Next Life in the Afternoon

I got to visit Khao Yai National Park while in Thailand. This was on a side trip from Prachin Buri, where I was staying at a monastery with Phramaha Nattapong. We got a local man to drive us an hour or so to the park, where we encountered quite a high waterfall and I got to witness the carefree attitude that must come from being a monk and being really closely in touch with one’s own mortality. Here is an excerpt from the book I am writing:

Phramaha Nattapong walked all the way to the edge of the waterfall, standing atop a boulder. It looked like the end of the earth, where he stood. It was so high that not even jungle was in the background of the picture.

“Carl, come take picture,” he said. I got close enough so that he was more than a speck in the small viewfinder and snapped a picture. I was about six feet from the edge, technically closer than I should be for safety purposes. The concept of edge discipline says that a person should not get closer to a dropoff than he is tall. I would not say that I have a fear of heights or even a fear of death but I certainly have no desire to experience either one up close.

“Come here. Stand here with me,” Phramaha Nattapong said.

“No, thanks. I’m fine here.”

“No, come here,” he insisted. “Beautiful view.”

“No, too high for me,” I said. He shrugged and enjoyed the view. Phra Bi edged out along a ridge over the drop. I chose to remain on firm, solid, dry ground where the only slipping I might do would land me in a river full of parasites and squalor, rather than in a morgue or simply left to scavenging animals out of simple convenience.

I later thought that this could have been an excellent Buddhist teaching Phramaha Nattapong was trying to impart on me. Becoming more aware of one’s own mortality and certain eventual demise is a very Buddhist undertaking. Monks and laypeople do this in different ways to show themselves that they are never far from death and that death is really part of a cycle of existence. Everything arises, exists and stops existing. Climbing on the boulder with Phramaha Nattapong pushed this point home a bit. Cessation and change are the only constants.

Word count so far: 54,690. I think that’s a good length and I am mostly working on editing at this point.

I have been working in a soul-sucking job that has done a lot to impede my writing progress, so it’s been a while since I sat down to the computer and did any work on it. As of this past Friday, I have been free on that problem so likely you will see more posts here more often.

While in Thailand I traveled to Prachin Buri and got wrangled into some impromptu teaching. Read on:

After the communal lunch, Phramaha Nattapong came to get me and took me to the school, where classes were in session and rows of uniformed children sat obediently, listening to their teachers and taking notes. We walked upstairs and approached one particular room. The teacher came out and I was introduced to her. We both made wais and greetings and I was invited to speak to the class. Phramaha Nattapong said, “You teach them now.”

“Teach them what?” I asked.

“Teach English. Talk to them. They like you.” Then both the teacher and my friend disappeared.

I was not prepared for what to say to the class, not having many words in common with them. I reviewed the English alphabet, which they already knew, and translated the few phrases I could think of – hello, goodbye, how are you, where is the train, you are very beautiful, and a few others I thought might be useful to them someday.

After about ten minutes of forced conversation, the teacher finally came back and thanked me for visiting the class. She then led the children in singing American songs, beginning with “Can’t Smile Without You.”

“Barry Manilow number one,” someone said after the song. How could I argue?

The singing continued as the children began to sing “Happy Birthday.” About the time the song ended the students began singing it again. The gesture of singing to me was very sweet and these children, all very cute, had made me feel welcome in a place where I was out of my element. However, I started wondering how long I could keep the smile on my face from sailing away on the winds and pictured myself having to bear hours of pre-pubescent kids singing in thick accents. It had its charm but not so much that I wanted to prolong the event.