One World, One Love

Venus, the Morning Star, shines into my apartment window before dawn in Bangkok, Thailand, just as it did from above the garden hermitage where I was living in Santa Cruz, California just a few days ago. One world!  One love!

So far, morning is the best time when the fog of jet lag lifts from my brain enough that I can enjoy the thrill of being a global citizen, leaping the world at a single bound, defying the restrictions of geography.  Never mind that it took 21 travel hours (I lost Sunday) to fly 13,000 miles (with a short pit stop in Tokyo) to get here, into the arms of my wife Nan, back where I started from three months ago.  Pieces of my heart are spread all over.  Despite my initial resistance to the trip, the end result was wonderful: emotional and heart-warming reunions with my two sons and daughter, my former wife, and with dozens of friends who were able to look past my missteps to accept me as I am -- and who can ever ask for more than that? 

Kwan Yin (or Guanyin and other spellings), the female Bodhisattva of compassion, was my companion for the sometimes arduous journey, from the tiny golden amulet that Nan wore around her neck, to the collection of figurines in Annie's house, the hermitage where I stayed and in her garden, and finally to the large statue I gave to Ziggy in thanks for all her efforts on my behalf during my visit.  I presented it to her during lunch at the Thai Noodle Cafe (a modest but superior counterpart to the plethora of Thai eateries in the city) and the owner bowed and paid his respects as he passed our table, and pointed to the large portrait of Kwan Yin on his wall.  In her letters, Nan promised that"God, Buddha and Kwan yin" would protect me.   I bought two used books on her history at Logos before I left town.  Kwan Yin comes out of the Taoist and Buddhist traditions of China but has been also embraced in Thailand where a large statue for her veneration was recently erected at Wat Yannawa in Bangkok, a Chinese flavored temple on the banks of the Chao Phraya River.  We are going there on Saturday to make tamboon and give thanks for my safe return.

Chris, my eldest, came down from Sonoma to see me.  We ate fish at Riva on the wharf and watched a strange mating (?) ritual by sea lions who gathered in large pods on both sides of the pier, floating blissfully together with fins raised in the air.  I suspected it had something to do with a seaweed psychedelic.  An e-commerce VP now at Pottery Barn, Chris is my technology guru and gave me lots of reasons to get an iPad when the new improved models debut in April.  We're now playing a distance-defying Scrabble look-alike app on our hand-held devices, and he's whooping my butt.  Daughter Molly will be in the neighborhood next month when she comes to Bali to develop a clothes-designing business.  She's still driving the blue truck I gave her three and a half years ago and using it as a home away from home.  Nicky, my youngest, is now ensconced in LA where a career in music is poised to take off.  He came to see me with his lady Steff, and we dined on veggie burgers at the retro Saturn Cafe.

Nicky and Molly's mother and I met first by accident at the Octagon where I was communing with the computer one morning and she was delivering cookies.  We got together again a few days later for the first real conversation we've had in at least five years and probably ten when our 24-year marriage ended.  Any reluctance to talk was solely on my part as I nursed grievances for way too long.  I'm now able to see that the years together were perfect for us, as is even our separation which has enabled us to flourish in very different ways.  My trip was worth the price for that epiphany. 

Many of the friends who took care of me on this journey are members of Sangha Shantivanam, the small faith community I helped start over five years ago with Cyprian Consiglio, an inspired monk from the Hermitage in Big Sur who has opened the doors of perception for many with his inter-religious teachings based on the writings of Bede Griffiths in India (whose ashram we visited as a group in January of 2007).  I was able to attend their Sunday gathering, which featured meditation and a discussion of Aldous Huxley's book, The Perennial Philosophy, and I also meditated one noon in the the sangha room of Everyday Dharma where I had been an active participant for a number of years.  I was invited to a meeting of the men's group which once counted me as a member, held at the Santa Cruz Mountains home of Phil who was recovering from a nasty chainsaw accident.  Jim and I explored familiar places in the hills around Boulder Creek, including property where we had once lived which now resembles an unsuccessful meth lab.  Lyle loaned me a bike and I rode all over town on it (though unfortunately the helmet was stolen and I had to borrow Annie's).  I was reunited with the Troxell/Byrd/Wright clan at a party for Virginia's 52nd birthday where Shirlee's great-grandchildren blew out the candles.  One morning, Ernie, a friend from high school, drove up from Salinas in his wheelchair-accommodated van to give Nan and I an extremely generous wedding gift from he and Mark, my oldest friend and roommate at Berkeley  in 1960.  The sole unpleasantness was when I left my passport (including money and credit cards) on the counter in a bank, but it was discovered and kept in the vault until my return the next morning.  Each day in the final two weeks was filled with lunches and dinners and an occasional movie ("The King's Speech" was terrific).  And finally, on my day of departure, I ate breakfast at the Santa Cruz Diner with Gerry and Jim, friends for over 50 years, before driving over the hill on a glorious warm and sunny morning, and up the scenic 280 to the San Francisco International Airport. 

It really is one world, despite the distances which seem to divide us, and it really is one love that I feel in all its many permutations for these people who have meant so much to me in my long and irregular life.  One morning Jim and I walked through the ancient redwoods in Henry Cowell State Park (which is severely challenged by the state's draconian budget cuts along with many other crucial agencies and services).  I spent nearly ten years researching the history of the redwoods for my Ph.d. dissertation, and walking among them was akin to greeting old acquaintances.  At the entrance to the park is a rare Dawn Redwood from China which drops its leaves in winter, unlike its California cousin.  My good friends Jim and Mel are technophobic when it comes to internet communication so I may have to use oceanic snail mail to maintain our connection.  But others are more comfortable with email, Facebook, Twitter and Skype, and it took little convincing from me to persuade them that long distances are a pre-21st century delusion.  We will stay in touch easily, as if I've just moved down the block.

Thomas Wolfe was wrong: you CAN go home again.  And return home.  If the world is one, and love is one, there is no contradiction.  For my farewell dinner, I took Annie to Laili, a new restaurant on Cooper Street in downtown Santa Cruz that features a delicious Afghan cuisine with sauces that turn the pedestrian (chicken, lamb, dumplings) into the marvelous.  It was No. 2 in the recent New York Times story of what to do in Santa Cruz over a 36-hour visit.  There were a couple of earthquakes in the vicinity during my last week but none that caused damage and I didn't feel a thing.  The old building that houses Laili was once the location of a bank that was partially destroyed in the 1989 earthquake.  The insides were gutted and the lovely facade retained.  There's a metaphor there, but I'm not ready to spell it out.

Nan went off to work today in the new uniform which her company requires employees to wear ("mai suai," she says, "not beautiful").  I walked her to the bus stop where a large crowd of commuters, many in school uniforms, waited in the early morning haze.  So much has changed, so much stays the same.  Since this Wednesday is Wan Phra (Monk's Day), my first class teaching English to monks has been moved to Friday.  The baht is down and the dollar is up which means more value for me. I've been greeted as a prodigal son by the laundry lady, the woman who sells me the Bangkok Post in the mornings, a couple of baristas at Starbucks, a clerk at the 24-hour minimart downstairs and several of our building's cleaning ladies.  I've got to catch up on lots of movies: "The Kids Are All Right" this morning followed by "Black Swan" this afternoon.  The internet news is full of the Tunisian revolution which may change the politics of North Africa and the Middle East forever, and also the aftermath of the shooting in Arizona (was mental illness or "a climate of rhetorical violence" to blame?).  Here in Thailand, members of an ultra-right organization are in a Cambodian jail for trespassing across the border they dispute, and their supporters are threatening street demonstrations.  The left-wing red shirts promise another gathering on Jan. 23 (50,000 came out several weeks ago to call for a democracy in Thailand).  It's great to be home.

I Am Sea Lion, Hear Me Roar

.  

They sound like a dog with laryngitis, woof woof, their bark carrying through the early morning air from the seashore to my garden hermitage in the foothills of Santa Cruz more than a mile away.  I can't hear the waves but I can hear the sea lions (distinguished from ordinary seals by that flap of skin that resembles an ear).  This fella (or lady as the case might be) rests under the pier at the end where tourists can get a glimpse of sea life at home.  Others recline on the aptly named "Seal Rock" near Steamer Lane, one of the state's premier surfing spots, and wait for the salmon to run.  Which, I discovered, they're doing now, from December through March.  The San Lorenzo River, which empties into the Pacific on the other side of the Boardwalk amusement park, used to be a prime site for salmon as well as Steelhead to spawn.  But stocks have dwindled in recent years for various reasons, including the seals who wait at the mouth of the river to munch on lunch or dinner, and fishing for humans is restricted now to "catch and release."  No more trophies or gourmet meals.

I don't know whether to identify with the endangered salmon or the sea lions shouting for joy, but I do know that this last week has been a glorious time of reunion with my family and friends.  The rains that drenched the state in December, filling reservoirs and making skiers deliriously happy, have abated and days on the California coast are clear and cool.  Perfect bike riding weather.  Each day I ride down from my temporary home into town to sip cappuccino at Lulu's and clean up a backlog of correspondence and projects on the internet.  My calendar is filled with lunch and dinner appointments.  And yesterday I rode my borrowed bike along the coast to watch the dance of surfers and seagulls and the parade of bikers, skaters, runners and walkers, and not a few mothers pushing strollers along the path above the beach.  The seascape, so familiar after thirty years of living in this place, is breathtaking. 

A week from tomorrow I leave San Francisco for the flight home to Bangkok via Tokyo, and I expect to see my wife Nan again after a three-month separation when she greets me at the airport around midnight.  Two days later I begin teaching again at Mahachula Buddhist University.  Nan and I have spoken via emails, letters, phone calls and Skype, but the distance is still heartbreaking.  I have promised her never to leave like this again.  On this side of the ocean, I have been reunited with my three grown kids.  Nicky and I ate cookies (the Thais just can't bake them like that), and Molly and I met for coffee.  We'll see each other again before I leave.  My eldest son Chris is coming down for a visit this weekend.  And just a little while ago I accidentally met my ex-wife Cici at the coffee house where I am writing this.  This month we mark the tenth year of our separation (both of us are now remarried) and I believe the old wounds are healed.  We made plans to get together again next week.

I will be leaving with my objective partially achieved.  My monthly Social Security income should be reinstated by the first week of next month.  I say "should" because the two clerks I spoke with on three separate visits to the office in Santa Cruz two months ago assured me that it would happen in December.  The clerk I talked to this week, however, said that they had each failed to do the necessary paperwork and that I should receive every agreement in writing.  I have her name and telephone number in case it does not happen.  The question of back payment of income was not resolved.  My faxed appeal from Thailand never made it into the system.  I was told I could begin the process anew, but that it would be difficult to handle from Thailand since a personal interview, not to mention extensive documentation, would be required before a decision would be made.  It also might delay my monthly income.  After a few minutes of thought, I decided to let the whole matter drop, even if I feel justice might ultimately prevail (can you win in a fight against City Hall?)  I'd rather not spend the next year or two engaged in a battle with this U.S. bureaucracy.  As long as I get the income due me from the system, I'm happy.

An old friend recently wrote me that he wished I were "making music, or some kind of art somewhere.  The thirst in your soul might be sated thereby.  All this seeking among the dust and ashes, this quest for some kind of renewal via young flesh, this blame-fulness directed at American culture/society/politics as the source of your discomfort with these days of old age, this ambivalence about the realm of the spirit . . . all these things would fall into some kind of perspective and be less of a torment (if that's the right word -- maybe 'distraction' is better) if you were able to be writing creatively, playing creatively, producing creatively, creating creatively.  Or so it seems to me."  I take his thoughts seriously since we have been friends since junior high school, even though in recent years we have kept in touch only irregularly.  He knows me best now, as do many, from what I write here in this blog.

He remembers when my dream was to play sax and clarinet in Stan Kenton's orchestra. But I ultimately missed the boat on music and art.  In later life I've become kind of a spiritual philosopher, somewhat academically trained, a homegrown intellectual.  But it seems I'd failed to communicate to him the joy of life I feel now in my 72nd year, the happiness I've found in Thailand with Nan and with the monks whom I teach.  And I do see my work in this blog as "creative," even if it reaches only a small audience.  The "thirst" he sees is mostly satisfied and I'm comfortable with a this-worldly spirituality that crosses the bridge between Christianity and Buddhism and pays its respects to the popular piety of believers like my friends at Holy Cross and my wife and her Thai family.  Perhaps I have spent too much time in "blame-fulness" directed at American culture and also at Thai politics.  I hope after this return to blogging that I can praise and celebrate far more than blame.

Here Comes the Sun

Little darling,
it's been a long, cold, lonely winter.

Little darling,
it feels like years since it's been here.

Here comes the sun,
here comes the sun, and I say
it's alright.

Little darling,
the smiles returning to the faces.
Little darling,
it seems like years since it's been here.

Here comes the sun,
here comes the sun, and I say
it's alright.

Little darling,
I see the ice is slowly melting.
Little darling,
it seems like years since it's been clear.

Here comes the sun,
here comes the sun, and I say
it's alright.

(Thank you, George)

My friends, thank you for your love and support.  Happy New Year to one and all.  

I Think It's Going to Rain Today

Broken windows and empty hallways

A pale dead moon in the sky streaked with gray

Human kindness is overflowing

And I think it's going to rain today

Scarecrows dressed in the latest styles

With frozen smiles to chase love away

Human kindness is overflowing

And I think it's going to rain today

Lonely, lonely

Tin can at my feet

Think I'll kick it down the street

That's the way to treat a friend

Bright before me the signs implore me

To help the needy and show them the way

Human kindness is overflowing

And I think it's going to rain today 

 --Randy Newman, "I Think It's Going To Rain Today"

Storms come and they go.  When the rain falls and the winds blow, it feels like they will never end.  Only human kindness, love and friendship, however, are everlasting, though the people and forms may change.  This one wild and precious life, just as it is, is perfect.  

I will take a break from blogging and the internet for a spell to attend to pressing concerns, and experience life off the grid for a change.  It's only a vacation, however, and not a resignation.  

Right Back Where I Started From

California, Here I Come

Right back where I started from

Where bowers of flowers

Bloom in the spring

Each morning at dawning

Birdies sing at everything

A sun-kissed miss said don't be late

That's why I can hardly wait

Open up that golden gate

California, Here I Come

--Al Jolson

Sometimes it feels as if I never left.  Despite the disorientation of jet lag after a 15-hour journey from Bangkok, I resumed almost immediately the life I left behind three years ago, with only a few differences.  Not having a car (or truck in my previous life) was in important one.  David's house was in walking distance of downtown Santa Cruz so I soon hit the pavement.  In a day or two I had shin splints and blisters to show for it.  The first thing I noticed was the cold, 20 degrees less than I'd been used to for three seasons.  Next was the silence.  Compared to the streets of Thailand's capital, I could be in a sensory deprivation chamber.  Sidewalks away from Pacific Avenue were mostly empty.  And the other thing that surprised me was how newspapers had shrunk.  At first I thought it was only the local Sentinel that was thinner by a column or two, and then I noticed that the San Francisco Chronicle and the San Jose Mercury were likewise reduced.  Nothing spoke louder about the decline of print media than this.  Their days are numbered.

I began writing this post in The Abbey, a coffee house opened since my departure in 2007 and operated by Vintage Christian Church with an absence of visible proselytizing. It’s a large room with comfortable tables and chairs and warm lighting, on the bus route to the UC campus on the hill and so patronized by students as well as believers. The Sunday service has just ended and the place was filled with chatter. My room in Annie’s garden is a short ride away on the mountain bike Lyle loaned me yesterday, but my butt is still sore from the inaugural journey I took along the coast. After the morning cuppa, I crossed over the freeway pedestrian bridge that leads to Holy Cross Church to attend the 11 am mass.

Today is Halloween, a holiday Santa Cruz has shamelessly embraced as its own. The refurbished Victorian houses and Arts and Crafts bungalows in the immaculate and muted neighborhoods are embellished with carved pumpkins, tombstones, spooks and artificial spider webs. They resemble the elaborate house decorations of December when residents vie with one another to celebrate the holiday but without strings of outdoor lights and Christmas tableaux. A friend sees Halloween as a celebration of death, a more suitable ritual for these lean and pessimistic times.  But today the downtown streets are closed to traffic and costumed kids and adults are searching for treats from the merchants.  Fences around valuables and a battalion of police are on the lookout for tricks, particularly those fueled by alcohol.  It could be Mardi Gras, a party that the sanuk-loving Thais would appreciate (Halloween is catching on in Bangkok). 

Crossing the Pacific was relatively easy.  I left home at 2:30 am in a taxi and crossed the city in a storm filled with thunder and lightning.  I watched a movie in my laptop on the way to Japan and tried to sleep on the trip to San Francisco.  The armrest controls in my Delta aircraft didn't work so I could neither read nor listen to the sound for the five movies they showed on overhead screens (I'd seen most of them anyway).  After arriving at a reasonable morning hour, the U.S. Customs agent seemed to know more about me than I knew of her, and she gave each item of clothing in my suitcase an extra squeeze to uncover contraband.  David was waiting for me and we drove down the coast in the fog.

I have been overwhelmed by the welcome I've received.  That first day back I bought a $10 TracFone (supposed to be the favorite of illegal immigrants) from the drug store that used to be called Long's and began phoning and receiving calls to add to the cascade of incoming emails.  I've been invited to lunches and dinners, given warmer clothes to wear and a bike to ride.  David fed me his culinary creations, including a fig pizza that was delicious.  Jim drove up from Fresno to spend a night and day with me, and we went to Clint Eastwood's latest film where I ate buttered popcorn that is unavailable in Thai cinemas.  I was warmly welcomed back into the Catholic community even though I jilted them for an infatuation with Buddhism.  On Sunday I attended Fr. Mike's 80th birthday and found that many friends had not forgotten me.  Most of the cheap eats places I remember remain, and in the week and a half back I've had a "Thai" burrito with peanut sauce, a felafel, chicken soup, a delicious hamburger unlike any in Bangkok, and selections from a Chinese buffet.  Last night I went to the Thai Noodle House and had a delicious stir fry with chicken and cashew nuts, and got to practice my Thai with the waitress.

Halloween might be the pinnacle of October events, but within days of my arrival I was joining other celebrations.  First was an event featuring a group of over a hundred people dressed as vampires and zombies who filled a city block to dance to the music of Michael Jackson's "Thriller."  The next day was the United Nations Day parade to mark the institution's 65th birthday.  In a cold drizzling rain I joined my friend Mel and carried one of his political signs.  Behind us was a troop of belly dancers.  The rain seemed to bother no one.  I arrived during the baseball playoffs and the San Francisco Giants won their league.  Fans here are devoted to the Giants and flags and pennants sprouted up around the city.  It's hard to miss the games, and I was exuberantly pleased that the Giants won the first two games.  On Saturday I watched streaming video of the Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear from Washington and was particularly moved to hear "Peace Train" sung by Yusuf (Cat Stevens).  I tried to imagine such a rally in Thailand or any other country and I could not.  It pleased me enormously to think of myself as an American.  The next big event here are the elections on Tuesday of which I know little and failed to register to vote (I probably could have gotten an absentee ballot in Bangkok).  The most interesting proposition up for a vote is one which would make marijuana legal in California even though the feds have vowed to continue arresting dealers and users.

Then there were the mundane activities, like shopping at one of the new organic food markets, Whole Foods and the Westside New Leaf, and washing clothes at a coin-operated laundry where the cost for a load (around $5) was more than some of my Thai-bought apparel was worth.  Even Safeway on Mission had a magnificent new edifice with enough selections to boggle the mind.  There are supermarkets in Bangkok, like Top, that feature a wide selection, but nothing can match U.S. stores for conspicuous consumption.  Along with Trader Joe's (two stores), the markets mentioned certainly cannot find enough customers, and some will not make it.  Then again, Americans like to eat and prefer variety to the basics. Free wifi is available everywhere, even at the laundromat, and I've been able to stay easily plugged into the internet as I stroll or ride through the city..

After a week at David's, I was offered a room at Annie's house several blocks away.  She's a lady I've met at Buddhist gatherings and peace demonstrations in the past and she'd just returned after nearly a year away in Kansas where her mother recently died.  We talked it over and she decided I'd be a reliable guest for as long as I have to remain here.  The "room" is actually a lovely hermitage in her garden besides a burbling brook, with full windows along one side and surrounding fences that give it a private country feel.  There is a Kwan Yin on an altar inside the room and another larger figure of the lady Buddha in the garden outside.  It has heat, an internet line, and an ancient apple tree overhead that has dropped the most delicious fruit (sometimes with a bomb-like sound).  She's sharing the bathroom and kitchen and has been a kind and generous hostess.  And she's also a rapid Giants fan so I can keep track of the scores.

Each morning and evening I connect with Nan via Skype.  We can also speak by phone and she can send SMS messages to me which unfortunately I cannot send to her.  It's wonderful to sit in California and see her face and hear her words from our apartment in Bangkok.  The picture clarity varies but it's a miracle to maintain a face-to-face connection so far apart.  We don't have much to say other than to recount our days.  I take photos daily and attach them to emails in an attempt to show her where I'm temporarily living.  She thinks America is beautiful and would someday like to visit.  But her dream is to go to Korea where she might see snow, and I've promised her a trip for a full honeymoon if I can succeed in my negotiations with Social Security.

I'm finishing this post at the Octagon, a coffee house located in a historic building downtown.  The barista is dressed as a witch and two halves of a pear just walked in to order espresso.  Outside the entrance I can see parents accompanying costumed kids on this gloriously sunny day to find their quota of candy.  As most of my regular readers know, this trip was not of my choosing and it still has a forced feel to it.  But since my arrival I've felt joy in returning and optimism about the object of my trip, a successful resolution to the legal and economic problems that have bedeviled me for over six months.  I should learn more this week about the possible outcome and I hope that all can readers can pray, chant, or just think positively about a solution that will unite Nan and I as soon as possible.

Bangkok, How Do I Love Thee?

Let me count the ways:

The cry of the koel bird (that sounds like its name) in the cool morning before the day's heat descends.  Toothpicks on the restaurant table and straws for every bottle and glass.  Pastel-colored taxis, and buses painted in blue, red, orange and pink (the green ones were decommissioned).  Gold roofs of Buddhist temples reaching for the sky at night with tiny mirrors reflecting light like diamonds.  Giant photos of the King and Queen, everywhere.  Laundry hanging on balconies of apartment houses.  The absence of angry horns beeping in the controlled chaos of massive traffic jams.  Ladyboys, hips swaying down the street, more feminine than their female opposites.  Sidewalks packed with vendors selling everything: all kinds of edibles on a stick, clothing brand and jewelry knockoffs, incredible fruit, counterfeit DVDs and pornography, flowers and mobile phone accessories.  Tall spirit houses and shrines outside condos, businesses and luxury malls with icons of Buddha, Brahma and Kwan Yin, and covered in offerings of flowers and incense along with red drinks and fruit.  Whitening creams and lotions hawked to anxious Thai ladies who fear their tan skin is too "black,"  Do-it-yourself outdoor barbecue restaurants where raw meat and veggies are distributed cafeteria style and table-top charcoal braziers raise the evening's heat.  Sacred tattoos glimpsed on the necks of women as well as men.  Hoses and water buckets next to European and squat toilets where paper is missing (or, if present, tossed but never flushed).  And ...

Last night Nan and I went to Chinatown where the Gin Jae (eat vegetarian) festival was in full swing.  We've been eating vegetables, tofu, mushrooms, sprouts and fake flesh for a couple of days and vowed to last for five, the minimum commitment.  Stores, shops and stalls feature strings of yellow triangle pennants advertising the absence of meat, even over tables of what are clearly candies and sweets.  It rained much of yesterday and the sidewalk restaurants were covered with tarps that dribbled water at the edges.  We ordered a couple of dishes and one was so good that we ordered another.  A parade of umbrellas passed by in the street as a loudspeaker blared what Nan said was a game with prizes.  Of all the crowded areas of Bangkok, Chinatown is king, but the rain had thinned the ranks of the evening's vegetarians.  In the orange bus on the way home the driver played Isaan music at full blast, the singer's voice bending the notes heart-breakingly in a way that seemed impossible.

This week in a rescue that bordered on the miraculous, 33 miners in Chile buried for two months over 2000 feet underground after a cave-in were pulled up a narrow shaft drilled through the rock to freedom.   I watched some of it online via streaming video from CNN Chile and couldn't stop the tears.  It was a living metaphor for liberation and salvation, made more real by the children, spouses and friends (and politicians) greeting their exodus from the earth with hugs and cheers.  No matter that it became a media event, a reality show par excellence, the whole world was watching like the World Cup or Michael Jackson's posthumous performance.  This is the the direction that defines time, progress and the spirit's path, the movement from dark to light, from entombment to new life.  I identified with those miners because of the cave-in of my life and the current struggle to climb out of the pit into the light. 

Which makes my imminent departure from Bangkok and Thailand all that more poignant.  As I look out my 9th floor window or travel through the city's streets now, I recall the past three years of my life here and marvel at how much I love this place.  My friend Janet, who wrote eloquently of a similar love affair in Tone Deaf in Bangkok, has recently abandoned the city she thought she would live in forever for another love, Penang in Malaysia.  She cites changes in what she loved since her first visit in 1997 and says the recent violence frightened her into thinking it would not end.  I hope she finds peace and permanence in Penang.  My departure is under protest and I promise Krung Thep (the capital's Thai name) that I will return as soon as possible.

Let me count some additional reasons for why I love this sprawling Southeast Asian metropolis: Charity trees festooned with money that no one would think of stealing. White string blessed by monks around wrists and around whole buildings to insure protection. Shoes outside the entrance to temples, schools and apartments.  Slow-moving people on sidewalks and crowded Skytrain cars where no one every jostles another.  Reserved seats at all cinemas and standing for the King's anthem before the show (and also at 8 am and 6 pm at Skytrain stations).  The ubiquitous hot weather fashion of shorts, tee shirt and flip-flops worn by both men and women.  Dramatic monsoon displays of thunder and lightning.  Monks in orange and mae chees (women renunciants but not nuns) in white, all with saved heads.  The graceful and all-but-unreadable Thai script on signs that mean nothing to a visitor from another country.  Flashy karaoke parlors for Thai men and the "entertainment" palaces of Nana, Soi Cowboy and Patpong for sex tourists from abroad.  Amulets, sometimes dozens, around the necks of devout Buddhist animists.  And ...

When I arrived in Bangkok in August 2007, I had few plans other than to see the country, study its history, steep myself in the culture, and perhaps find someone who would share my life.  A long-time spiritual seeker, I hoped to learn about how Buddhism is lived by devotees rather than written about by western intellectual converts.  I joined an English-speaking Buddhist group and helped organize retreats and discussion events.  Within six months I had a job teaching English to monks and loved it with a passion.  I hung out with expats and listened to interesting speakers at the Foreign Correspondents club, and I joined the National Museum Volunteers to learn more about the arts and archeology of Siam.  With friends of like mind, I participated in a study and discussion group to better understand our adopted country.  I followed the red and yellow politics of Thailand and formed strong opinions about the trajectories of recent history.  I attended massive gatherings for the King's birthday, the Loi Krathong water festival, and the red shirt anti-government demonstration, and I watched from my window both fireworks displays and smoke from destructive fires after the military crackdown of May 19th.

Bangkok is the center, and during the last three years I've also traveled to the various peripheries of Thailand, to Udon Ratchatani and Nong Khai in the northeast (including two visits to Laos), Chiang Mai and Pai, and Chiang Rai and Mai Sai in the north, to Ubon Ratchatani in the west for 10 days at a monastery, and to Phuket, Krabi and Ko Samui in the south, not to mention the "sin city" of Pattaya and the little island of Ko Samed closer to home that has become my favorite getaway destination.  I've seen natural beauty galore side-by-side with the tragedy of poverty, and also have witnessed headlong development that threatens to overwhelm the attractiveness of the scenery to tourists.  I've traveled by bus, train, tuk tuk motorbike and song-tao.  Thai culture is much more complex than the label "Land of Smiles" would indicate.  A smile can communicate anger and sadness as well as sanuk, the Thai word for fun and enjoyment.  As an outsider, I can observe but will never fully understand.  Even that unknowingness is a part of the attraction to Thailand. 

I've been writing about Thailand in this blog and posting photos I've taken here since my first trip in February of 2004.  Yet I've always felt like grasping at straws when I try to describe or sum up what it is about this place that entirely captivates me.  Sometimes it seems it's the excitement I like of living daily in a mystery wrapped in an enigma that is Thai culture.  I cannot fathom the language or the motivations of the people.  Why do they love uniforms so much and submit to authoritarian hierarchies that take away their power?  At other times it's the vibrant street life that I love, so similar to that in other developing countries like Mexico, contrasted with the sanitized order of America where people are perpetually encased in homes, offices or cars and the sidewalks are clean and empty.  It's also the strange loud noises and odd smells that send some visitors fleeing for the exits, not to mention the poverty of the beggars and illegal construction workers, and the school girls who play "Mary had a little lamb" on their recorders for donations.  And it's the jarring contrasts, the luxurious supermalls, palaces of consumption for the rich, which are entered along pathways occupied by buskers, Burmese mothers nursing babies, blind musicians and a leper without arms holding a cup in his mouth. 

Bangkok, I will miss your department store food courts, rides down the Chao Phraya River listening to "Democracy Now" podcasts on my iPod Touch, shrubs along the highway sculpted in the shape of animals, soap opera lakorn on TV featuring dramatic Hi-So feuds and romance with drinking and smoking blurred out by the censor, the respectful wai in the place of shaking hands, Thais plucking facial or underarm hair with tweezers in public, flower sellers with their hand-made garlands for Wan Phra (Monk Day, each of the four phases of the moon), cement pedestrian overpasses without which crossing streets would be impossible, soi dogs desperately in need of attention from a vet and cats with genetically crooked tails, and, finally, a mobile phone at every ear.

I don't know what comes next.  It's all a matter of chance, fate or luck, or perhaps unknown conditions that have already determined future events.  Friends are saying prayers for me and I do not discount their effect.  Perhaps all this is a tempest in a teapot and this blog which occasionally rattles a few cages will continue with new insights from a California sojourn or memories recounted after the fact.  I have put my affairs in order and almost packed my bags.  Nan and I cling to each other with an unexpected ferocity, as if we can imprint our souls like a tattoo.  I prefer advanced planning, heavy on the details, but sometimes events conspire to prevent it.  My bets are hedged with photographs, thousands of them, which will never let us forget even if the memory weakens.  I have loved you, Bangkok, and I love thee, Nan,

 to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

--Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Today would have been the 43rd birthday of my son, Luke.  He died last December from causes related to many years of alcoholism.  Despite his demons, he was a loving and compassionate son.  I miss him.  R.I.P., Lucas Tempel Yaryan.

Leaving Paradise

I said don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
Till it's gone

--Joni Mitchell, "Paradise"

If you have an over-achieving imagination like mine, you're gone before you get there.  Paradise is a honeymoon with Nan on the lovely island of Ko Samed this past weekend, and for much of the time I could not stop thinking about what lay ahead for me in ten days time when I fly to San Francisco on a forced journey that can have no happy outcome. 

My bride would have no mopping about and was alert to my preoccupation with what could not be known.  "Thinking too much," she would notice, and she would not leave my hands free for long.  I hung on to her like the rock she has become in my life.  And she told me that no one had ever touched her back before, hugged her, as I did.  Out of all the distance and people in the world, we have somehow ended up on the same shore.  There is no rhyme or reason to our relationship, but it illuminates the dark places in our lives and gives us a comfort that I never believed possible.  Until my thoughts turn to the "what ifs" and "maybes" of what lies ahead like underwater boulders that threaten our ship.

Ko Samed is a small island with a string of white sand beaches in the north facing east that can be reached by ferry from the tiny port of Ban Phe 40 minutes away.  The bus ride from Bangkok takes about three hours.  It's much closer than the better known islands of Ko Samui and Ko Phi Phi and, to my mind, superior in many respects.  Most of the visitors appear to be Thai with foreigners in the minority (a big plus).  The water is warm and without intimidating waves and it rains less  than elsewhere (although this weekend the single dirt road was rutted with puddles that only all-terrain pickup taxis could cross).  I discovered Samed (often written as Samet) in my first year in Thailand and have been five times; Nan and I have visited the island three times, the last trip in March with her mother and nephew.

Our favorite place now is Samed Villa, a relatively upscale resort at the southern end of the beach known as Ao Phai.  Rates for the middle value room in this low season are 1800 baht, or about $60, a night.  This includes a magnificent morning buffet, with tasty Thai and western comestibles.  Although we'd reserved a "garden view" room, the bay could be seen clearly from our balcony just above the open air dining area.  For 30 baht, I got a wireless ID card that allowed me to get email on my iPod Touch, but since that dragged me away from our honeymoon I used it sparingly.  The objective was to enjoy the beach view from a shady chaise lounge, to bathe in the clear and warm turquoise water, to feast on fresh seafood at several of the restaurants spread up and down the beach, and to celebrate our decision recently to make our marriage official.

On the evening of our arrival, we returned to Ploy Talay Restaurant on Hat Sai Kaew, the island's main beach.  It's the biggest and most popular and the fresh-caught sea food is to die for.  On Saturday night we tried Seabreeze Restaurant which is quite close to our hotel.  I've become very fond of barbecued scallops in the shell since discovering them in Hua Hin, so we had them for both meals.  We also had Nan's favorite, squid, called pla mut in Thai which also covers sea creatures as different as octopus and stingray.  We ate broiled whole fish and large shrimp cooked in a peanut sauce, and, at least the first evening, toasted our health with cocktails, gin and tonic for me and a Blue Hawaiian for Nan.  The first night we ended with ice cream on the terrace of Samed Village as waves softly lapped the shore.

Beside heart-thumping trance music cranked up loud from various beach bars, the most popular entertainment on Samed are fire shows.  I suspect Ploy Talay had the first and there are dozens of videos from there on YouTube (including mine from three years ago), but now many of the sand eateries also offer shows.  We were too early at Ploy Talay for the show on Friday but at Seabreeze an incredibly talented twirler of fire risked burning with his graceful antics.  It was the night of the new moon (cleverly branded as "Black Moon") and the beach was as crowded as it would be during high season in January.  Up and down the coast people were launching sky lanterns, called khom loi in Thai, and firing off rockets from long poles. Out in the surf, several men with flashlights and nets were searching for something edible.  Vendors with portable booths were selling banana pancakes. Everywhere the semi-wild dogs and an occasional cat roamed.

On Friday night we were visited by a praying mantis that seemed attracted by the glass-covered candle on our table and refused to leave.  I'd just finished a book by Wally Lamp, The Hour When I first Believed, in which he employed a praying mantis as a symbol of hope, contrasting it with a butterfly which symbolized chaos.  The insect crawled on both of us but seemed particularly fond of the candle's heat, trying to stick his nose (nose?) into the chimney of the lamp.  While many web sites describe the praying mantis as a good omen and indicative of luck, one describe it as a "strange cannibalistic creature" that eats other insects, "with the female often eating the male during copulation."  That evening, however, I felt we were chosen, and reluctantly left it behind on the table in hopes that other diners would treat it as kindly as did we.  A half hour after we returned to our room the skies opened and the rain poured down, and I could only imagine a great scattering and clatter of plates as hundreds of people ran from the outdoor tables to see shelter from the brief storm. 

Most of the guests at Samed Villa spoke languages other than English.  I envied what I imagined were their lengthier stays, when life would slow to an easier pace.  Our two days felt too rushed.  Groups came and went with regularity, some disembarking from speed boats that cozied up to the beach, dragging their trolley suitcases across the hot sand, to our hotel or to the larger and more plebeian White Sand Resort next door.   The day's biggest task was to reserve a chaise lounge and umbrella.  People read books and dogs sought cool shade under their chairs.  A steady stream of vendors hawked massages, temporary tattoos, clothes, shawls for women, barbecued corn and chicken, and refreshing coconut drinks out of the shell.  At times there seemed more ladies offering massage than sun and sea bathers who might benefit from it.  Out in the water, kids and some adults splashed, while further out you could watch wind surfers, parasailers, and groups on a banana boat towed by a speed boat.   It was all very frantic and lazy at the same time.

Few vacationers get up early.  But an army of workers emerges from off the tourist map each day to set up the breakfast buffets and prepare for the ingress and egress of guests.  I know that monks from the temple in Na Dan where the ferries land walk up the beach just after dawn every morning to receive alms and bestow blessings on those fortunate enough to live on Samed year round.  I've seen them.  And I imagine myself living forever not far from the sand and the surf sounds.  Nan can run our resort and I will offer English lessons to the workers who must perform transactions ("May I take your order please?") in this international business language.  And then I remember that I have a ticket on a Delta Airlines flight less than two weeks away that will take me away from all this with only the slim hope of returning and making such a daydream real.

On Sunday at 1 p.m. we ended our honeymoon and boarded a speed boat which rushed us to Ban Phe Pier and the Bangkok bus that left not long after.  But before getting on the bus, we bought some treats for friends and a mobile of assorted sea shells that now hangs above our bedroom door to remind us of an unrepeatable time in Paradise. I hope to see it in my California dreams.