Monday, June 23, 2014
Saturday, June 21, 2014
Hosamut Ahn Dee
Thursday, June 19, 2014
Auspicious Rainbow
Yesterday, Cooper, Disty and I left Bangkok and took the short hour-and-a-half flight to Luang Prabang, Laos.
At breakfast earlier at the Anantara Riverside Bangkok I was feeling a bit rocky, perhaps dehydrated from playing tennis the evening before with Gorn, the same pro I played with two years earlier. After downing some electrolytes, I started slowly at the over-the-top buffet: fresh watermelon and cantaloupe. I ratcheted my way up to an omelette: mushrooms, tomatoes, onions, scallions, chili, red pepper. Oh, and a 8-square-inch hash brown patty, cooked crispy.
I was gaining breakfast steam and found some chasha bao (steamed pork buns) and shrimp bao. Then I went back for some French toast piled with melon and dragon-fruit in one-quarter-inch cubes. A couple of slices of brie found their way onto my plate and a small lemon cheese pastry.
As you can imagine, I was feeling a bit better by now. And then something appeared that I had not had in a very long time: a tray of three-inch diameter sugar-coated brown donuts. To the left of this tray was a bowl of condensed milk. I had never even put these two in the same sentence. And after going back to the table and having a single donut, I was called on a mission to put the donut together with the condensed milk. This was the cure for all things. Breakfast complete.
At Wat Phou That, at the base of the That (stupa) there are steps leading up to the That. On either side of these steps are statues of Sang Thorani, the goddess of the harvest. When Buddha was near to reaching enlightenment, Mara, “The Evil One,” brought an army to stop him. Buddha, seated in meditation, touched his finger to the earth and from there arose Thorani. She had been washing her hair with all of the water that had and would ever be poured in honor of Buddha. I have taken that to include the water that we pour during the water ceremony when we are remembering Andy. It is one of the most connecting ceremonies that I have found, and it never ceases to inspire and move me with an overwhelming sense of love for everything that is lost and everything that is yet to be found. Thorani carried this love in her hair and with one twist of her hands she rang out a torrent of water so powerful that it washed away The Evil One and his armies and allowed Buddha to continue on the Path.
This afternoon, on our flight from Bangkok to Luang Prabang to meet up with Chip and Rosanna and Dustin, we started our descent over the rolling mountainous landscape of our spiritual home. And to the left, bigger than any I can ever recall, was a rainbow, stretching from one edge of the reddish-brown earth over the mountains to a place I will probably never know. We gently touched down, like the hand of Buddha calling on Thorani.
***
At breakfast earlier at the Anantara Riverside Bangkok I was feeling a bit rocky, perhaps dehydrated from playing tennis the evening before with Gorn, the same pro I played with two years earlier. After downing some electrolytes, I started slowly at the over-the-top buffet: fresh watermelon and cantaloupe. I ratcheted my way up to an omelette: mushrooms, tomatoes, onions, scallions, chili, red pepper. Oh, and a 8-square-inch hash brown patty, cooked crispy.
I was gaining breakfast steam and found some chasha bao (steamed pork buns) and shrimp bao. Then I went back for some French toast piled with melon and dragon-fruit in one-quarter-inch cubes. A couple of slices of brie found their way onto my plate and a small lemon cheese pastry.
As you can imagine, I was feeling a bit better by now. And then something appeared that I had not had in a very long time: a tray of three-inch diameter sugar-coated brown donuts. To the left of this tray was a bowl of condensed milk. I had never even put these two in the same sentence. And after going back to the table and having a single donut, I was called on a mission to put the donut together with the condensed milk. This was the cure for all things. Breakfast complete.
***
At Wat Phou That, at the base of the That (stupa) there are steps leading up to the That. On either side of these steps are statues of Sang Thorani, the goddess of the harvest. When Buddha was near to reaching enlightenment, Mara, “The Evil One,” brought an army to stop him. Buddha, seated in meditation, touched his finger to the earth and from there arose Thorani. She had been washing her hair with all of the water that had and would ever be poured in honor of Buddha. I have taken that to include the water that we pour during the water ceremony when we are remembering Andy. It is one of the most connecting ceremonies that I have found, and it never ceases to inspire and move me with an overwhelming sense of love for everything that is lost and everything that is yet to be found. Thorani carried this love in her hair and with one twist of her hands she rang out a torrent of water so powerful that it washed away The Evil One and his armies and allowed Buddha to continue on the Path.
***
This afternoon, on our flight from Bangkok to Luang Prabang to meet up with Chip and Rosanna and Dustin, we started our descent over the rolling mountainous landscape of our spiritual home. And to the left, bigger than any I can ever recall, was a rainbow, stretching from one edge of the reddish-brown earth over the mountains to a place I will probably never know. We gently touched down, like the hand of Buddha calling on Thorani.
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
Oudomxay: Last November and Back Again
Last November, Disty, Chip, and I took a mini van from Luang Prabang. We splurged on this, wanting to have a more relaxed and comfortable trip than what we’ve experienced on the bus. We were picked up at our guesthouse by a van that then went to Chip’s house and on to the North bus station. There we picked up another van.
In our silver Mitsubishi van, there were four rows of bench seats: in the first bench sat the driver and a middle-aged woman. In the send row sat the male German tourist. I was sitting by myself next to the left-hand window in the third row that had a small folding seat section on the right that allowed access through the side sliding door; and Disty and Chip were sitting in the back bench.
About half-way through the six hour drive, the driver stopped and picked up two young women who were standing on the other side of the road. They didn’t seem to speak Lao, and they were not very sociable. They sat next to me—one on the bench to my left and the other on the jump seat. They were apparently were very tired and they spread out like liquids and filled every available crevice of space in the van. The one on the jump seat fell asleep with her head flopping backwards occasionally into Disty’s lap. The other was draped all over me. It was interesting how unfamiliar their behavior seemed to us. Though my my exposure to Lao people is somewhat limited, their indifference to personal boundaries seemed culturally different to me. They were very entertaining but made the ride much less comfortable.
About an hour after we picked them up, we stopped to eat. The young woman sleeping on the jump seat failed to wake and when her friend shoved her and she woke,she didn’t move, leaving Disty and Chip trapped for a while until her friend pushed her out the door. After lunch, they returned to sleeping. The two mysteriously got off about an hour out of Oudomxay, and we enjoyed the luxury of space for that last part of the ride. The van let us off on the outside of the bus station, just 1/4 mile from the stairway to Wat Phou That and the site that we had selected for the library.
We had let our friend and former-monk teacher Bounxay’s brother-in-law Phommy know what day we were coming and what time we expected to leave Luang Prabang. Our plan was to call Phommy when we got to town. As we were dropped off, I called Phommy and tried to explain where we were, but I think my limited Lao failed us. He thought we were somewhere in the bus station. However, moments later Bounxay’s sister pulled up on a motorcycle with delicious baked treats. How she found us, whether she was looking for us, or whether the baked goods were even intended for us, we’re not sure. But it was wonderful to see her, and she called Phommy to let him know where we were. Moments later Phommy pulled up in his pickup truck, we put our bags in the back, and we drove down the block to the guesthouse which Disty had read about that had the good internet. We got two rooms, and this became our home and office for the next four days. Directly cross the street from the guesthouse were the steps to Wat Phou That and Andy’s future library.
In our silver Mitsubishi van, there were four rows of bench seats: in the first bench sat the driver and a middle-aged woman. In the send row sat the male German tourist. I was sitting by myself next to the left-hand window in the third row that had a small folding seat section on the right that allowed access through the side sliding door; and Disty and Chip were sitting in the back bench.
About half-way through the six hour drive, the driver stopped and picked up two young women who were standing on the other side of the road. They didn’t seem to speak Lao, and they were not very sociable. They sat next to me—one on the bench to my left and the other on the jump seat. They were apparently were very tired and they spread out like liquids and filled every available crevice of space in the van. The one on the jump seat fell asleep with her head flopping backwards occasionally into Disty’s lap. The other was draped all over me. It was interesting how unfamiliar their behavior seemed to us. Though my my exposure to Lao people is somewhat limited, their indifference to personal boundaries seemed culturally different to me. They were very entertaining but made the ride much less comfortable.
About an hour after we picked them up, we stopped to eat. The young woman sleeping on the jump seat failed to wake and when her friend shoved her and she woke,she didn’t move, leaving Disty and Chip trapped for a while until her friend pushed her out the door. After lunch, they returned to sleeping. The two mysteriously got off about an hour out of Oudomxay, and we enjoyed the luxury of space for that last part of the ride. The van let us off on the outside of the bus station, just 1/4 mile from the stairway to Wat Phou That and the site that we had selected for the library.
We had let our friend and former-monk teacher Bounxay’s brother-in-law Phommy know what day we were coming and what time we expected to leave Luang Prabang. Our plan was to call Phommy when we got to town. As we were dropped off, I called Phommy and tried to explain where we were, but I think my limited Lao failed us. He thought we were somewhere in the bus station. However, moments later Bounxay’s sister pulled up on a motorcycle with delicious baked treats. How she found us, whether she was looking for us, or whether the baked goods were even intended for us, we’re not sure. But it was wonderful to see her, and she called Phommy to let him know where we were. Moments later Phommy pulled up in his pickup truck, we put our bags in the back, and we drove down the block to the guesthouse which Disty had read about that had the good internet. We got two rooms, and this became our home and office for the next four days. Directly cross the street from the guesthouse were the steps to Wat Phou That and Andy’s future library.
***
The next few days of last November were filled with an unexplained flow of events.
***
This past week, I was walking in the woods and I saw a Monarch butterfly. I began thinking about the Monarch’s journey from Carlisle, Massachusetts to Mexico. They have been born to make the journey—using the sun and earth’s magnetic fields to navigate, each generation heading further along to make the long migration, reliant on winds and light as they push themselves southwest. They are travelers. And we are travelers, reliant on what we believe to be will and good planning, but in the end on things we are made to do by forces beyond our understanding.
Recently, I’ve been rereading John Muir’s wonderful piece “A Wind-storm in the Forests.”
“We all travel the milky way together, trees and men; but it never occurred to me until this storm-day, while swinging in the wind, that trees are travelers, in the ordinary sense. They make many journeys, not extensive ones, it is true; but our own little journeys, away and back again, are only little more than tree-wavings—many of them not so much.”
***
We unconsciously held onto the earth during our journey to Oudomxay, as events swept us forward to places we never would have gone were it not for forces we could not control or understand.
***
We are now in Bangkok and Cooper has joined us. In addition to knowing Disty since they were very young and me since her first day at college, Cooper is Andy’s godmother. She is the third board member of Wat-Library Network, the non-profit we have put together to build and maintain our little library and more. She is our "seow." In Lao, this word means something like a "life-friend."
Cooper arrived very early this morning from New York, and we will spend the next couple of days in Bangkok before heading off to Luang Prabang to meet Chip; my niece Rosanna, Andy and Chip's first cousin, and her friend Dustin, who have been traveling in India; and Andy’s friend, the ex-monk Phet, who is now a tour guide in Luang Prabang.
We will all leave Luang Prabang together on Friday, June 20, 2014 by minibus. We will arrive on Friday evening in Oudomxay. There we hope to meet up with my Lao son, Aik. If there is enough light when we get to town, we can go to see the library.
Were Andy to be alive, I probably would not know about this far away place, about the stone steps leading up to the magical Wat Phou That, about having a Lao son, about the smell of the bougainvillea hanging from the trees along the stone steps, or about the gentle and charismatic Satu Peng who is the head monk of the Province and the dreamer who drove the building of a library in honor of our lost son.
Then again, were Andy alive, I wouldn’t need to be flying toward him, seeking one last vista of life in his sky-blue eyes.
Sunday, June 15, 2014
Father's Day 2014
It's been a while since I last posted. Today is Father's Day, and Disty and I are heading off to Laos tonight to dedicate Hosamut Ahn Dee, the library in Andy's memory that has been built in Oudomxay, Laos.
Disty surprised me this morning with a card that she found on her desk as she was cleaning up. It was a beautiful discovery, but she was concerned that it would upset me. Nevertheless, she ended up deciding to share this sweet memento. I reminded Disty that I am all about memory, connection, and artifact. Applewood Books was built on that, and I thought it was the perfect way to start off our journey. Memories of Andy; of Microwave, our beloved departed basset hound, and the small but charming and fluid script of Chip, reminding me that love is never gone for those that love and those that have been loved.
On the thank you cards we sent after Andy died, we had his picture and two quotes. On the front, was a quote from Jalal ad-Din Rumi: "This is love: to fly toward a secret sky, to cause a hundred fails to fall each moment. First to let go of life. Finally, to take a step without feet." There are many ways to read this, but if I were an Air France steward welcoming a Zuckerman on board, I might use this as a metaphor for commercial flight to Southeast Asia: the hundred veils being the window shades, letting go of life being suspending your self as you sit stationary for 17 hours, and stepping without feet being the travel through air. Of course, Rumi did not intend that, but I take this journey to be love. A father for a son, and sons for a father.
On the back of the card, was a quote from Emily Dickinson:
Unable are the Loved to die
For Love is Immortality,
Nay, it is Deity--
Unable they that love--to die
For Love reforms Vitality
Into Divinity.
Disty surprised me this morning with a card that she found on her desk as she was cleaning up. It was a beautiful discovery, but she was concerned that it would upset me. Nevertheless, she ended up deciding to share this sweet memento. I reminded Disty that I am all about memory, connection, and artifact. Applewood Books was built on that, and I thought it was the perfect way to start off our journey. Memories of Andy; of Microwave, our beloved departed basset hound, and the small but charming and fluid script of Chip, reminding me that love is never gone for those that love and those that have been loved.
***
On the thank you cards we sent after Andy died, we had his picture and two quotes. On the front, was a quote from Jalal ad-Din Rumi: "This is love: to fly toward a secret sky, to cause a hundred fails to fall each moment. First to let go of life. Finally, to take a step without feet." There are many ways to read this, but if I were an Air France steward welcoming a Zuckerman on board, I might use this as a metaphor for commercial flight to Southeast Asia: the hundred veils being the window shades, letting go of life being suspending your self as you sit stationary for 17 hours, and stepping without feet being the travel through air. Of course, Rumi did not intend that, but I take this journey to be love. A father for a son, and sons for a father.
On the back of the card, was a quote from Emily Dickinson:
Unable are the Loved to die
For Love is Immortality,
Nay, it is Deity--
Unable they that love--to die
For Love reforms Vitality
Into Divinity.
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