Empty Space in an Empty Night

Middle of the night and there is confusion floating through my brain…too much coffee…too much life….The night is perfumed by farm scents…like I am home in America…tucked into bed with my actor daddy home from New York for the weekend and my artist mommy and the house smells of oil paints and love and comfort and creativity…familiarity…Here at empty space Chiang Mai the momma is a potter and the papa is a german actor who works in New York...the drama is all too similar.
and the farmlands of America must have flown on the breeze across the world to visit in Thailand…cow manure and chickens and the dank smell of irrigation water…I grew up next to a farm and a pond and here I am surrounded by rice fields and lotus ponds...but it is slightly different....spiced with enticingly fragrant foreign flowers telling me that this must be a dream…I must be in Thailand…I must be in the tropics…the longitude and latitude are all wrong for home…dogs are barking and roosters crowing and I fear they too are confused for the morning sunlight is hours away…or do they cock-a-doodle-do to wake something up inside myself…wake up…wake up…wake up….and out of this bizarre dream…this bizarre dream of infinite happiness that will never reach truition because somehow I have gotten time mixed up in my mind…between past present future future past future present…future present tense…present progressive…gerund….do they cry cock-a-doodle-do or eeky-eeky-eeee as they are Thai roosters and therefore must speak Thai more fluently than English…still lost in my dream…and things can be hard here like walking through vanilla pudding….I am afraid of waking up from this dream….waking up and saying goodbye yet again…and again and again and again…and it gets so taxingly depressing that they all turn into ghosts whom haunt my e-mail in-box…. “greetings from Germany, Hola de Honduras, Bonjour du France, Howdy from Colorado, I want to talk to you from New York, ‘Ello from England, Ni Hao from Taiwan.” How many must there be? I am scared of the impending doom of “Sawadee krop from Thailand.” I know it is coming. I, too, am a ghost hovering over a bright screen through the psychic medium of cyber-space…lost in the space-time continuum of I miss you after two years when are you visiting again been thinking of you XOXO.

Orphanage in Thailand

I arrived at the Orphanage to a confusing scene. I visited the orphanage as part of my school curriculum. There were children crawling all over an open patio area. There were 2 camera men filming the scene. In the middle of it all was a very beautiful girl dressed in posh clothing. I soon found out that the girl was a Thai movie star, and she was doing charity work by giving gifts to the orphans. Everyone seemed very caught up in this, and no one really even noticed my arrival. I had no idea what I should be doing, so I just sat on a bench and watched.

The movie star was filmed dancing with the children. The children then sang her a song and she happily clapped. Next she handed out flowers as each child clasped there hands in a wai and replied “Ka phoon krop.” Next she handed out clothing and toys. The toys caused a complete uproar as the children ran all over, ripping the heads off of their new Barbies and crashing their plastic planes on wheels into people’s feet.

One little boy noticed me then, and we began playing with his little plane. I still had no guidance form anyone, so I guessed I should just play with the children. The movie star had stolen the show from me, though, and most of the children were not interested in playing with me, despite my efforts to be fun.

The whole situation was odd. No one from the orphanage approached me to explain what was happening. No one explained who these children were, or how they had gotten here. No one explained what the orphanage did, or how they were funded, or what happened to the children after they reached a certain age. No explanation. No one even asked me who I was, or why I was playing with the children. I feel like it would be easy for just anyone to walk in off the street and start playing with the children.

There were other foreigners at the orphanage also playing with the children. I didn’t know why they were there either. Maybe it was common for random tourists to volunteer to help at the orphanage? Maybe they were looking to adopt the children? I did find a bulletin board with pictures and letters of Western families who had adopted children from this orphanage.
All in all this was a strange experience.

Free Write on Getting Lost

to lose my mind…god how I want to lose my mind.to just be blown away like all those crazy poets back in the day.. follow jack Kerouac on the road and jump on the bus and trip out to acid and go on a JOURNEY. The best parts of journeys in not the place you are going to but the getting there…I think I stole that quote from somewhere..but it is a good one at least…so I walk..i like walking..the first time I go anywhere I walk…for miles…walk…look….walk…look…if I get lost somewhere I will always be able to find my way home again after that…it is better when you are lost..you meet people..ask directions…find small little alley ways in morocco that are so crazy that there aren’t even maps of these places and everything looks so foreign and men with discomforting grins look out their windows and fat women washing laundry jeer at you like what the hell are you doing here and then you find a girl in a djellaba that leads you back to the street and holds out her hand when you thought finally finally someone is just being truly nice and good hearted..but no..that hand is held out to grab your heart…or your wallet,and you stop trusting the world again…stop following again…but you always start following again and in each new country it is so different…new people new faces..god I love faces…just looking at the shapes of eyes, the complexions….the way lips curl…maybe this is racist because I actually look at the differences…and in america we are not allowed to look at these differences..it is not politically correct..we all have to look the same….everyone is gray gray gray gray gray gray gray gray gray gray….AND I cANT StAND IT ANYMORE I WANT TO GET OUT OF THERE!!@ so I tend to say some comments that reallllllly offend people…but to me it is REAL REAL REAL…the world is real and it is true that people are DIFFERENT!!! Everywhere…I swear!!!! People in other countries know I am different..they look at my white skin and know I am not from there and it feels so good sometimes to know that it is ok to look at our differences and the world would be pretty sucky if the vision of America really was spread everywhere and we weren’t allowed to look at funny shaped eyes or kinky black hair or weird customs that really ARE wrong like cutting off women’s clitorises and how does America feel about that?????? But back to being lost..and lost maybe is an emotion…I want my mind to be blown and that is why I travel..to see crazy stuff on the street…the street is where its at and again that’s why I walk..to be with the people to walk by the lepers and the naked holy men and the children begging and the rickshaw drivers that I absolutely hate that grab at me and I always threaten to hit them and call them an a-hole but secretly somewhere deep down I like it…and travel changes you somehow…once you go maybe you cant go back..andy says I am well on my way to going over the edge..the edge of no return..where you just cant stay in that box anywhere and go to work in an air conditioined cubicle and work in an air conditioned cubicle and live in an air conditioned cubicle because your mind is just not there…and I love freaking people out who live in these air conditioned cubicles because there is sooooo much more to life!!! So much more that people don’t see…so much more that people should see…and I want to blow these people's minds until they see….be crazy…be bizarre…be eccentric…..and then I will be lost forever maybe…and I think if you lose everything and then you are lost then you are free…but this concept of free still scares me..and I don’t know if I can go there…I still have my attachments to the world…MY money. MY family. My pets. My stuff. My clothes…..MY bobby mcgee….and if I didn’t have all of this I would wonder…wander…wander….wander…..wander….wander.

Live Music in Chiang Mai

I reunited with Heidi with many hugs and kisses and misses. After spending the day showing me all of the venues she had scoped out for me, she insisted that we go to the Brasserie and watch a to-die-for musician. We arrive at the bar a little after 11. It is just getting started. There is a small band stage set up where a young

Thai guy with an afro is wailing on the guitar. He is playing the blues, really playing the blues, and moaning baby baby baby. I am already blown away by his voice. His eyes were half closed in a sort of musical ecstasy. I could tell he was really listening to his music and was not mentally present on this stage in front of the crowded bar. I sat outside and listened to his set, already amazed and excited to see someone who has an ear for the blues.

After the set, another young Thai guitarist came on stage, but the rest of the band stayed put. This guy started playing classic rock. He was equally as talented, but different. Same, same, but different. He jammed out of his guitar, and Heidi and I joked about how his expression looked like he was climaxing.

About halfway through the set a tall skinny Thai man appeared on stage. In the midst of a song he quietly and humbly strapped himself to his guitar and began strumming back-up. This was what the crowd has been waiting for, this guitar maestro who has once toured with Bob Dylan. The young Thai guy backed off and Tuk began wailing, strumming, picking, jiving. I have never heard anything like it. Although it sounds sacrilegious, I felt like I was in the presence of the great one and only Jimi Hendrix. He was that good. He just rocked and rocked, breaking strings, stringing up new guitars, wailing, playing all of the classics, but with a twist. My eardrums undulated in delight, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off of his fingers. The whole crowd became mesmerized with his amazing finger picking, silent only until a break allowed roaring applaud. The walls reverberated with so loudly with guitar solo that the whole bar threatened to buckle under the melody. I finally realized the Hendrix album name “Are you experienced” must be titled thus due to the incomparable sensation one experiences when they watch such a master of music. Who would have thought such a musical gem was hiding out in a little bar in no-where-ville Thailand?

Monk Chat at Wat Suan Dok in Thailand

Three nights a week Wat Suan Dok hosts a monk chat for foreigners. The idea is that the foreigners learn about Buddhism and the monks practice their English. Wat Suan Dok has a Buddhist university in Chiang Mai, mostly populated by monk students from the countries surrounding Thailand. The classes are in English, mostly, so the monks like to practice the language.

A red truck taxi dropped me inside the temple grounds in front of monk chat. I sat down in a bright blue plastic chair and was swarmed by fluorescent orange robes wrapped around swarthy bodies. The conversations started out with polite “how are you’s,” “Where are you from’s,” and “what is your name’s.” Most of the monks were from Cambodia. They were from poor families and had entered the monkhood so they could afford to study. Otherwise, their families wouldn’t have been able to afford to give them an education.

I wanted to talk to the monks about something other than Buddhism. For me it is more interesting to know about what they do in daily life, how they feel about the outside world and their internal dialogues about living the life of a monk. I asked if they ever thought about de-robing and starting a family. They all got a sheepish look in their eyes. One monk shyly expressed a slight hope in this dream. I think he was on the brink of this decision. I could understand how if one joined the monkhood solely for the sake of their education, they may one day dream of leaving the monkhood and once again leading a normal life after studying. Yet, somehow this question seemed to signal to the monks that I was interested in them. They became overtly flirtatious, asking me about boyfriends and dirty jokes.

(Thai Buddhist Monk circling a stupa)

They proudly told me about their Ipods and asked if I liked to dance to Shakira. I said yes. They asked if I could dance for them. I said maybe later. They giggled. These monks, I fear, have not overcome desire.

Another monk offered to give my friend a guided tour around the monastery. She accepted, of course. The monk, however, had ulterior motives for being alone with her. While walking, he asked her very personal questions about sex. She felt a little uncomfortable, but also in her naivety trusted the integrity of the monk’s vows of purity. Their conversation spiraled out of control and it reached its peak when the monk stated, “It would be okay if you touched me by accident. I wouldn’t tell anyone.” My friend took that as her cue to rejoin the group.

It was enlightening to see this side of the monks. Most people see them as spiritually enlightened and pure, but this monk chat showed a completely human side of the monks. They may be working towards holiness, but they are still humans with human desire. They are not quite perfect just because they shaved their heads and donned orange robes.

The Chao Phraya River in Bangkok

A Poem

The Chao Phraya, the monster on which the empire of Siam was built. Walking past a community of the homeless and jumping a few fences I find myself drunk next to the river with a good group of friends and a bottle of moonshine. The river, black water moving fast, reflecting the moonlight. The bright silver orb flashes light on the rubbish and logs floating through the kingdom. All of Thailand was once connected only by this waterway, due to the dense tropical jungle that once stood in the way of development. Bangkok was like a Venice of the East, connected by canals, with riverboats slowly drudging their way up the Chao Phraya, floating markets, and countless romantic suicides of drowning in the swift currents. The river looks beautiful tonight; it must be dazzling in the sunshine.

Nightlife in Bangkok part II

I smiled at a few Thai boys walking passed. One stopped to chat. He was wearing rasta colors, and decked out with hippie string bracelets. We started talking. He brought his brother over, who looked a little older. Amy got stuck with the brother.

They asked if we were hungry. I said no. They insisted we go eat with them anyway. I said ok. We followed the men down a couple of alley ways and through the Bangkok night. It was started to drizzle, and the brother was afraid of getting his head wet. Boy told me that he was half-Chinese and half-Thai. His mother had come from China. We exchanged a few words in Mandarin, and I asked him about Buddhism and his family. He was open, but thought I was a little silly for being so curious.

They wanted to take us to a food-stall that had Thai/Chinese food. We sat down on little red stools, scooting the table out of the rain. Amy continued to talk with the brother, a little awkwardly, and I continued talking to boy. They ordered for us, so I had no idea what to expect. The first dish arrived. It looked like shi-fan, a rice porridge that I ate in China. It was topped with a raw egg. I hoped mine wouldn’t be topped with a raw egg, and I would be forced to eat something gross that would make me sick. Luckily it wasn’t. It was just shi-fan with some sort of meat. I wasn’t very hungry and it took me a long time to eat my meal, but that gave us a little more time to talk. We got up to leave, and the bill thing came into play. I didn’t know if they had paid or we were expected to pay. I had heard that often people will seem like they are taking you out to dinner and then leave you with the bill. The brother pulled out a wad of cash and paid for us. I thanked him, but I was still a little confused. Did I “owe” them something now?

They asked if we wanted to go to a wat with them. I told them it was too late, so they said they would walk us home. We got to Khao San and they said goodbye. I hugged boy. They said nice to meet you and walked away. I got out unscathed, without any expectations. It was a strange encounter for me to meet a boy who wasn’t expecting anything other than to have a friendly meal. No asking to see me again. No trying to get physical with me. Just hello and goodbye. It was nice.