Next Life in the Afternoon

Chiang Mai is a beautiful, filthy place. Everywhere you look you see lush greenery, and in the distance one direction are mountains and in the other are the long plains that stretch down toward Bangkok. The beauty is almost hidden, however, by a cloud of smog that blankets the city and settles on every surface and in every pore. Even among this filth is an opportunity for cleansing and redemption.

From the book:

Jet lag was still haunting me and I woke up to the darkness of my room, shades drawn tight against the outdoor fluorescent lamps. The air conditioner had cooled the room to what felt like almost freezing and had sufficiently cooled my sweat-soaked bedclothes. The air conditioners at Lai Thai Guesthouse have two settings – on and off. At night this meant the difference between a stuffy 85 degrees and a breeze cool enough to freeze your kidneys to the mattress. At least the AC units are efficient, if a little more powerful than necessary. It seemed like the large, industrial size unit you might use to cool a whole suite of offices.

I read the clock. 5:30 a.m. The traffic outside was evident and sounded above the din of the air conditioner. Chiang Mai is a city that knows no rest. All day and night cars, trucks and motorbikes make their loops around the city, feeding the air with smoke and smog, noise and vibration. The appeal of a tropical country, I decided, was not due to its city life. I longed for countryside. It was time to leave.

It was still hours before offices opened, so I could not simply stroll down the street and find a ticket to wherever lie ahead of me. I showered and dressed and left my room at that early hour for a convenience store near my hotel. I bought a couple bags of drinks and snacks, stuffed a couple bottles in my pocket for later and brought the rest to a Buddhist temple across the street.

There I met a monk who was busy sweeping leaves from the temple paths. The other, younger monks must have already gone on their morning alms rounds, as there were no others in sight – a strange thing that early in the day. I greeted him and offered my packages. He took them, set them aside and motioned for me to kneel. I obeyed, kneeling in the fresh-swept dirt, hands pressed together reverently. The monk said some words I recognized as a blessing in the Pali language. As I kneeled there, the monk touched my head and I could practically feel the dirt of the city – and of my life – lift from my being and blow away in the morning breeze. The cleansing of my spirit was more than I had bargained for; I just thought it would be a nice gesture to bring something to the monks.

Progress so far: Working backward through the chapters, currently editing chapter four.

(Holly Burns will be proud of me for using a semicolon in that last paragraph, despite claiming to dislike them previously.)

Technorati Tags: cleansing, redemption, traffic, Chiang Mai, Buddhist temple, monk, dirt

A friend of mine is a big hulk of a man, ex-soldier, ex-military police, currently a police officer in a nearby town. The man is a giant, big and strong as an ox, and one of the toughest-looking people I have known. However, one day when we were talking about traveling, he admitted to me that he was completely traumatized when the Army sent him overseas and he encountered his first squat toilet.

We both shared the same reaction – it seems like the most unnatural thing you can come into contact with. If you have never used one, count yourself among the blessed. It’s really not a big deal but if you are unprepared for this experience, it can be a bit shocking.

From my book:

Squat toilets really do take a little getting used to. For something as natural as squatting and shitting, most westerners find that squat toilets are quite uncomfortable because of what they are used to. We Americans, anyway, are used to sitting as long as we like, book in hand, or looking like Rodin’s Thinker, taking our time until our feet fall asleep and then slowly making our way out of the chamber. In the rest of the world shitting is a purely utilitarian affair rather than a pastime to be relished as if it were an opera or a fine wine. You go, you leave, you forget about it. Very quick. When you have to squat to make a movement, you will not tarry quite so long and may find it difficult to stay perched long enough to fully contemplate the existential feelings brought on by a madeleine or appreciate the craftsmanship of the latest issue of The New Yorker.

Have you ever had to use a squat toilet? Tell us about it!

Technorati Tags: travel, squat toilet, unnatural

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 just used Lulu.com to create a calendar from some photos I did in Thailand when I was there in 2003 with my lovely wife. Go check it out!

This was a lot of fun to do, as it had me looking at the pictures quite seriously, remembering places and people and in general putting myself back into a country that is half a world away. What an incredibly beautiful country it is in many ways!

Here are some samples of the pictures:

Technorati Tags: calendar, photos, Thailand

These are two of the people I traveled with in Thailand. Nut, on the left, was a student studying economics but has since dropped out of school, I am told by way of Phramaha Nattapong. Gak, the older fellow on the right, lived in Khon Kaen and was apparently the Thai version of independently wealthy. He had no vocation and lived in an apartment by himself with few worries of money.

He tried to buy my camera, insisting that I mail it to him when I got home. I never did. I did not want to and never promised it to him, despite his insistence. I suppose I could send it now, since I have a camera that is much nicer and have not used that particular one in some time.

Gak had spent six years as a monk during his younger years and seemed to know all the chants by heart, even though probably 20 years had passed. He meditated often, as did Nut, but Gak’s age and experience seemed to translate into a different type of meditation with a different intensity.

Nut’s youth seemed to keep him in the mindset of always striving for the still point in his mind, pushing forward until he finally achieved it. Gak, on the other hand, was more calm, peacefully allowing the concentration to develop. He seemed to watch his mind’s actions, while Nut pushed his mind in different ways.

Traveling and meditating with these two was definitely an eye-opener, allowing me to see where I was a little better and also where I was going. I recognized both styles and appreciated seeing them in other people as a confirmation of what was familiar on both ends.

Technorati Tags: travel, Thailand, Phramaha Nattapong, meditation, still point

I have been living in two worlds for three and a half years. When I left to go to Thailand, I knew to expect a little culture shock. It was a three-week trip and I had been there before, so I more or less knew what to expect. It was a little stressful to adapt while I was there, but not too bad.What I did not count on was the transition of returning to the States. I had spent three weeks taking bucket showers, scrounging and hording food and sleeping on the floor. Suddenly, when I came home, I had things like hot water anytime I wanted. I heard English spoken almost all the time and had a structured job to go to.

It was familiar but it wasn’t so comfortable. I wanted something else – something different – but I didn’t know what. I never really felt accepted in Thailand, mostly because I was very obviously a foreigner, and while most people there were friendly and welcoming, nobody wants to invest too much emotionally into someone they know will soon leave their life.

When I got home, I knew I did not really fit there either. The thing about travel is that it changes you. Your experiences and insights alter your very being, almost like a chemical reaction. You can’t undo that change. Maybe you can learn a new or different way of being so you can better adapt to your circumstance, but that experience will always be with you.

For a long time I lived like this, remembering Ajahn Kamtan’s words on meditation. “Breathe in, think, ‘Bud.’ Breathe out, think, ‘dho.’ In-out, you think, ‘Bud-dho.’ You do that. You meditate on Buddho.”

Meditation helped. It calmed my mind, put out the fires of my passions and let me see the world as part of a cycle, both on the macro and micro scale. Just as the world is impermanent and in a grand cycle, I am the same way, as are my thoughts and emotions. Everything arises, exists and passes away. This feeling of confusion and culture shock will also pass. This, too, is impermanent.

The confusion has faded over the years but still sometimes rears its head, especially since I am writing about my experiences and reliving memories on a daily basis. One moment I am in a remote jungle monastery, surrounded by the sounds of animals – monkeys, insects, birds – and the next moment I am jarred out of it by a cell phone’s ring in the coffee shop where I do much of my writing.

Sometimes it is hard to make the distinction between here and there, especially as I dive deeper into the stories, fleshing out dialogues and storylines with memories of travel and excitement. At times it seems so far away, so long ago, but I need only make an attempt to recall a precious interaction, a meal, a shared laugh, a gift. Those things are always in my heart and mind and will not change, even if the moments in which they occurred have long passed.

To recall the present moment – that most important of all moments – I need only recite what Ajahn Kamtan told me. Buddho. It brings me to that still point in my mind, the warm place in my heart, the deepness of the connection I share with all people regardless of culture. It brings to the place I call home.

Technorati Tags: Thailand, culture shock, travel, Ajahn Kamtan, Buddho, Meditation, writing, present moment

One of the ascetic practices some monks undertake is that of observing death in its many forms, from the ever-frightening threat of death to the ghastly specter of what remains after death. This is a practice designed to help them let go of attachments to the physical world and come to know in a very deep way that we are all subject to the same certain eventuality of pushing up daisies. Or tamarind trees, as the case may be.

I never intended to have this type of practice during the trip I made to Thailand three years ago but for most people it’s not something they plan for. When the threat of death comes, that horrid vision and realization of our own mortality, what do we do? Running toward danger is not a very smart action but running away from what we perceive to be dangerous may lead us to other dangers.

Here is a taste of what I did while in Old Sukhothai and finding myself among dangers I had not anticipated:

At other ruin sites the paths and lawns were clear, but at this one the paths I trod had me wading through ankle-deep leaves. The clearing where grass could conceivably grow was so covered that nary a blade showed itself if any were there at all.

I had recently stopped at a temple whose very large fire ant population kept me from staying long, so I was delighted to be among tall-growing hardwoods without obvious fruit that might support a healthy colony of little stinging creatures. Yelping and dancing a jig to get the fire ants off me was not a reflection of my best self.

The idea of encountering the dreaded king cobra or other death-giving creature had not crossed my mind when I noticed the leaves around my feet rustle with such vigor that my neck hairs stood erect in the still air.

I looked and could see the leaves moving among the fallen pillars and overgrown weeds at the edge of the clearing. Something was crawling in the underbrush. I didn’t know what type of creature it was and did not care to find out. My first thought was to leave at once, bidding adieu to my ground-dwelling companions. At some point, though, you have to figure that if you are halfway through the woods, you still have halfway to travel. That is, trying to extricate myself hastily would not prove any more effective if the same distance would be traversed regardless of speed. Any snakes that might be in the leaves and ready to strike would be there whether I ran or strolled.

Then comes the matter of strategy in walking. Do I walk noisily and hope to scare the snakes into slithering away ahead of my feet, or will that simply anger the gutsier of them into staying and attacking? Would a stroll, feet padding along silent and catlike, be more effective in trying not to scare the snakes, or would that ensure their complacency instead of their flight? Such are the thoughts of a man who would prefer to avoid certain death but knows that the number of fangs will likely remain unseen and unknown, and unknown even if seen.

So how did I walk? Slowly and noisily. Did I get bitten? No. By not running from danger and instead having a walk in the woods, I was able to enjoy what could have easily been my last minutes.

In the end, it is not avoiding death that matters. The quality of a life is not measured in time but in substance. If I were to get bitten and die there, I think I could have called my life and experiences quite full. Or someone could have, on my behalf. All the same, I am glad for the opportunity for future richness.

Technorati Tags: ascetic, monks, death, Thailand, mortality, danger, Sukhothai, ruin, snake

This may be one of the most accurate statements ever made. Don’t get me wrong – I am not making that statement as a blanket claim, only to say that if it is true, it is also true that sleeping on concrete is one of the least pleasant things I have ever done.

Here is a brief paragraph taken from the section of my book about staying in Prachinburi. Read on:

So there I was, trying to sleep on one of the hardest surfaces ever discovered. Unlike a traditional western bed, marble does nothing to hug the curves of your body or provide crucial back support. Although I have never been so ill as to experience bedsores, I could certainly imagine the feeling as my skin got pressed against the floor under the weight of my body.

What? You have never slept on concrete or it’s harder cousin, marble? Well, bless you for that! Don’t start now just because that’s what I did. I am here to tell you, friends, that I describe in detail just how pleasant and comfortable concrete can be.

Phramaha Nattapong and I had stopped once in Khon Kaen and I tried to take a nap on a wooden platform porch. No luck. It was hard, lumpy and just plain uncomfortable. That night, and for about a week after, I slept on a concrete slab in Udon Thani. While the concrete never got to feel comfortable by any means, I got used to it after a couple nights.

On the way back south, we stopped at the same place in Khon Kaen. This time, I was shocked that the wooden deck felt absolutely luxurious. I knew intellectually that there was a hardness difference between wood and concrete but I had never expected to experience it so vividly.

So is sleeping on concrete good for the soul? I couldn’t tell you with any certainty but it does give a person an appreciation for other sleeping surfaces. And that, as a lesson, is good for the soul, without a doubt. Thanks, Thailand!

Technorati Tags: sleeping, concrete, Prachinburi, bedsores, Phramaha Nattapong, Khon Kaen, Udon Thani, Thailand

I was just working on editing the book and came across this interchange I had while in northeast Thailand. Read on:

In the daytime, mosquitoes zoomed around my head, although they rarely bit. My mosquito repellent was 100% DEET, which is about three times stronger than anything I have seen recommended for regular use. Slathering this stuff on my skin made me wonder whether I was better off getting dengue and malaria rather than being exposed to such chemicals. The trade-off was between a damaged liver and spleen from the diseases or else possibly chemical-induced cancers. Who’s to know which would have the more serious implication in the long run?

I have read that the daytime mosquitoes apparently spread dengue, while the nighttime ones spread malaria, so even if you want to limit your exposure to chemicals by applying them for only half a day, you still do not have a very good chance of timing it right to avoid the type of mosquitoes you want to avoid. When I think of malaria, the first thing that pops into my head is the image of a sweaty, lethargic Humphrey Bogart from “The African Queen.” How bad could the disease be, I wondered. Bogart was cured in ten minutes, nursed back to health by a young, beautiful Katherine Hepburn. If that’s malaria, then sign me up.

I had met a man in Udon Thani who had gotten dengue twice – once in Guatemala and once in Thailand. He was staying at a temple and studying Buddhism, on the path to ordination as a monk. “I’ve never met anyone in Thailand who had malaria, but dengue is a different story,” he said.

“How’s that?” I asked.

“Dengue is pretty common, but it isn’t that bad. All your joints ache for a couple weeks and you get a bad headache, but you only really want to die for about a day.” Thus my comfort with mosquito-borne disease was ever weakened and I made sure to apply my carcinogenic salve more diligently, even compulsively at times.

So that’s that. Enjoy. Current count: about 45,000 words.

Technorati Tags: Thailand, mosquitoes, DEET, dengue, malaria, Humphrey Bogart, Katherine Hepburn, Udon Thani, carcinogen

As I said earlier, a farang is a foreigner in Thailand. While visiting with my friend Phramaha Nattapong, I had the honor of meeting his family and visiting their home in Nonthaburi, an hour north of Bangkok. One of the younger brothers in the family took this picture. I just thought it was humorous, the way I obviously don’t blend in to the family portrait.

What do you think? Thai on the inside, maybe?

I’m the white guy with the pen in his pocket. I still look like that, except with less hair, more gray and a different pen. The others in the front row are Phramaha Nattapong’s nephew and niece and his older sister. In the back row are Phramaha Nattapong, his father and mother and younger sister.

This younger sister, Chikoo, was almost a problem between us. Phramaha Nattapong kept warning me not to be a rooster with his sister. “She very beautiful but she my sister. Don’t be a rooster.”

The talk of roosters, it turns out, is a Thai phrase about promiscuity, referring to a rooster’s sexual behavior and appetite. If you have never seen how roosters act, go visit a chicken farm and see how loyal they are. They madly hump their way across the yard, going from one bird to the next, with no thought of anyone’s needs but their own. Such selfish humpers they are.

Phramaha Nattapong was afraid I might take advantage of his sister and was being a good older brother by protecting her. She was very beautiful but not enough to be a match to the loyalty I felt toward my wife and marriage. Once I vowed not to be like a rooster I was finally allowed to meet his sister. The two of us visited a nearby temple and then went to see the giant catfish in the Chao Phraya.

All the people at the river urged me to stick my hand in the water and touch the fish heads for good luck. I smiled and said no but was polite about it. I had smelled what flows into the Chao Phraya and was certain I didn’t want to come anywhere near it.

The whole family was warm and friendly, welcoming me and trying to talk to the strange, huge forigner who had arrived with their son. We had lunch, visited, took the picture above and left. No fuss, no muss, no roosters.

Technorati Tags: farang, Thailand, Phramaha Nattapong, Nonthaburi, rooster, sex, catfish, Chao Phraya