The White Temple, a different View ...

Our recent house guest was in the mood for quiet contemplation, thoughtful conversation, and visiting a couple of local temples.  Here is a sample of what we came up with.  Wat Rong Khun is well known and often photographed so this is my attempt to present a different view.

A Good Day ...

Oppressive heat and the occasional torrential downpour are hardly conducive to a leisurely outing on the motorbike.  Yesterday afternoon the confluence of just bearable weather and an aching need to put my knees in the breeze, had me on the road and heading to a rocky outcropping in the middle of a rice field.  Passing routinely, on our main route to town, I have often thought of approaching closer for a better look.  The dirt turnoff from the main road is still doable on the Phantom but with a few more heavy rains, it would surely become off limits to such a bike.  At speed it was comfortable enough but the moment I stopped to take pictures the perspiration began flowing freely.  As it turned out, morning light would have been more complimentary to my subject but one makes do with what one is given.  As I headed around the back of the mountain to see where the trail might lead, the phone rang.  Recognizing my wife’s distinctive ringtone, I was quick to answer and put her on speaker, as removing my helmet was too slow and cumbersome.  The flip-up, modular helmet comes in handy for phone calls, refreshments and taking pictures. 

Turns out a Thai friend of ours had called from his orchard in the hills near Sop Pao and extended an invitation to come gather some lychee.  Returning home, necessitated my passing very near, so on my wife’s urging I proceeded to my new destination.  Having been there only once before, I missed the unmarked turnoff and had to stop and ask directions.  As it happened my petrol light came on, signaling the need for a top up so I kept and eye out for the ubiquitous wooden shack with a row of glass cylinders half full of the pinkish fluid my trusty steed required to quench its thirst.

Finally arriving at my destination, I was confronted with the strange vision of my friend with an unusual umbrella contraption, strapped to his head.  What it lacked in beauty, it made up for in function and practicality, however.  Soon our gathering grew from two to seven with the arrival of his wife, sister and others.  We took in the view from his hillside shack, talked and sampled the fruit from the trees.  I was tempted to linger till sunset but thought better of driving in the dark and took my leave in the late afternoon, saddlebags stuffed to overflowing with fruit.

I arrived home to children playing volleyball in the driveway and my wife fashioning paper bags over her favorite mangos, to keep them bug free as they ripened on the tree.  Cookie and I enjoyed our own private, pond-side sunset and marveled at the fish as they competed for every fistful of pellets that scattered upon the water’s surface.

Did I accomplish anything on the day?  Was I productive?  Did I earn my daily bread?  Will anyone but me, be moved by or remember these simple pleasures?  I think not.  Ask me, however, if it was a good day and you will see a smile creep into the corners of my mouth and a far off look in my eyes as I say nothing, merely nodding in silent affirmation.

The Human Condition ...

There lurks in the heart of every man, remnants of that savage untamed beast that begat us in the dark long forgotten past.  Deep in the intertwining double helix strands of our DNA, remain the primal drives and instincts that allowed us to not only survive but to search out, conquer and destroy all that lay before us.  Much of humanity continues to rely heavily on our primitive past to navigate and survive the ravages of our still savage planet.

For the modern man, living in a civilized world, there is a need to distance ones self from, and silence, those dark inner voices.  To use our inner beast to justify our savagery and disregard for others, is to deny our humanity and remain primitive and unrefined.  “I can’t help it, that is just the way I am” is a sad and demeaning plea that suggests the lack of choice or self-determination.  Our cerebral cortex and its executive functions were not evolved simply for show, to remain idle and unused.  Our feelings are perhaps beyond our control, as chemicals course through our veins.  Our actions are, however, within the realm of our control and I might argue necessarily placed under that control.  Choice is not limited to fight or flight as some might suggest. 

Control and self determination seems to have been an early theme in my life.  Stories of how I stubbornly took the clothes laid out upon the bed and returned them to the closet, only to make my own choice.  At least that is the way my mother told it.  I remember high school as a time when many were experimenting with hallucinogens of varying sorts.  In my time spent as a volunteer in drug clinics, encounter groups were all the rage as a means of therapy.  Those with greater dependencies often entered a rehab program led by Vinny, Izzy and Jerard.  Characters right out of the Godfather and ex-addicts from back East.  Encounter groups were quite confrontational and I doubt anyone escaped without being brought to tears at some point, myself included.  The point being that Vinny and others spent many an hour in those groups trying to dissect the whys and hows of my unwillingness to take drugs and others seeming inability to stop.  In groups and outside I was prodded and tested.

I remember a night spent camping on a small island just off the beach.  My friend and neighbor was moving soon to another state and pleaded with me to indulge on that night.  It seemed important to him that I give in, and somehow validate his own dependencies, one might guess.  Assuring me that no one would ever know, seemed to imply that he thought I was merely afraid of getting caught.  We talked of many things that night, as sleep was not forthcoming, and in the end he did not get his wish.  Even more than the taunting of my friend, I was tormented by the soulful moans of the seabirds nesting so near and the sand crabs scampering over my blanket, in complete disregard for my presence and piece of mind.

At school events where others screamed and chanted, I watched detached and with amazement.  On the few occasions where I was obliged to visit Lumpini Stadium, my focus was not on the squared circle and its performers but on the wild-eyed punters, thankfully restrained behind chicken wire, and so in touch with their inner animal.

In my youth, I was unable to adequately articulate why I did not follow the crowd and do as those around me did.  Over time I gained insights and understanding of my condition.  I find myself unwilling or unable to relinquish control to anyone or anything.  Be it group behavior, mind altering substances, charismatic individuals, or even governmental or religious institutions.  That is perhaps one reason I would not make a good soldier, religious follower, or group member of any sort, for that matter.  Even being a leader is out, as one must renounce some control over self to accept control over others.  One of my earliest schoolyard memories is of spurning the requests of those who saw me as their leader.  I had my own interests and they did not include the time consuming constraints of needy followers.

To maintain control one must, in the very least, be free of self imposed restrictions.  Debt, obligation, dependencies are choices in themselves that limit our control and scope of future choices and direction.  Some say they have no choice but I say we all have choices.  The problem being that we may not like what choices we have limited ourselves to.  Though I am not in the Ophra camp, of believing all 6.5 billion of us have some special and unique purpose on the earth.  I do, however, believe that through our choices we can either take control of our lives or relinquish it to others.  We can be proactive or reactive.  But then again what do I know?

Struggling with Commitment ...

The time of year.  The time of life.  Call it what you will, many of our friends far and near, seem to be suffering from relationship issues.  Commitment can prove difficult even under the best of circumstances but Thailand can make it difficult to the extreme.

This line of thought continued on down the page for quite some time before I hit the delete key.  Regardless of how right you are, I figure people just don’t want to hear it.  One listens to the pain of course but realistically what else can one do, but listen? 

Other than worrying about friends, life has been busy despite the oppressive heat.  We had our first heavy rain the other day with the subsequent swarms of flying insects.  The first night the lights were blackened by the infestation.  While birds, bats, fish and lizards feasted with gluttonous abandon they left hardly a dent in the carpet of bodies and wings scattered and still wriggling upon the ground in the morning light.  Humans were left out of the hunt until the following night when the Maeng Mun made their first appearance of the season.  Surely the next good rain will bring more swarming goodies to be fried up for the evening meal.

The social agenda has included more weddings, funerals, housewarmings, floats and rockets.  We made yet another quick trip to see a friend in Chiang Mai, coming back with more pots, and turned a ninety day reporting run to the boarder, into an all-day sightseeing and shopping trip, with the sister, niece and cousin in tow.  Having found Chiang Saen Lake on a previous motorbike ride, I fancied sharing the location with my wife and she with her family.  Arriving at the lovely lakeside venue, just in time for an early lunch for the others and a late breakfast for me, we were entertained by the owner of the hotel and restaurant.  Her farang husband being out of town, I missed a chance at a little expat conversation but my wife and I were impressed with his missus.  We traveled the back roads to get there, enjoying the less trodden path, though I must admit the narrow lanes were better suited for the bike than for the truck.  We added maybe twenty kilometers and a fair bit of time with our circuitous route to Mae Sai but the timing was perfect.

Pulling up to immigration just as the lunch hour came to an end, meant that I was in and out in short order, with my troop of followers hardly noticing I had been gone.  Not everyone wanted to stop off and see monkeys and fish, as we had planned on our return, so we went shopping a Makro instead, to prepare for the evening feast.  By way of negotiation the niece was promised a visit to the local zoo and the others an elephant ride with a side trip to the seventy meter tall Khun Korn Waterfall, at a later date.  With cleaner skies from the recent rain, mountain tops are again visible and there is more to see from the roads but with the temperature in the high thirties I am not looking forward to long sweaty periods on an elephant or in the jungle. 

What can I say, however, as I am committed to making my lovely wife happy.  We are both more concerned with what we can give than what we can get in return.  Perhaps that sums up our idea of commitment.  Doing what we can to make our partner, lover and best friend, happy.  Of course it only really works if both parties are playing the same game.  Commitment to the happiness of others with the subsequent benefit of our own sense of happiness, well being and contentment.  Could it really be that easy?

Setting Examples ...

Today marks the second time that Granny has attempted to remarry.  Well, okay, she is my wife’s mother, and I take literary license for effect, but a grandmother she is nonetheless.  The last wedding was brought to an abrupt end, mid-ceremony, with the realization that the full bride-price (for a grandmother no less) was not going to be forthcoming.  It is surprising anyone would risk a repeat performance of that infamous day, including Granny herself, but here we are again.

A three day event in mid stream.  A setup day, the day and a cleanup day.  All requiring ample food and drink, mainly drink.  In theory things are talked over in advance and all involved parties, in the various families, are consulted.  In reality much has been confined to the realm of imagination and assumption.  Where others make plans months in advance, on this occasion everything was very last minute.  All considered, things seem to have proceeded more smoothly on this occasion, quite to my surprise.

As of two days ago the outcome seemed far from certain.  The groom had been unable to come up with the money for the gold and the bride-price, producing a nauseating sense of déjà vu.  Today was the “auspicious day” however, so no amount of reason was going to intervene or delay the proceedings. 

So here we have a situation where two people, without any money, have gone into debt so that they can save face and get all their friends sloppy, falling down drunk.  In what I can only assume was an attempt to save face and money, the groom approached my wife, for a short term loan.  Now however you spin that, it would still look like she was paying him to marry her mother and quite frankly there was no chance of that boat ever setting sail.  What looked like the death knell for todays event, turned out to be nothing more than a bump in the road, with the money attained elsewhere, at no telling what kind of interest. 

One does wonder what effect this has on the children, granddaughter and younger generations in general.  My wife’s futile attempts at explaining who has been married to whom, among other relationships, has always left me with a bit of a headache and images of musical chairs spinning in head.  Growing up with multiple “mothers” is perhaps not all bad and has become part of the social fiber with all village women being called mother.  Not having role models of, lifelong loving relationships, is surely not a good thing, however.

I might think it wiser for todays happy couple, to take all this money they have poured down the throats of neighbors, and invest it in something more productive.  I would surely be banished or at least verbally abused for uttering such words.  What, after all, could be more important than sitting around getting intoxicated on someone else’s nickel?  And, of course, saving face and pretending to have money, when one has not, is a supremely rational course of action it would seem. 

There are of course those who write books and profess that simply understanding these cultural imperatives will make everything all right.  They suffer under the notion that the problem is a lack of understanding.  Sadly I understand all too well, the extent to which human nature drives people to sabotage and diminish their lives, necessitating that I take what measures are available to protect myself from the fallout of others misfortunes.  Not always easy to accomplish but for the most part doable. 

I’m not going to argue that the ruling classes don’t do their fair share of oppressing the impoverished masses, but in our village at least, people do a pretty good impression of shooting themselves in the foot much of the time.  Being hobbled by debt and drunkenness seems a local and self imposed tradition.  Not something imposed from outside or above.  Surely the middlemen manipulate crop prices but todays damage was purely self inflicted. 

The cycle of indulgence, debt, denial, despair, and abuse is passed on from generation to generation.  How does one break such cycles when there is no will or desire to do so?   Indeed regardless of what I might think of these things, my neighbors would no doubt fight for their right to perpetuate their traditions.  So how is it my place to attempt to change them?  I for one have no answer and seem to have no nobler goal than to protect my own.  I’ll leave the job of telling others what to do and how to do it, to those who feel themselves suited to the task.