old pictures of Ohsawa hanging on the walls, and some of his original writings translated into Italian. I am surprised how much material they have found. A lot of it I didn't even know existed.
They Did It Again
Once more, the Italians are pulling it off. A lot of people show up. Old friends, newcomers. Then there are the established teachers, distinguished, and of high social status. Italians love to have a relationship with someone "important." Everyone makes sure they get a dose of prestige, which means, in some way, everyone also plays the role of being important for someone else. Emotional needs are being taken care of.
An isolated, intellectual, and somewhat cold approach to macrobiotics has no chance in this culture. Personal relationships and satisfaction of emotional life has to be built in, in whatever way. Given that, it is interesting to see how that issue always comes up in the macrobiotics of Italy. Often, people do feel isolated, always wondering what else they have to do to "do it right', to be accepted in the macrobiotic social structure, which they, rightfully so, consider just like one of the other millions of subcultures that exist in their society. Little subcultures, pockets, homes where they find their platform to create their identity, express themselves, and give and receive recognition and love.
As the beginning of the event approaches, I go upstairs into the lecture hall, which, of course, is set up for fashion modeling. There is large stage, a seating area, and the inevitable walkway. They don't bother taking down all the posters of beautiful men and women, some of them quite naked. George Ohsawa, whose poster-sized photocopied black and white pictures are looking down at us amid the glossy, futuristic, glittery photos of those beautiful people, looks a little bit out of place. I wonder what George is thinking, up there in heaven (Is George in heaven? Maybe more like purgatory, and probably the only one there enjoying it!).
The whole scene reminds me of a few years ago when I was invited to teach at an Italian summer camp. At the final party there was a dance contest. The first prize for the best male and female dancer was to have a special dance with the visiting teacher and the American/Finnish cook, the only foreigners in the crowd. Yes, you guessed right, the visiting teacher was me. If you would see my dancing skills, especially along side the best female dancer, who was actually a dancing teacher, you can understand that Federico Fellini would have just had to set up his camera, roll it, go to a coffee shop and enjoy a few Italian cappucinos, and then come back, having just completed another one of his masterpieces.
Time Stands Still
After some confusion about microphones not working and looking for the guy who is supposed to start, the Ohsawa centennial celebration in Italy gets going. Again, I am the guest teacher, a special privilege. They save me for the end. For them, that is to express recognition of being the guest of honor. For me, it's torture having to wait that long. I change what I want to say every five minutes, depending on what the others say. There is Roberto, as always a eloquent speaker and as always, surprising everyone with how much background information he knows. I can see that Ohsawa lives in a myth in Roberto's mind. Ohsawa must be important and have made significant contributions to humanity if he has reached this status - even if it is just in macrobiotic circles. Stories are being told about him. Who in the world knows whether they are true, whether the interpretations we now pass around have anything to do with reality? But then, isn't that how it always goes? Herds of scholars are now debating about what Jesus said and did. Some accounts are diametrically opposed to each other.
It becomes clear as the afternoon goes on that personal interpretation is unavoidable and actually okay. There are grains of truth in every story. Each story adds to the rich puzzle of what we call macrobiotics through the eyes of Ohsawa. As time goes on it becomes so fascinating that I forget about my nervousness. I am listening. I am being there. I realize afterwards that "being there" is one of the simple goals of macrobiotic practices - to create awareness of "now." Not living according to how things "were" or "should be." As Ferro, Luigi, Maria, Giorgio, and others honor the life and work of Ohsawa through their own experience and perceptions, George's posters on the wall slowly become colorful, shiny, radiating, and even inspiring. The other pictures . . . I don't even notice them anymore. Who really cares where we are, the place is perfect. Time stands still.
Then it is my turn. There I am up on the stage where the beautiful people swing their hips in that particular way (God knows who ever decided that modeling means walking that way), wondering where to begin explaining about George, macrobiotics, and the past eighteen years of my life devoted to the promotion of this lifestyle. Believe it or not, it started at one of the French Meadows summer camps, listening to Herman Aihara talk about George Ohsawa.
I Forget What To Say
At first I don't know what to say. Forget about those notes I made weeks ago and polished on the train to Milano. It's always the same with me. I never end up talking about what I have actually prepared.
In a moment that seems like an eternity, everything flashes before me. This must be what it is like being in an accident. Even as it is happening, everything comes to you simultaneously. You see everything clearly. Language becomes a high-precision information tool, like a compressed version of modern computer communication. Yet it all happens in slow motion - in my case, while 300 eyes are waiting for the gospel. It's expected. I am the special guest teacher and the last speaker. Plus, I have an Italian name yet my presentation needs to be translated from English. For Italians, this doesn't make sense.
I am praying for George to help me. Like out of a trance I start talking. "I don't know anything about George Ohsawa," I say. Now what? I stand there, allowing myself a few seconds of looking like I am contemplating, as if to give even more meaning to the incredibly deep value of what I have to say after this introductory statement. I have no idea what I'm going to say next.
Somehow, luckily, there is also the feeling that George would probably have just opened his mouth and started talking like this too - trusting his intuition. And, as so often in similar circumstances, I just talk, and while I talk I am amazed at what's coming out of my mouth. Which in turn inspires me and keeps me going, without apparently thinking. Again being present, connected with what there is, driven by sheer trust in my personal integrity.
Plus, I have the advantage of having to wait for the translator to interpret my previous phrase. Another time, also in Italy, Florence that time, I was giving a seminar and a woman, Luisa, was translating. In the middle of the seminar I noticed there was something strange going on, without knowing where that feeling was coming from. Suddenly, I noticed that Luisa was translating stuff that I hadn't even said yet. I was shocked. We went on for a while like that and the listeners didn't even notice it. It was like being high! I'm not the only one Luisa could intuit. She has now developed into a very sought after channeler. I go to see her sometimes, and it is amazing what she, or actually my spirit guide Antonio, who was my brother in Rome, in the 12th century B.C. (Italian roots after all!) comes up with.
All Eyes Become One
The eyes are attentive. Italians are visual people and I am on a roll. Nothing can stop me. Compassion sets in and this "thing" macrobiotics becomes alive. It is not a narrow-minded way of eating, a Japanese cult, an exclusive sect, or just for the sick. It's life as it is, in its fullest expression of the soul, the individual and the collective one, with an opportunity to express itself, to be present in all our doings, and in all the ways we manifest ourselves. There is no good or bad. Once something is being expressed, it is always an expression of our soul. It's the source of creative life, endlessly powerful, always giving, always available, and capable of creating and sharing love.
The soul knows no limitations of language, culture, race, religion, and personal preference. Once in motion, we allow ourselves to be as individual as we can be, yet no separation is created. The uniqueness of individuality becomes the binding power and we not only have no inhibitions to acknowledge each other, we are compelled to do it, naturally, without thinking, here and now.
The three hundred eyes become one pair of eyes; we see each other as if through the eye of a needle. Now I feel that I do know George Ohsawa.
I leave Modena, this time there are four of us crammed in a compact Fiat. This is also a common way of getting around in Italy. It does not always have to be a Ferrari or an Alfa Romero . . . or even a Lancia.
End of Article
Author bio-statement: Mario Binetti is the director of the International Macrobiotic Institute (IMI) in Kiental, Switzerland where he lives with his wife and children.
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