We push and
we pull against the ones that care about us the most. She is always here
with me, and she is always one step ahead of me, daring me to try to keep
up. And almost always, she is laughing.
There comes
a point when logic doesn't serve you, and the notion that "happiness is
only in your head" no longer serves a purpose, when you realize that all
causes for suffering are part of the reflex that can lead to happiness,
you can try to suppress the reflex, but suddenly you find yourself standing
alone, trying to rationalize how you wound up in this place...the camera
pans in, motion blurs, the heat and sunlight bear down like weights, time
slides sideways under your feet, your world glazes over with tears, your
heart is in your throat, now it's in your hands, you watch yourself surrender
it, it fits perfectly into the one place where it is needed, and you step
back, and leave it right there, like a thin piece of gold fluttering in
the wind, your one offering that has any value at all...
After 24 hours
in the air, the anticipation of landing is almost too much. The sickly
yellowish orange lights of Bangkok spread out below, and the plane starts
its final descent into what looks like a dimly lit version of hell. I grab
my suitcase, exchange some money, grab a taxi, my head is reeling during
the taxi ride to the hotel, it's illegal to leave unattended lights on,
so all the buildings are giant black monoliths along the overpass, streets
wind through dark canyons below. It's all so oppressive and foreboding.
So vast and huge and dark.
Through the
entire flight, and now in Bangkok, the fever has my heart racing, I can't
taste or smell anything, amazing rush in my ears, so much noise in this
city, in my head, trying to sleep, always trying to sleep, trying to force
my head below the surface of consciousness, seeing myself, pushing me,
helpless below the black surface, feeling eyes on me, wondering who it
is that's watching this struggle, who is helpless being forced down, who
is so cruel and forceful, and who's watching me in this half awake hallucination.
I give up, sit up, realize that my personality is splintering apart from
not sleeping, fragmenting into a hand to hand struggle, and a small crowd
of onlookers, all viewed from another vantage point from the outside, all
of the components adding their own voice to the babble of noise crushing
in on me. Of course right about now I feel like I'm going completely insane.
Three days
later, I'm strung out, barely 3 hours of sweat soaked sleep each night,
exit from Bangkok, past the endless expanse of buildings, driving for almost
two hours without escaping the city, through the endless traffic, finally
out of the crush of buildings, across the salt flats, finally to Samut
Songkhram, along the Maeklong River, winding through the small village,
through the jungle, on an endless gravel road into the trees, across the
swamps, to a tiny homestay on a mud brown river. A man bathes in the river,
scooping cups of water to rinse, and then a cup to rinse his mouth and
then drink. I set up my easel, and start mixing some colors, I'm not sure
what I'm going to do, then a long motorboat ride to a restaurant for dinner,
following the twisting river, cutting through the jungle, everyone is sitting
by the muddy water, cooking, talking, bathing, kids swimming, cutting around
a bend and slow down in a quiet and remote section under a bridge and see
a three or four year old girl, sitting in a floating washtub, giggling
while she works her way along the bank, pushing along on the branches hanging
down, finally at the restaurant on the river, climbing the steps from the
water...return trip by starlight in the jungle, the one searchlight on
the boat lighting up the murky water and the overgrown banks, it all looks
so deep and dark, the trees are pulsing with the synchronized flashes of
fireflies. At first I thought the trees were strung with pulsing Christmas
lights, so strange to see, then one tree after another, until entire sections
of the forest were pulsing in perfect sync, a giant bat swoops down across
the river, catches into a treetop and disappears.
Next day, trying
to paint, I can't paint, I'm trying to paint. Watching the jungle on the
other side of the river, studying reflections, shadows, I can't tell what
I'm doing. And then suddenly everything turns dark, I can feel all of my
edges start curling and growing brittle, and I feel my heart collapsing
in on itself, starts smoldering, and turning black. I feel like I'm draining
out, I have the overwhelming feeling of things slipping away, the sense
that everything is going through my fingers, I can't get far enough away,
there is nowhere else I can go to escape, I don't know what I want anymore,
or what I need, I still can't hit bottom, I just want to stop breathing,
I don't know how I can go on, there is nothing ahead of me, I don't know
where I'm going, I don't know what I'm doing, nothing has any meaning,
everyone is gone, I'm all alone here, I just want it to be over, I can't
come back, I don't know where I am, I don't know why I'm here, there is
nowhere else to go, I can't get far enough away, so much of me is gone,
I can't find it, I can't get it back. It all starts sinking into the murky
water, and I'm just letting it go.
Now I'm lying
on a bed in a shuttered room, the setting sun trying to slip into the cracks,
listening to Thai news, while the Buddhist chanting echoes across the river
from the temple, the voices in my own head don't even speak English, time
just hangs in the air, I'm staring up at the ceiling, nothing to say, nobody
to say it to, amid all the voices, it's now so quiet...
...the camera
pans in, motion blurs, the dusty sun drenched jungle fades back...
...and now
I'm back in Bangkok. Suddenly the crush of noise outside is met by silence
inside, there is only one voice now, and it is mine. With nowhere else
to go, I have made a leap of faith, something inside me was left behind,
and I'm now one step closer to being completely empty.
Back to the
task at hand, painting, and eating, and then finding something else to
eat. Trying to paint the view of the city from my hotel room window, it
doesn't feel like my hands, I'm carving down all the color with a knife,
I'm focusing on the one vanishing point between all the buildings, everything
above that point is slowly spinning, in and out of focus. I'm starting
to feel like myself again, in and out of focus.
I escape to
the mall one afternoon to see a movie, before the movie starts, everybody
rises for the duration of a short film set to music, to honor the king.
The movie is amazingly loud, like nothing I've ever heard in a theater
before. I guess it matches the deafening noise of the rest of the mall,
and the rest of Bangkok. Each evening I meet with Bon, or Bon and UN, or
Bon and UN and sometimes Jah, or just Bon and Jah and not UN but meet up
with some different people. We wind up finding a great restaurant right
next to my hotel, I see a giant toad hopping through the elegant lobby
as we leave, the next night we're at the same restaurant, and the same
dish is totally different. Then we're in Silom the next night, the Broadway
of Bangkok, finding the nondescript door to a hidden sushi place, where
they spread out a great feast. Then we're in a coffee shop, with even more
people, and I sit quietly while everyone else is speaking in Thai. I'm
starting to forget where I am, it just feels right.
And did I mention
the food here? Every single meal seems to be a celebration of the dining
experience, the entire culture is based on savoring every flavor, ordering
more dishes than can fit on a table, each bite is a new flavor, a new sensation,
it's amazing how everyone loves their food so much. A meal is never just
convenient, it's always a chance to be thrilled with flavor and presentation.
Even the restaurants in the shopping malls are just amazing, each dish
is just perfect, and the fancy coffee drinks arrive looking exactly like
the perfectly sculpted drinks pictured on the menu. How do those people
do it? I can't eat and drink enough, so much food, so little time.
Everyone mentions
how beautifully I eat, I guess it's a surprise, that a westerner doesn't
eat like a trained chimpanzee. And this small group of best friends have
welcomed me into their circle as Khun Day, or Mr. David.
The final day
arrives too soon, I check out of the hotel, a huge lunch at another mall,
a final run for cooking ingredients, a little downtime and then a final
dinner at yet another great restaurant. Suddenly sitting in traffic, stopping
and going, arrive at the airport, and then a final goodbye. Ahh, this hurts.
I really don't want to be leaving, it was all too short. I really don't
want to be leaving. I was all just too short.
And just as
suddenly, I'm back on the plane, the Pacific Ocean is blasting by at 600
miles per hour. As my world is rushing up to meet me, most of me will not
be arriving. So much I'm leaving behind, in that jungle, on those streets,
there is so little left of me, and for the first time, I'm ok with it.
Special thanks
to the charming UN, the lovely Jah, of course to Sangtum, and especially
and always to Worrapan.