I should start labeling these correspondences because otherwise I'll lose track of them. The other thing is that should you wish to comment at all about them, you and I will know to which letter we're referring. I usually write on the fly at a terminal hooked up to the internet, but I will write them on my powerbook and cut and paste them from now on. It should make for a better read, although I can't account for the formatting…that is up to your mail software. Anyhoo…
Today was a long, long walking day. It started off waiting to use the internet. A very attractive Thai woman was in the lobby of the guest house I am at currently (tomorrow I move to the apartment). We got to chatting. Seems she works at the place as a cleaner. Lovely white skin, long legs, rack, and so on and so on…I better stop or any women reading this will roll their eyeballs, sigh, and on the outbreath say, "Tsk, men". But one should always apprehend beauty when it is before one, ladies…no offence. Women often complain that men don't express their feelings enough. Well, there, I just did, and I bet you didn't like it! Jack Kornfield, the Buddhist wiseguy who writes very inspired and inspiring books on the subject of the Dhamma, said that women who wish that men open up more and express themselves would regret such a notion in a week. One gender of whiners is plenty for the human race. But I digress.
So, after a nice chat I was off. I walked past Chulalongkorn University, considered one of the best 50 in Asia, and continued down to Surawong Road, looking at shops along the way. Lots of Thai Silk and Gem shops in this business district. I came upon a Hindu temple and went in. I just love the Hindu Pantheon! Such intricate details of all colors, but Robin's Egg blue and Cimmerian red and Chinese gold stand out. To us in the west such a garish depiction of the godhead is chaotic and unfocused, but the wise Indians realized over 5,000 yeas ago god is everywhere and everything. Take it one step further and you come upon what the Buddha found out— that is there is no need for god at all! The need for god occurs because a clinging to the idea that we have some indelible self that is our own. There is no self —there is nothing like a "me", or "I", or "mine" to hold. The story the Buddha told to start a meditative reflection of this truth is to observe a candle flame. Conditions form the fire. It lasts as long as the conditions that make the flame exist (wax, oxygen, sparks, etc.). Once the conditions have exhausted themselves, there is no more flame. One can continue the flame by lighting another candle with the flame of the first candle. Once the first candle dies out, the flame continues. Now, which candle owns the fire? Which candle can grasp the flame and say, "this is mine"? It is not possible, anymore than I can say my flame, my life, is mine. It's difficult to see this, but it happens to be the way it is, the "Dhamma". With a little adjustment through meditative states, it's possible to see this and assuage so much angst we have about this life. Believe me, the words I write are nice and truthful, but I personally don't feel this truth as there are lots of things I grasp onto yet still. But once again I digress.
By this time it was lunch and the Lonely Planet Guide recommended a South Indian restaurant which was close, so I went there. I had a nice vegetarian Thali, and an Indian gent came in to eat. Since we were the only two there, we chatted. He was an investor business guy who was trying to convince me to invest some money with him. He even invited me over to his house as a sign of friendship. Well, the friendship part is fine, and I hope there are no strings attached. Once again we in the west have a propensity to doubt and question the motives of people trying to befriend us. I ain't naïve, just to clear that up, but I'll just have to see what's up with this guy, and I'll get back to you about what happens. Mistrust is a terrible thing to begin with, don't you think? But I digress thrice already!
So, onwards toward the Chao Praya River after lunch. I turned north before hitting the Oriental and the river proper just to walk the streets to take in the daily affairs of people, buses, and tuk tuks that filled the air with noise, smells, and sights. Two noteworthy observations: this one guy caught my eye as I passed. He was lying down on the sidewalk— barefoot and sleeping, but he had this beautiful smile on his face. I noticed two unlit incense sticks just under his nose. In the throng (not the thong—that's butt floss) he found his refuge with smell (but imagine smelling a thong after it was worn). Lovely.
Next I passed by a bicycle shop, and as Doug had put a bug in my ear about Chinese bikes, I went in to see what they had. They were all vintage Raleighs, Humbers, and Phillips bikes circa 1959 in mint condition. The brakes were those metal rod affairs (not wire) with Brooks saddles and a few other Indian style knock off saddles too. Gorgeous things these. The price: 7,000 Baht, a bit steep ($187 US), but it might be neat to get one. I'll wait to get the lowdown on bike theft before making an investment.
So I walked and walked and walked through Chinatown. Hmmm…something about the Chinese and their habit of eating everything that is alive, and displaying it in your face on the street is too garish for me—that, and the garish, gaudy furniture is about enough I can handle. So, I just walked through it and came to the Golden Temple. Through the trees the gold glint from the architecture is wonder-ful. The roofs look like giant lizard skins. I got to thinking about the human propensity to adorn things with such incredible details and color. My mind went to Huxley's account of gems and shiny things from the "Doors of Perception", and of course P.D. Ouspensky's accounts of the metaphysical and occult knowledges in "A new Model of the Universe"—I'll assume you know what I am referring to then. If not, read these two books if your life is lacking in lustre, or if your path has become so narrow your only concern you have anymore is where the next paycheck comes from.
From there I tried to find the Kao San Road. For nine years I have been coming to Bangkok and I've heard all about this street, which by all accounts is the Mecca for budget travellers and hippie wannabees. I finally found it and sure enough, it is full of both. Well, we were all young once I suppose. No blame in that. I noticed a preponderance of Japanese hippies too. Hmm. I guess they're late in tuning in, turning on, and dropping out—but I must say they look either cute or silly, depending on your disposition. My thoughts now are more the latter. But there was a time when my fascination with the Japanese had me see them do nothing that wasn't cute. I would recommend reading Robinson's "Japan Revisited" (I think—correct me if I'm wrong) for an updated version that is way different from Reischauer's take on Japan and things Japanese. Robinson gives one the distinct impression the Japanese are really in an identity crisis phase right now. My spin after 6 years there is that indeed the old and new clash daily, old ways are dying out a slow and painful death, and the next generation or two have an international outlook which is worrisome to the powers that be. Well, after years of government policy of "internationalization", what did they expect to happen? It's a complex issue, and should you want to dialogue about it, feel free to write. I'll write back. But I digress once again!
So, out of the hippy dippy smelly-bodied area and back on the road to the Siam Center, which is where I am right now, my mind went to an image of this tribal drumming thing I witnessed in the parking lot of Giants Stadium in East Rutherford, New Jersey, where I just finished seeing the Grateful Dead. Mary (imagine!) scored some mind altering ingredients at the concert and we ate them as Jerry started into "Stella Blue" (I'll never forget the giant screen face of Jerry singing that rendition). By the end of the show, things were quite intensely in focus, and slightly brown, purple, and green. Watching these folks writhe around to the drums in the dark, half naked as it was a summer concert, I had a consciousness-raising insight into life. Worms. We are worms writhing around. Or moths— moths before a flame (a lyric from Lesh's Box of Rain--just checking). But, whereas at the time and for several years this saddened me immensely, the notion of insignificance in the face of eternity and infinity, I am quite calm and see this fact with equanimity. It is still not quite resolved, but I am working on it.
(1,612 words in 1 1/2 hours)
Comments? Email Gaga.
Today was a long, long walking day. It started off waiting to use the internet. A very attractive Thai woman was in the lobby of the guest house I am at currently (tomorrow I move to the apartment). We got to chatting. Seems she works at the place as a cleaner. Lovely white skin, long legs, rack, and so on and so on…I better stop or any women reading this will roll their eyeballs, sigh, and on the outbreath say, "Tsk, men". But one should always apprehend beauty when it is before one, ladies…no offence. Women often complain that men don't express their feelings enough. Well, there, I just did, and I bet you didn't like it! Jack Kornfield, the Buddhist wiseguy who writes very inspired and inspiring books on the subject of the Dhamma, said that women who wish that men open up more and express themselves would regret such a notion in a week. One gender of whiners is plenty for the human race. But I digress.
So, after a nice chat I was off. I walked past Chulalongkorn University, considered one of the best 50 in Asia, and continued down to Surawong Road, looking at shops along the way. Lots of Thai Silk and Gem shops in this business district. I came upon a Hindu temple and went in. I just love the Hindu Pantheon! Such intricate details of all colors, but Robin's Egg blue and Cimmerian red and Chinese gold stand out. To us in the west such a garish depiction of the godhead is chaotic and unfocused, but the wise Indians realized over 5,000 yeas ago god is everywhere and everything. Take it one step further and you come upon what the Buddha found out— that is there is no need for god at all! The need for god occurs because a clinging to the idea that we have some indelible self that is our own. There is no self —there is nothing like a "me", or "I", or "mine" to hold. The story the Buddha told to start a meditative reflection of this truth is to observe a candle flame. Conditions form the fire. It lasts as long as the conditions that make the flame exist (wax, oxygen, sparks, etc.). Once the conditions have exhausted themselves, there is no more flame. One can continue the flame by lighting another candle with the flame of the first candle. Once the first candle dies out, the flame continues. Now, which candle owns the fire? Which candle can grasp the flame and say, "this is mine"? It is not possible, anymore than I can say my flame, my life, is mine. It's difficult to see this, but it happens to be the way it is, the "Dhamma". With a little adjustment through meditative states, it's possible to see this and assuage so much angst we have about this life. Believe me, the words I write are nice and truthful, but I personally don't feel this truth as there are lots of things I grasp onto yet still. But once again I digress.
By this time it was lunch and the Lonely Planet Guide recommended a South Indian restaurant which was close, so I went there. I had a nice vegetarian Thali, and an Indian gent came in to eat. Since we were the only two there, we chatted. He was an investor business guy who was trying to convince me to invest some money with him. He even invited me over to his house as a sign of friendship. Well, the friendship part is fine, and I hope there are no strings attached. Once again we in the west have a propensity to doubt and question the motives of people trying to befriend us. I ain't naïve, just to clear that up, but I'll just have to see what's up with this guy, and I'll get back to you about what happens. Mistrust is a terrible thing to begin with, don't you think? But I digress thrice already!
So, onwards toward the Chao Praya River after lunch. I turned north before hitting the Oriental and the river proper just to walk the streets to take in the daily affairs of people, buses, and tuk tuks that filled the air with noise, smells, and sights. Two noteworthy observations: this one guy caught my eye as I passed. He was lying down on the sidewalk— barefoot and sleeping, but he had this beautiful smile on his face. I noticed two unlit incense sticks just under his nose. In the throng (not the thong—that's butt floss) he found his refuge with smell (but imagine smelling a thong after it was worn). Lovely.
Next I passed by a bicycle shop, and as Doug had put a bug in my ear about Chinese bikes, I went in to see what they had. They were all vintage Raleighs, Humbers, and Phillips bikes circa 1959 in mint condition. The brakes were those metal rod affairs (not wire) with Brooks saddles and a few other Indian style knock off saddles too. Gorgeous things these. The price: 7,000 Baht, a bit steep ($187 US), but it might be neat to get one. I'll wait to get the lowdown on bike theft before making an investment.
So I walked and walked and walked through Chinatown. Hmmm…something about the Chinese and their habit of eating everything that is alive, and displaying it in your face on the street is too garish for me—that, and the garish, gaudy furniture is about enough I can handle. So, I just walked through it and came to the Golden Temple. Through the trees the gold glint from the architecture is wonder-ful. The roofs look like giant lizard skins. I got to thinking about the human propensity to adorn things with such incredible details and color. My mind went to Huxley's account of gems and shiny things from the "Doors of Perception", and of course P.D. Ouspensky's accounts of the metaphysical and occult knowledges in "A new Model of the Universe"—I'll assume you know what I am referring to then. If not, read these two books if your life is lacking in lustre, or if your path has become so narrow your only concern you have anymore is where the next paycheck comes from.
From there I tried to find the Kao San Road. For nine years I have been coming to Bangkok and I've heard all about this street, which by all accounts is the Mecca for budget travellers and hippie wannabees. I finally found it and sure enough, it is full of both. Well, we were all young once I suppose. No blame in that. I noticed a preponderance of Japanese hippies too. Hmm. I guess they're late in tuning in, turning on, and dropping out—but I must say they look either cute or silly, depending on your disposition. My thoughts now are more the latter. But there was a time when my fascination with the Japanese had me see them do nothing that wasn't cute. I would recommend reading Robinson's "Japan Revisited" (I think—correct me if I'm wrong) for an updated version that is way different from Reischauer's take on Japan and things Japanese. Robinson gives one the distinct impression the Japanese are really in an identity crisis phase right now. My spin after 6 years there is that indeed the old and new clash daily, old ways are dying out a slow and painful death, and the next generation or two have an international outlook which is worrisome to the powers that be. Well, after years of government policy of "internationalization", what did they expect to happen? It's a complex issue, and should you want to dialogue about it, feel free to write. I'll write back. But I digress once again!
So, out of the hippy dippy smelly-bodied area and back on the road to the Siam Center, which is where I am right now, my mind went to an image of this tribal drumming thing I witnessed in the parking lot of Giants Stadium in East Rutherford, New Jersey, where I just finished seeing the Grateful Dead. Mary (imagine!) scored some mind altering ingredients at the concert and we ate them as Jerry started into "Stella Blue" (I'll never forget the giant screen face of Jerry singing that rendition). By the end of the show, things were quite intensely in focus, and slightly brown, purple, and green. Watching these folks writhe around to the drums in the dark, half naked as it was a summer concert, I had a consciousness-raising insight into life. Worms. We are worms writhing around. Or moths— moths before a flame (a lyric from Lesh's Box of Rain--just checking). But, whereas at the time and for several years this saddened me immensely, the notion of insignificance in the face of eternity and infinity, I am quite calm and see this fact with equanimity. It is still not quite resolved, but I am working on it.
(1,612 words in 1 1/2 hours)
Comments? Email Gaga.
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