Will the Real Buddha Please Stand Up

Under the bright full moon of the third lunar month last week, I joined Nan and three of her co-workers in the evening at Ratchaprasong to venerate the Buddha by doing tumboon (making merit) before three shrines in the shopping district and at Wat Pathum between Siam Paragon and Central World.  It was Makha Bucha, a major Buddhist holiday in Southeast Asia which commemorates the talk Buddha gave to 1,250 enlightened followers, nine months after his own awakening, laying down the principles of his teaching.  The crowds were enormous, and the smoke from candles and the smell of incense was almost overpowering.  I saw very few foreigners among the throngs of Thais of all ages carrying lotus buds, yellow candles and sticks of incense and pacing garlands of yellow flowers at the base of the various icons, most of which were of Hindu gods.  For a lapsed Catholic who learned of Buddhism as a philosophy or psychology (but without a god, certainly not a real religion) through the practice of meditation, the inclusion of so many Hindu elements in Thai Buddhism has been confusing.

For example, in front of Central World we paid our respects before two large shrines.  The one on the right contains a huge golden image of Ganesha, the elephant-headed god, "remover of all obstacles," my favorite Hindu deity.  The one on the left, Nan told me, is "Trimulati," whom she believed to be female, and who Thais, leaving bouquets of red roses around the icon, consider "The God of Love," according to many stories published around Valentine's Day.  A little research, however, identifies the statue as Trimurti (probably male), a manifestation of the three principle Hindu gods: Brahma the Creator, Vishnu the Preserver, and Shiva the destroyer. No one knows how the Trimurti shrine, built in 1989, became associated with love or why Thais pay their respects with red roses in the hope of finding a spouse, but I think it's an example of the fruitful spiritual creativity of Buddhists here who incorporate animistic practices and beliefs along with the rituals of Brahmanism in their synchronistic faith.  The Buddha is even seen as a reincarnation of Vishnu by some people, Hindus as well as Buddhists.

Across the street on Makha Bucha Day, devotees congregated at the Erawan Shrine in front of the Grand Hyatt Erawan Hotel.  We walked clockwise around the icon, a representation of a four-faced Brahma, leaving a burning candle, flowers, and three smoking incense sticks at each of the four sides.  The shrine was built in 1956 to eliminate the bad karma believed caused by laying the foundations of the hotel on the wrong date.  In 2006 a man vandalized the image and was killed by bystanders.  Two nights after our visit, Princess Ubolratana presided over a large ceremony at the shrine attended by 200 senior monks "to pay homage to the Lord Brahma statue," according to the Bangkok Post, the first such ceremony in 50 years. This shrine and the two in front of Central World are examples (on steroids) of the omnipresent spirit shrines or houses (saan phra phum) in Thailand which can be found outside almost every home, store and urban skyscraper.  A mix of animism and Brahmanism (Buddha is rarely present), the shrines are intended to propitiate the spirits of place and passers-by place flowers and offerings of food and drink to show their respect.  When Thais walk or drive by these shrines and spirit houses, as well as trees defined as sacred by the colored cloth wrapped around them, they will wai, or bow, respecting the power (saksit) contained within

It's all a bit much for a Westerner to understand, much less imitate.  Here is the shrine atop the bookcase in our apartment, with two Buddha statues, Kwan Yin, Ganesha, and a small Christian St. Francis cross in the back, with numerous amulets tucked underneath the larger icon's throne.  The candle holders were brought from Wat Pathum the other night.  We lay garlands of flowers around the four icons every Wan Phra (Monk Day on the four monthly phases of the moon) and Nan places offerings of water (Ganesha prefers red) in front of three of them.  I readily accompany my wife when she goes to a temple for tumboon and I mumble along with the monk's chanting and accept gratefully the blessings of water and an occasional string tied around the wrist.  Religious practices in Asia are all consuming compared to the sabbath-only sterile religiosity of the West.  I first experienced the popular piety of the masses when I went to India in 2004 and visited numerous Hindu temples where I was surrounded by a variety of devotees, particularly families with children, who imbibed the sacred mysteries in the darkened inner sanctum in a tumult of sounds and smells by firelight.

The path to understanding what is not so much a religion as a way of life begins for a farang in the head.  I've been gathering with expats in Bangkok for several years to listen to Buddhist speakers from different traditions and to discuss among ourselves the meaning of the teachings.  Recently I met with the BuddhistPsychos, a group seen here wrestling with an understanding of "emptiness," a Buddhist notion that leaves the ego diminished if not destroyed.  What's left of the self, we ask ourselves.  We're reading and discussing Heart-Wood From the Bo Tree by the Buddhist monk and reformer Buddhadasa Bhikku who has little patience with animist superstitions and Hindu accretions.  Yet there seems to be a wide gulf between such cerebral debates about doctrine and what Thai followers of the Buddha are doing at shrines and temples. I wish more visitors and expat residents could have the experience of Buddhist worship, the rituals that American Buddhists have pretty much discarded.  I wonder how much of the baby is in the bath water?

A small group of mostly long-term expats in Thailand meets monthly for wide-ranging discussions which sometimes touch on religion, particularly as it impacts our understanding of politics and culture in Southeast Asia.  Last week, one of the members presented Peter A. Jackson's chapter on "Virtual Divinity" from Saying the Unsayable: Monarchy and Democracy in Thailand, and the ensuing debate on the interrelationship of Buddhism and Hinduism which forms public perceptions of the monarchy was heated and stimulating.  Jackson, a historian from Australia, has written an excellent book on the reformist monk, Buddhadasa: Theravada Buddhism and Modernist Reform in Thailand.  The presenter reiterated Jackson's argument that modernization in Thailand has failed to expunge Brahmanist and magical beliefs from home-grown Buddhism and they are now being used to promote veneration of the monarch as a semi-deity.  I questioned whether Thai religious practices could ever be contained within a box labeled "Buddhism," and argued that "a religion" is an artificial misnomer, the product of academic study.  Another member of the group, with an extensive background in art history, countered that we can know much about Hinduism and Buddhism through their images and architecture.  And I responded, as a social historian, that art is timeless and represents institutional authority, whereas it is extremely difficult to know the actual practices and beliefs of ancient (often non-literate) actors.

In a northern suburb of Bangkok on Makha Bucha, more than 50,000 members of the Dhammakaya sect, monks in orange as well as lay people in white, gathered together in the gigantic facilities, that resemble not so much a temple full of devotees as a Buddhist version of the Nuremberg rally filmed by Leni Riefenstahl as "Triumph of the Will," a chilling taste of the fascism that brought war to Europe a few years later.  The Thai followers of Dhammakaya are well off enough to support the huge costs of such mass meetings, and the organizers are astute and relentless in collecting donations.  Another recent movement among Buddhists in Thailand is Santi Asoke, a sect of strict moralists originally influenced by Bhuddhadasa but later to reject his liberalism.  The founder is Samana Photirak who is an ally of Chamlong Srimuang, the charismatic leader of the neo-fascist yellow shirts.  Excommunicated by the Buddhist Sangha Council for his radical views, Photirak recently said the border dispute with Cambodia "is a national problem. The Santi Asoke followers cannot allow the government to continue what it has been doing and see Thai territory being gradually occupied."  I fail to see how the teachings of Buddha say anything about protecting national territory.  If anything, a spirit of emptiness should prompt us to become free from such entanglements as property and national identity. Rory McKenzie, a Christian minister and former missionary who lectures annually at my university in Bangkok, has written an excellent overview of both groups, New Religious Movements in Thailand (Routledge, 2006).

I am rather attracted to a form of Buddhism that promotes kindness and compassion and that values generosity over Brahmanical myths and rituals which encourage patriotism and subservience.  And I experience this behavior constantly in the community and at my school among the students and my teaching colleagues.  Dr. Sman invited me to his 6th cycle birthday (72 years), a most auspicious occasion, and it began in a graduate class of temple abbots studying public administration when he presented refreshments to his students and they gifted him with flowers, vitamin drinks, and Buddhist icons.  That evening, 80 of his intimate friends were fed and entertained by Dr. Sman in an upscale restaurant's private room.  I was fortunate to be the (only) farang guest of honor.  Most of the people there were current and former students as well as fellow teachers.  Dr. Sman is a man of many talents and they were serenaded by his music students who sang songs that he had written.  My own 6th cycle birthday is coming in July and Dr. Sman's party will be a hard act to follow.

Last week I played Eric Clapton's "Wonderful Tonight" for my third year undergraduates majoring in English at MCU Wang Noi, the new campus near Ayutthaya.  It seemed to be a good choice since old Slowhand was performing that very evening in Bangkok.  They listened carefully to the song twice and chose missing words on the lyric sheet from a vocabulary list.  My students seem to like this weekly musical exercise and I think it helps them with listening and comprehension.  I've asked them to suggest songs and performers for future exercises but this group has so far been quiet.  Finally, one monk raised his hand and humbly asked if I might play music by entertainers who were "not so old."  Why, Clapton is only 65, a comparative youth, I thought.  I gave up my plan to play something this week by the Eagles who performed last night here, looking on the TV news clip like a bunch of old hippie geezers.  OK, I said.  Justin Bieber or Lady GaGa?  I saw their eyes light up.  For my song this week I will playing for them "Bad Romance" by the new reincarnation of Madonna (now an old lady).  I viewed the video for the song and decided it was a bit too over the top for monks.  I hope the lyrics (i.e.,"I want your psycho, Your vertical stick, Want you in my rear window, 'Cause baby you're sick") will pass muster. 

Pull My Finger

I must confess that I recently taught this ancient trick to my wife and that she found it as hysterical as I did when I was a young boy and had just discovered the repellent joys of farting.  The Thai word for fart is ตด (pronounced dtot, rhymes with boat). I'm told that it's rather impolite but funnier than another Thai word which is the equivalent of "flatulence."  Nan learned the trick quickly and has even developed some intriguing variations which I won't describe (marriage is a sacred and therefore secret bond, don'tcha know).  And for some perverse reason, farting seemed a suitable topic to mark Valentine's Day which the Thais have embraced as their own.  On our outing to the palaces of consumption yesterday, Nan and I posed for photos at various "Love" locations for shoppers like the above scene at Siam Paragon.

Lest you think my humor is in the toilet, let me confirm this suspicion with a photo I took last week.  The other door said "LADY."  As a liberated man, I prefer "gentle" to "gent."  On the subject of farting, I yield to no less a respected writer than Mark Twain, author of "1601," the once-censored short fiction which purports to recount a conversation among the court of Queen Elizabeth over who farted.  As a student at Berkeley in the early 1960s, I heard about this story and read it in a special room in the library where scholars could examine the scandalous manuscript.  The other student in the room was a graduate student from the Soviet Union.  This was the dark ages when Henry Miller's Tropics and D.H. Lawrence's Lady Chatterly's Lover were still banned in America.  Now you can read or download "1601" for free from Project Gutenberg.  "Born irreverent," Mark Twain wrote on a scratch pad among his collected papers, and, "like all other people I have ever known or heard of--I am hoping to remain so while there are any reverent irreverences left to make fun of." I think the Thais would appreciate Twain's ribald and iconoclastic sense of humor.  He must be laughing about the recent censored editions of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn in which "Nigger" was replaced with "Slave," "Injun" changed to Indian and "Half Breed" changed to "Half Blood."

 Nan posed with her newly curled hair at another Love photo op site in the shopping mall.  The hair of most Thais is naturally straight but curls are currently in fashion, and she paid 200 baht for a short-term perm in the morning.  By evening it was determined the experiment was not a total success.  Today, when Thai couples were exchanging chocolates and flowers, the curl had gone.  Each year on Valentine's Day, the press in Bangkok wrings its hands over the sexual license teens might take.  In an official government press release, the Ministry of Public Health expressed concern over the tendency of Thai teenagers to have sex on Valentine’s Day, saying that unprepared sex can lead to the unwanted pregnancy problem. An official survey showed teens would spend time with their loved ones on Valentine’s Day by watching good films, listening to music, having dinner and staying together. The government spokesman worried that such activities "could arouse teenagers to have sexual intercourses very easily for many reasons such as love, emotion, curiosity, satisfaction and mental immaturity." Duh.

 One goal Sunday was to see "Portraits of Asia," the new exhibit of photography in the plaza in front of Central World.  The portraits by Eric Lafforgue of people in Thailand, New Guinea, India, China, Burma and elsewhere in Asia were large and dramatic, a breathtaking view of the varieties of human cultural experience.  Self-taught, Lafforgue began taking pictures just five years ago, posting his travel photos on Flickr, where they became an instant sensation. The annual exhibit is sponsored by Central World, the annual Francophile festival La Fête and Zen Department Store (which is under reconstruction).  In recent years it has been "Planet Ocean" by Laurent Ballesta  and "The Earth from Above" by Yann Arthus Bertrand.  The exhbit's layout was somewhat constrained by the construction site and shared the plaza with a "Floating Market" that floated on little more than hard cement. 

We also stopped by the Bangkok Art and Culture Center and sampled a couple of the current exhibitions, including "Soft Power," an display of photography of women by Princess Sirivannavari Nariratana, daughter of the Crown Prince, who has made a career for herself designing clothes.  She's currently undergoing an internship at Christian Dior and Bulgari in Paris.  According to publicity for the exhibit, the photos showcase her latest "innerwear" creations, an interesting euphemism for lingerie.  The Princess could give Victoria's Secret a run for its money.  Some of the assemblages featuring scantily clad women bordered on the scandalous.  Shades of Mark Twain!

From the sublime to the ridiculous. Many Thai shrines contain zebras (along with other animals and Buddha, Brahma and Ganesha), but this herd in the center divider of Ratchadaphisek Rd in Lad Phrao is outstanding. What's up with the zebras?  I've yet to receive an authoritative word.  Apparently someone tried putting a toy zebra in a shrine (here it's a tree wrapped in colored cloth) and their wish was granted.  So others added to the collection with more wishes and more zebras.  One Thai friend suggested that piggy banks could start a new trend.  It's certainly got little to do with Buddhism.  I tried praying to the zebras but it didn't help my friend and I find the courtroom where the trial of Chiranuch Premchaiporn, webmaster of independent news portal Prachatai, was being held on charges of lèse majesté, a landmark case for internet freedom and all freedom of expression in Thailand.  The directions we had were incomplete.  We thought about trying again this week (the zebras might help), but learned that testimony has been delayed for six months.  So much for speedy trials in Thailand.

I was horrified to see the entire Skytrain car in which we rode yesterday covered in ads for KFC.  One panel contained attractive phrases like "feel so good," "taste so good," "look so good," "smell so good."  It was enough to make a vegetarian gag.  In the poster behind my head you can see a pair of Thai twins gorging on the crusty stuff.  According to an article in the Bangkok Post, "Thai youngsters are growing up loving fast food and junk food despite how unhealthy it is, which is leading to an obesity epidemic. Over the past five years, there has been a 40% increase in obesity among Thai children under the age of six. About 22 million people over the age of 15 are considered obese, according to the Public Health Ministry."  In a couple of years, those cute twins chowing down on Kentucky Fat Chicken will look like a couple of sumo wrestlers.

But, as my mother used to say, people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones.  I've been fascinated by the success of Krispy Kreme donuts in Thailand.  The first store was opened in the high-class Siam Paragon last year and crowds were enormous, with people waiting hours for the privilege of purchasing the premier item in America's national cuisine.  We checked yesterday and saw that lines were still quite long, and many people, most of them Thai, were buying many large boxes of the donuts.  "Mai khao jai," I said, showing off my limited Thai; "I don't understand." Nan quickly set me straight:  "They're buying them to sell."  Of course!  Thais are born entrepreneurs.    And sure enough, on the way home in Pinklao last night we spied a woman selling donuts that she assured us were fresh, purchased that morning at Siam Paragon's outlet.  I couldn't resist and bought three.  They were selling at 3 for 100 baht, a profit of 19 baht over the single price of 27 baht.  And they were aroi maak (delicious)!

These are Turbulent Times

Paradise doesn't stand still.  If I thought that coming home would pacify all of my concerns, I was mistaken.  Events near and far have ruffled my waters.  First, my dear friend Jerry collapses in the street and, after being taken to the cardiac care unit at Bangkok's most prestigious medical tourism site, has a heart attack.  He's recovering nicely, and seems less discombobulated by the adventure then I, uncomfortably reminded of my mortality.  Then I learn from the Facebook page of the son of my former brother-in-law that his father has been diagnosed with Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease (CJD), a rare, degenerative, and invariably fatal brain disorder.  David's blog has been charting its rapid and heart-breaking progress.  I remember Kenny (we share the same birthday) fondly as a generous and energetic friend, husband and father, and I grieve for his family. 

As if to echo personal tragedy, the world is changing rapidly in unexpected ways.  For two weeks I have been following events in Egypt, particularly through the complete coverage by Al Jazeera's English web site (where streaming video can be seen).  First the government in Tunisia was driven out by street protests, and then Cairo erupted with hundreds of thousands of Egyptians demanding that the dictator Mubarak, a faithful lackey of the U.S., leave the country and return the billions he stole from the people.  It's still too early to know if people power can actually overturn an entrenched autocratic regime like Murabark's; After all, they failed in Beijing's Tianamen Square over 20 years ago.  But the courage of the Egyptian people, particularly the women, is inspiring.  Maybe democracy might work after all!

In Thailand, the conservative yellow shirts, members of the People's Alliance for Democracy, are once again wagging the tail of the dog they put in power after a military coup five years ago deposed an elected prime minister and a disastrous sit-in two years ago closed the international airport and helped to unseat two subsequent prime ministers.  This time the yellow shirts and their allies, the Thai Patriots Network, are demanding that Cambodia return a small plot of land that contains an ancient Khmer temple despite the fact that an international court awarded them the border territory 50 years ago.  The long-running dispute resulted this month in shelling by the military on both sides with  the deaths of a number of villagers and solders.  Yellow shirt founder and media mogul Sondhi Limthongkul even suggested to the 5,000 demonstrating in the streets of Bangkok that Thailand should invade and capture Angkor Wat in retaliation for Cambodia's occupation of the Khmer temple land.  Because Prime Minister Abhisit has not yet declared war, the yellow shirts are calling for his ouster, or, better yet, a fresh military coup.   Insanity.

So what is one to do with such a mixture of hope and despair?  Head for a tropical island.

Our trip to Koh Chang over the long Chinese New Year weekend was made possible by an exceptionally generous wedding gift from two old friends from high school, Ernie and Mark.  It allowed Nan and I to have a second honeymoon (the first was last October to Koh Samed) and we made the most of it, flying via Bangkok Airways to Trat rather than endure the long bus ride, and staying in a "VIP Double" at Sofia Garden Resort halfway down the west coast of the island in Khlong Prao.  The hotel was owned by a man from Finland and featured a sauna as well as a pool, Finnish dishes on the restaurant menu, and it was populated by refugees from the cold northern European winter (a large number of whom were driving classic motorcycles and sported elaborate tattoos).  The cable TV include several European channels and we sampled a bit of "Titanic" and "Back to the Future" dubbed in Russian (which appears to the third official language of Thailand now).  This "resort" was not located on the beach, however, and we had to walk around a swamp and down a lane that passed a couple of luxury hotels to get to the sand and palm trees. 

Koh Chang is the third largest island in Thailand and is close to the Cambodian border (from which, thankfully, we were not shelled).  It's mountainous and the curvy road is no doubt treacherous in the rainy season.  Renting a motorbike seemed dangerous, so we traveled up and down the coast by song thao, the ubiquitous pickup truck taxi (which charged higher fees than transport on other islands I've visited), and sampled the waters at Kai Bae, Hat Tha Nam (Lonely Beach) and Halt Sai Kho (White Sands).  On the first day we paid our respects at the local Buddhist temple, receiving a blessing and a string bracelet, and a couple of nights later we visited an elaborate Ganesha shrine on the main road.  The east coast is dominated by uninviting mangrove trees while the west, where most of the resorts and hotels are located, lacks the wide beaches of some other islands, but the many trees offered welcome shade.  Although it's the peak of the tourist season, we only noticed crowds at White Sands where the only Thais Nan saw were vending items up and down the beach and giving massages.  Thankfully, we saw no jet skis or banana boats.  The other beaches, including even recently popular Lonely Beach which resembles more the backpacker haven of Pai rather than Koh Samui, were sparsely populated.  I doubt that the many accommodations, from shaky A-frames and guest houses to luxury oases, were anywhere near capacity.  Development, it seems, has maxed out.

While the surf is low key, the water around Koh Chang is warm and clear, and colored many shades of turquoise.  Liberally protected by sun block, we made the most of four days of relaxation.  Although I kept in touch with email, Facebook and Twitter on my iPod Touch (when the Sofia's wifi was working), I didn't keep up with the news (I did check in with Al Jazeera's cable channel occasionally).  We ate well at a variety of restaurants, from KATI Culinary which features a cooking school, the first evening to Iyara, an exceptional seafood restaurant (you knew it was good because most of the customers were Thais) in a old building on a lagoon where the after dinner treat was a gondola ride inland to see fireflies.  On the final night we traveled down to Bang Bao at the southern tip of the island where a long covered pier sports a number of restaurants and a generous helping of tourist shops.  We ate at Chow Lay, and although we'd enjoyed this restaurant's cuisine in Hua Hin, the Koh Chang branch was not up to par.  Iyara spoiled us for anything else.

The high point of the weekend was an all-day trip on Sunday by boat through the islands of the Koh Chang archipelago.  Conducted by Thaifun, the large boat held close to 50 travelers who swam off the beaches of Koh Wai and Koh Maak and snorkled among the coral around the tiny atoll of Koh Loan.  There were a couple of Thais among the guests but most spoke variations of guttural northern Europe languages that sound like Greek to me.  Lunch was an on-board feast and our guide Nok (she pronounced it "knock") kept everyone informed and amused with information and games, and at the end of the trip she encouraged us to throw food at the inhabitants of Monkey Island off the tip of Koh Chang.  The sea was flat and the sun was glorious.  Under the clear water, I saw numerous spiny sea urchens and waving fields of anemone.  Nan spotted what she delightfully called "cartoon fish."  Koh Maak is flat and can be explored easily by bike.  It's on the list of future possibilities, along with the much larger Koh Kood to the southeast which we did not visit.  There are 52 islands in the archipelago (used to be 53 but one was blown up during World War Two; I missed the details about that).  At least one, Koh Kham, is privately owned, and I saw a couple where I could easily live out the remainder of my days (if we win the lottery).

The trouble with coming home is that the turbulence of life you avoided by taking a vacation resumes.  Nan is back at the office and I gave my 28 students a midterm exam yesterday.  Today I'm going to the birthday dinner of a Thai colleague and tomorrow I plan to join Ian at the trial of the moderator of an internet chat site who is accused of lèse majesté for allowing comments allegedly critical of the monarchy.  It's an important test for freedom of expression in Thailand.  I received a Social Security payment this month but for less than I expected, and learned this morning by long-distance phone call that I was billed for Medicare payments after I'd withdrawn from the system (it can't be used over here).  Hopefully this will be straightened out with next month's payment.  Because Ajahn Aphivan covered for me while I was in California, I got paid for the first half of the school term even though I wasn't here.  Now I'm covering for her.  This means that for the first time in nine months we might be able to live within my income.  Hallelujah for that!

Let Them Eat Bread

I've been puzzling over this photograph for a week and have yet to learn what the loaves of French bread signify.  There is a sign in French but I can't make it out, and others are in Chinese or Japanese.  The occasion was a gathering a week ago organized by the left-leaning United Front for Democracy against Dictatorship (popularly known as the "red shirts") at Ratchaprasong, the heart of the shopping area in Bangkok where a two-month sit-in eight months ago ended with the deaths of over 90 people and perhaps a thousand injured.  Despite a lengthy government investigation, no one has been held accountable and many red shirt leaders remain jailed without charge or trial.  Official gestures toward reconciliation went nowhere and the political divide between Bangkok's ruling elite and the rest of the country that seeks a stake in running things (i.e., democracy) is deeper than ever.

The red shirts are terrific symbologists.  Before the violence last year, demonstrators donated blood and then splashed it on the gates of Government House and on the door of Prime Minister Abhisit Vejjajiva's residence.  Vendors sold flip-flops with the faces of opponents printed on them so that walkers could exercise their disgust with the opposition.  The insult was taken so seriously that one vendor was jailed for selling them.  Homemade art at red demonstrations casts aspersions on the true gender of politicians and generals.  It was all very funny until the bombs and shooting began.

I've been trying to get up to speed on the current situation.   Since the ending of a nine-month-long emergency decree last month which curtailed much political activity, the warring factions have taken again to the streets calling for Abhisit's head and new elections.  The red shirts, who fielded perhaps a half million people the first weekend in January and 40,000 a week ago, are promising mass demonstrations weekly until the government resigns.  Agreeing with them on this, if nothing else, is the People's Alliance for Democracy (popularly known as yellow shirts), a radical rightist group that has contributed to the fall of three governments since 2006 and notoriously closed the international airport in 2008 with a sit-in.  They've just begun a sit-in outside Government House with 5,000 people that has closed the street and vow to remain until Abhisit quits.  In the past the chief bone of contention was Thaksin Shinawatra, the deposed and exiled prime minister whose followers form perhaps the core (but not all) of the red shirts.  Now, however, the issue is national sovereignty.  The yellow shirts and their allies, the Thai Patriots Network and the Santi Asoke sect of Buddhist purists are angry that the government won't make Cambodia return to Thailand a tiny sliver of border land that contains the contested Preah Vihear temple, a World Heritage site.  Earlier this month a group of Thais, including a member of Abhisit's party, were arrested by Cambodia for trespassing, but later released.   This only stoked the fires of patriotic outrage.  The military is rattling sabers along the border and has even ordered some expensive submarines, perhaps to make an attack by sea on its neighbor a possibility.   The who scenario is enough to make my head swim.

During the days of April and May 2010, Twitter and Facebook became invaluable tools for following the news in Thailand.  International reporters and foolhardy tourists took to the streets with their smart phones and sent photos and tweets to the followers like me eager for late breaking news but sensible enough to stay out of the danger areas of Bangkok.  It's easy to understand how important Twitter was to the short-lived protests in Iran last year and to the successful overthrow of the government most recently in Tunisia, still ongoing.  Right now there are angry and violent street protests taking place in Lebanon and Egypt and I would not be surprised to see them spread to other autocratic regimes in the Middle East and elsewhere.  Thailand and perhaps even repressive Burma will not escape their fallout.  The fear, of course, is that calls by the people for democracy and freedom from oppressive dictatorships might end in religious fundamentalist regimes.  But, as we've seen in Iran, a people with global awareness through social networking will not accept a curtailment of their liberty in any form.  I feel very hopeful for the future although I fear the birth pangs may be unpleasant.

Another welcome event is the explosion of leaks that are bringing to light many secrets the powerful of the world would not like the people to know.  There are far too many revelations to absorb and I am thankful to the newspaper reporters and bloggers who are selectively exposing and explaining what Julian Assange has wrought with his Wikileaks maneuvers.  I am still waiting to learn more about the leaked diplomatic cables from Thailand that unveil unguarded opinions causing tremors in high places.  But the most scandalous revelations at the moment are contained in the Palestine Papers which put the lie to U.S. neutrality and Israel's negotiations in good faith and show the Abbas government willing to give away almost everything to get practically nothing.  Robert Fisk has a very good analysis.  I would not be surprised to see major street demonstrations soon calling for the overthrow of the present Palestinian government. 

I'm a dedicated Facebook user and an occasional Twitter poster.  Only the technophobic can fail to see their usefulness.  I accept that print media and maybe even bookstores (sigh!) will eventually be replaced by the multiplicity of digital tools and platforms available and to come.  It's a whole new world out there, folks!  And speaking of new technologies, these are the nails Nan had had painted on before our evening dinner at Bayoke Tower last Sunday.  Each fingernail was painted separately by an artist at a booth in the Major shopping center up the street.  It took an hour, and they're quite remarkable.

Giving Thanks

On Saturday, Nan and I paid our respects to Kwan Yin (or Guan Yin), the Buddha of Compassion, at two different temples and gave thanks to her for my safe return.  First we had a vegetarian lunch in Chinatown in keeping with our vow to eat vegetarian once a week, no easy feat for a dedicated omnivore like myself (but the stir frys were tasty). Then we walked down Yaowarat to the Thian Fa Foundation shrine with its 900-year-old image of the female Bodhisattva carved in teak and covered in gold where a group of women in white were chanting while devotees like ourselves lit candles and incense.  The Foundation was established in 1902 by Chinese immigrants to Thailand to provide free medical care to the poor.

From Chinatown we took a bus to Wat Yannawa to pray before the 16.5-ton statue of Kwan Yin made of white jade and flanked by two other figures covered in gold leaf.  First we went inside the temple hall with its numerous shrines and museum of Buddha relics to sit at the feer of a monk who chanted and sprinkled us liberally with water (tapping our heads and shoulders with his whisk).  The water we were holding in small jugs was thus blessed and we poured it into cups and donated it to a bush outside the door.  Before leaving, we said prayers to an enormous statue of Thai's favorite Hindu god, Ganesha, and sat at the feet of three carved wooden statues of Kwan Yin at the other end of the hall.  For the first time I noticed they were all covered in strings of pearls which seem to be the goddess's favorite accessory. 

Afterward, we walked past Wat Yannawa's most famous asset, a giant Chinese junk made out of cement to honor the role of seamen on the Chao Phraya River which flows past the back of the temple.  To cap the day's mission of tamboon, honoring the goddess and making merit, we bought a loaf of bread and some pellets of food to feed the fish which shelter in the protected embrace of the temple pier out of reach of hungry residents and commercial fishermen.  Thai Children and camera-toting tourists slug handfuls of bread and spoonfuls of pellets into the water which churned with hundreds of them, some veritable sea monsters in size (and most of the catfish breed).  One family dumped a small fish off the pier into the river, a most auspicious way of gaining merit by giving back to Mae Nam, Mother of Waters. 

Homecoming was wonderful and it was disorienting.  My last days in Santa Cruz were very intense.  After the long flight home, my feet swelled up and a fog descended over my brain.  Staying in bed was a temptation, so long as Nan was near.  The familiar was strange and the strange was familiar, a desirable goal of Dadaists but unsettling to me nonetheless.  Oh, but I loved the heat!  California's last legacy for was a cold that chilled me to the bone but one natives pretended to ignore.  We set about resuming our routine (although waking at 4 am was not a part of it).  On that first Monday we went to Shabushi, a Japanese buffet at Central Pinklao Mall that features raw food on a circulating trolley that we cook in hot pots at our table (DIY cuisine is a specialty that Thai western restaurants ignore).    We shopped at Tesco Lotus to replenish the depleted refrigerator (Nan ate mostly street food while I was one).  Failing to find ink for my aging Lexmark printer (it was always a step-child), I bought a new Canon to replace it.

My first class at Wangnoi was postponed until Friday because Wednesday was Wan Phra (Monk's Day, the Buddhist sabbath), so I took the opportunity to visit my friend Jerry in Sukhumvit, riding the bus and Skytrain for the first time in three months.  On the way to Jerry's apartment, I stopped at Kinokuniya, the city's largest bookstore in Siam Paragon, and discovered no interesting new books were published in my absence.  It was a beautiful day, and walking down Jerry's soi I saw this new hotel with its uncharacteristically bright colors (though red is the traditional color of Ganesha whose shrine graces the hotel's corner to procure good luck for the owner and guests).  Jerry and I had lots of catching up to do, from family matters to political affairs, as well as sundry computer problems for which I am a consultant (his web browser icon had disappeared causing consternation; resurrected it).  We had an interesting discussion about expats and tolerance that aroused my curiosity.  He related a story about a world traveler he had met that was quite intolerant about the people and places he'd visited.  I thought tolerance came with the territory, when in Rome, etc.  Then I recalled the numerous posts to the Thaivisa internet board which whined with complaints about the Thai way of doing things, from business to love.  It seems as if a majority of expats that post and write letters to the English papers are highly intolerant of the red shirts and their demand for democracy and a stake in running the country.  These farang seem to prefer the elitist Thailand run by the military and the royalists, a situation that cannot last as the red shirts and their conservative yellow shirts (and the new Thai Patriots Network) take to the streets (20-40,000 red shirts gathered in Bangkok yesterday and said they will be back monthly from now until things change).

On Friday I took the 7:30 free bus to Wangnoi and after a delicious breakfast of congee with the other teachers and staff I was greeted like a prodigal son in the Faculty of Humanities office.  The new facilities are very nice and I even have a desk in the faculty office.  Dr. Aphivan had covered for me in my absence and I even got paid 12,000 baht for my time away (she taught double classes).  I will now teach about 30 students every Wednesday morning and afternoon, but for less than the six hours expected because of lunch and the early bus back to Bangkok.  I'll write about my students later, but only want to say now how wonderful it is to be back in the saddle.  Besides Thailand, my students come from Cambodia, Laos, Burma, Vietnam and China, and there is one laywoman among the monks, all of whom are in their 20's.  The room is big, the white board clean (and cleanable unlike the one at Wat Srisudaram), and cooled by air conditioning.

We ended my first week home by taking Nan's friend Aui ("we") to Baiyoke Tower to celebrate her birthday the day before, Nan's birthday earlier this month on the 12th, and my return to Thailand.  The buffet is on the 77th floor of Bangkok's tallest building, considerably higher than any contender, and the lights of the city twinkled below through the haze of the winter season here.  The wide selection of cuisines gave us much to choose from and various entertainers, from clowns to a magician and a troop of drummers playing on kitchen pots and pans, kept the diners amused.  We'd been there before in October to mark my departure and this visit was definitely a happier occasion.

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.