tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-233264642024-03-14T08:45:35.514-07:00Will I ever get to Samosa? and other ponderings.Have you ever wanted to pack it all in and just get away and do something different, something that means something? Have you ever needed a good kick in the pants to get you going? Me too. I left my comfortable position in the corporate world to try to pursue more artistic aspirations. Who knows where this will lead.Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.comBlogger120125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-14705274795371610622007-11-08T05:45:00.000-08:002007-11-08T05:49:31.460-08:00Here From There<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">It’s been a long time since I was surrounded by English speaking people.<span style=""> </span>A long time since I’ve looked over the vistas of strip malls peddling those coveted needless items.<span style=""> </span>I notice the order and cleanliness of the west that seemed to be absent in the east.<span style=""> </span>Most of all, I notice the hurried antics of hurried people who hurry to god knows where to hurry up and do god knows what.<span style=""> </span>I let them pass me by; this <a href="http://www.onelook.com/?w=philomath&ls=a">Philomath</a> is still on <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Laos</st1:country-region></st1:place> time. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">There’s a level of comfort coming back to one’s home turf, no matter how distastefully unnecessary certain aspects seem.<span style=""> </span>I’m not sure how this next phase may turn out.<span style=""> </span>I look to <a href="http://www.astrologyzone.com/">Susan Miller’s horoscopes</a> to perhaps give a little structure, or clue, or maybe just a fun read.<span style=""> </span>It tells me things, they’re interesting, helpful in some abstract way.<span style=""> </span>I think about one of my favourite quotes from the Cosmic Muffin: <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">It’s a wise person who rules the stars, it is a fool who is ruled by them.</span></i> I read the horoscope a few times, feel a little more grounded, but I still am not too sure what’s next.<span style=""> </span>Time to go back to gainful employment, I suppose.<span style=""> </span>It’s quizzically relaxing to think about that prospect.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Where will my quest lead me and with what tone will I document those events?<span style=""> </span>Will I document them at all?<span style=""> </span>I don’t know.<span style=""> </span>I may need to drop off of this blog for a little while in order to focus my energy on more pressing matters, but rest assured, at some time in the future I will again try to share the thoughts of my trip to Samosa.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-8510754964372588012007-11-03T20:38:00.000-07:002007-11-03T20:39:32.258-07:00The Next End<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">My time in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region> comes to an end.<span style=""> </span>I wonder about what I have learned.<span style=""> </span>I like to think that I understand this place, this culture, this language a little bit more than when I started.<span style=""> </span>I like to think that I am a little bit closer to Samosa – my Shangrila awaits me.<span style=""> </span>The more real it becomes, the more I realize I know only slightly more than nothing<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">This morning, an important day for me, I went to the Wat to make offerings.<span style=""> </span>Of course, making offerings at the Wat is always preceded with a 5 am roust from bed, a trip the market for some pre-dawn shopping and confusing phone calls… Yu sai?... Where are you?.<span style=""> </span>At the Wat, the old ladies chatted while they helped us prepare the bowls of sausage and chicken and cakes and soybean snot.<span style=""> </span>The monks waited patiently, silently.<span style=""> </span>Somewhere in there, I was given directions, but I am oblivious to this and fumble through the giving of alms.<span style=""> </span>One monk got too little rice, one monk got too many cakes.<span style=""> </span>They giggled at my ineptitude but were grateful for the special meal we had brought for them.<span style=""> </span>We poured water at a stupa (gravesite) and wished for blessings.<span style=""> </span>I pieced together from prior trips to this Wat, that the stupa was not random as I once thought.<span style=""> </span>It is the stupa that of my friend’s parents.<span style=""> </span>Driving away, I added a couple more wishes and blessings to those who have passed before me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I think about something my friend said just recently about today.<span style=""> </span>She wished for someone to help her prepare the food for today.<span style=""> </span>She told me she pitied the chickens.<span style=""> </span>I wasn’t sure if it was a language issue, or if that is what she really meant.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">“Pity? Why?”, I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Her response was so kind, “It is such a happy day for me, but the chickens have to die.<span style=""> </span>I wish someone else would do that for me.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I don’t understand anything and I understand everything. <span style=""> </span>The journey continues and there are dead chickens and seemingly random stupas that have great meaning and bumbled offerings of tasty sweet sausage and late nights and early mornings and Laotian contracts signed not under duress but complete oblivion. <span style=""> </span>Slightly more than nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-27208672473912851082007-10-25T04:10:00.000-07:002008-12-09T20:59:20.171-08:00Back to Buddhism<p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFigfwP893N__uZnTSxxPoQc6RwrDoAYFxxMOXMTKwIZaj_96ldHhi3IaPKBGnxovnrTD5vopmjigUBvRW_xcnL_nMNCO2u2Jfz6CJcxWwTz_73Up_MFbYKYJsDnPkhJt8s9tT/s1600-h/PA200463.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFigfwP893N__uZnTSxxPoQc6RwrDoAYFxxMOXMTKwIZaj_96ldHhi3IaPKBGnxovnrTD5vopmjigUBvRW_xcnL_nMNCO2u2Jfz6CJcxWwTz_73Up_MFbYKYJsDnPkhJt8s9tT/s320/PA200463.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5125232521314986482" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">Let’s get back to Buddhism for a while.<span style=""> </span>I really don’t think it’s necessary to categorize something as Buddhism or not-Buddhism; after all, there is really not much difference between the two.<span style=""> </span>When I write about racism, I am writing about right mind.<span style=""> </span>When I write about teaching, I am writing about right action.<span style=""> </span>I don’t come right out and say it, but the truth is, I’m always writing about the dharma.<span style=""> </span>The benefit, the practice, the use and abuse of the dharma.<span style=""> </span>I have to write about it, not because of my vows, but because of something which has been cultivated in me over thousands of lifetimes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">There is a base set of principles which serve as the basis for Buddhist study.<span style=""> </span>Actually, there are two sets, the Four Noble Truths and the Noble Eightfold Path.<span style=""> </span>The two are intertwined.<span style=""> </span>And, for whatever reason, I think I will address them completely out of order – which may end up require a lot of back tracking or fore tracking as the case may be.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><i style=""><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:10;" >Right View</span></span></i><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;"> also referred to as <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">Pure Vision</span></i>, is the first of the Noble Eightfold Path.<span style=""> </span>It is easy to misunderstand what Right View means.<span style=""> </span>Often, I have seen people latch on to Buddhist philosophy and interpret Right View as ‘<i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">this [buddhism stuff] is <u>the only</u> correct perspective</span></i>’.<span style=""> </span>Dismiss that attitude right away.<span style=""> </span>That kind of thinking will only slow you down; audacity is a heavy burden to bear.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">Instead, think of Right View as a litmus test of your openness to perceive and the growth that provides.<span style=""> </span>Is what your are seeing the true essence, or has something else provided barrier to a lucid experience?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">Let’s bring this to a more tangible example and then I will sum up with some other important stuff about Right View.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">I have been living in <st1:city st="on">Vientiane</st1:city>, <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Laos</st1:country-region></st1:place> for some time now.<span style=""> </span>I have many friends who have lived their entire life here.<span style=""> </span>As the capital city of <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region>, it is indeed a metropolis complete with municipal buildings, shopping and business districts, street lights (optionally obeyed), and so forth.<span style=""> </span>In comparison with other cities in other countries, it is undeveloped, small and offers very little – or so many visitors may think.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">I have met many tourists to <st1:country-region st="on">Laos</st1:country-region> whose first stop is <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Vientiane</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style=""> </span>They get off the bus, look around, check their guidebooks and within a day or two, rush off to the north, disappointed with the limited attractions in the city.<span style=""> </span>I even had one friend tell me ‘<i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">get out of there, that city is sh*t!</span></i>’.<span style=""> </span>What is happening is not that <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Vientiane</st1:city></st1:place> is <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">sh*t</span></i>, it is simply our view is not clear.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">It is unrealistic to step foot in Vientiane and expect it to be anything like Bangkok or Rome or New York City or Montreal or Buenos Aires or any other place on the map.<span style=""> </span>It is it’s own city with it’s own identity.<span style=""> </span>The same way a traveler to <st1:city st="on">Vancouver</st1:city> would be very disappointed that it is nothing like <st1:city st="on">Miami</st1:city>, a traveler to <st1:city st="on">Vientiane</st1:city> will never be satisfied if they seek any city other than <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Vientiane</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style=""> </span>That’s the first part of Right View – don’t expect <st1:city st="on">Paris</st1:city>, <st1:country-region st="on">France</st1:country-region> when you get off the buss in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Paris</st1:city>, <st1:state st="on">Texas</st1:state></st1:place>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">The second part of the example is not one of negation, it is a matter of positively finding what is right in front of you.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">Last weekend, I took a little day trip in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Vientiane</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style=""> </span>I needed to consult with a monk on personal matter and was brought to a northern outskirt of the city, about 10km from the city center.<span style=""> </span>After speaking with the monk, my companion asked me if I would like to see the poorest section of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Vientiane</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style=""> </span>I was hesitant and said I would not like it much if a tourist came to look at me and my family and my house and neighborhood simply because I was rich or poor or something in between.<span style=""> </span>However, I agreed to go look with the understanding that I am interested in learning more about the city and <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Laos</st1:country-region></st1:place> culture and lifestyles.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">We headed down an undeveloped road, breathing dust and getting sprayed with pebbles with each truck roaring past us in the other direction.<span style=""> </span>As we drove, I could see the opulence level dropping steadily as there were fewer automobiles parked in front of houses, smaller markets with less selection and fewer and fewer brick or concrete homes.<span style=""> </span>About 10km down the road, we noticed a well cared for sign, written in gold Laos letters, which was translated for me as “Wat in a Cave”.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">We turned off the main road and followed a passable but degraded road a short distance to one of the most beautiful wats (temples) I have ever seen.<span style=""> </span>Perched on top of a hill, on a sprawling campus of flat rock, the wat had an essence which I find dismally absent in most inner city wats in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Vientiane</st1:city></st1:place>.<span style=""> </span>It was peaceful and quiet and contemplative.<span style=""> </span>Around the campus were natural holes in the rock slab which collected rainwater and served the monks as washing wells or simple meditation ponds.<span style=""> </span>From some spots, there was an obstructed view of the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Mekong</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">River</st1:placetype></st1:place> through the trees.<span style=""> </span>Dotting the campus where secluded little buildings, presumably housing for the monks. The entire time, we were followed by a very friendly set of monkeys who had no issues with taking the tamarind pods left as offerings in front of a buddha image.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">After walking around the campus, we left and headed further down the main road for another 3km only to find an equally impressive wat with a giant buddha image on top of a hill overlooking the entire <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Vientiane</st1:city></st1:place> area.<span style=""> </span>At this wat, there were many unique buddha images, nagas, and various other icons nestled amongst rocks and ponds.<span style=""> </span>Truly a wonderful place for a monk to delve deeply into their studies.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">Neither of these two locations are in a guide book.<span style=""> </span>My companion, a lifelong resident of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Vientiane</st1:place></st1:city>, had never heard of these two places.<span style=""> </span>We found these locations by simply hopping on the motorbike and going out into the world.<span style=""> </span>We both agreed that it felt like we were somewhere other than <st1:city st="on">Vientiane</st1:city>, perhaps an island in the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placetype st="on">Gulf</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename st="on">Siam</st1:placename></st1:place>.<span style=""> </span>Overall, even with the dusty, unkempt road leading to them, the experience was enlightening.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">That is the second part of Right View.<span style=""> </span>What I thought I knew about <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Vientiane</st1:place></st1:city> two weeks ago is different than what I think today.<span style=""> </span>That difference, that growth in my awareness, came from my (our) ability to suspend what I normally would do in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Vientiane</st1:city></st1:place> so that I might see a different dimension of what I know.<span style=""> </span>It is not that these dimensions did not exist before I saw them – both wats have probably been around for at least 300 years, possibly three times that amount.<span style=""> </span>Yet it took me being able to cast aside what I thought I knew about a place in order to see it and understand it just a little bit better.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">Right view is a matter of removing our predefined concepts of existence so that we can further expand our capacity and the depth of our own understanding.<span style=""> </span>Right View is also a matter of sustaining that awareness.<span style=""> </span>It is one thing to stop, temporarily, our judgment & our prejudices.<span style=""> </span>It is another thing to dismiss them permanently.<span style=""> </span>Right View empowers us with the ability to live in each moment without expectation.<span style=""> </span>It allows us to see the world unfolding in it’s beauty and ugliness all around us and be content.<span style=""> </span>It enables us to understand better the inalienable bond we have with the world which is us.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-23876785574514349992007-10-16T00:39:00.000-07:002007-10-16T00:40:31.036-07:00After that...<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Yesterday morning I woke up very dissatisfied.<span style=""> </span>I had been working on a piece for Blog Action Day for weeks.<span style=""> </span>I had chosen the topic of public transportation in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Vientiane</st1:place></st1:City>.<span style=""> </span>It’s quite a loaded subject, and there are lots of ins and outs to the subject.<span style=""> </span>However, on the morning of Oct 15, I decided I did not like what I had written.<span style=""> </span>I decided to step away from the topic of public transportation and write something new.<span style=""> </span>Something with a bit more of a bite.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Sometimes when I am writing I use the computer.<span style=""> </span>Other times, I sit down with a stack of paper and write things out long hand.<span style=""> </span>Yesterday, I chose the long hand approach.<span style=""> </span>During the course of the day, I scratched out mental notes, key statistics and partial paragraphs freely.<span style=""> </span>All together, I think I used about 12 pieces of paper.<span style=""> </span>Early in the afternoon, I started converting the paper draft to a computer format.<span style=""> </span>Finishing much later than I should, I began to tidy up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">When working with a computer, a quick stroke of the delete or backspace key takes away anything that might be a bit too racy for the censors.<span style=""> </span>However, working with ink and paper, it’s a different story.<span style=""> </span>I stood in my living room with a dozen sheets of paper – some of the words I wrote (but of course did not publish) would put me in the clink for quite a while.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">The surest way to destroy anything written on paper is by fire.<span style=""> </span>So, I headed out to the yard with a lighter and the incriminating sheets.<span style=""> </span>Dropping them into the burn barrel, I had to laugh.<span style=""> </span>On a day I dedicate my blog to environmental awareness, I end up standing in my yard burning paper and branches in an open fire.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I could not help but laugh and chide myself for the irony of the situation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-84858852757117055792007-10-15T07:14:00.000-07:002007-10-15T08:12:42.749-07:00Gin nuai look<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">My observations in Laos over the past year and a half have been culturally and historically focused and not specifically environmental. As such, I would like to speak on the cultural side of addressing environmental concerns in Laos and other emerging nations.</span></span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">The Lao People’s Democratic Republic is a Southeast Asian nation bordered by Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, Burma and China. It is currently rated as a “least developed nation”; a stigma Laos has committed to removing by the year 2020. 70% of the population in Laos lives on less than $2 per day and 20% percent live on less than $1 per day. Of the approximately 7 million residents, less than 20% live in urban areas – roughly growing at 4% to 5% each year. It is, for the most part, an undeveloped, jungle or agrarian landscape throughout the country. The largest environmental issues are deforestation with a dramatic drop of forested areas from 70% in 1940 to 47% in 1989, and the impacts of hydroelectric dams which contribute significantly to the total revenue from exports. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">At a national level, the big issues are known and are getting attention, however, at the individual level, things in Laos are a bit more complex and difficult to address. At the heart of the matter, most people don’t know what they should do and more importantly they don’t have the means to do so.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"><b> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-weight: bold;">Meet Bounsong</span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Bounsong lives in an unfinished concrete home on the outskirts of Vientiane, the capital city of Laos. He has a wife and two small children. He supports his family doing whatever work he can find. Mostly his work is farm-related. Sometimes, his wife and children will pick mushrooms in the jungle and sell them in the market. After it rains, he and his cousin go out to collect frogs, also destined for the market. Last year, his household income was $525 US, higher than the national average.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">In Bounsong’s home, there is no running water, no electricity and no gas for cooking. For light, they use kerosene lanterns, for cooking they use charcoal logs. They buy potable water in 20 liter bottles. Other water for household use is drawn from a shallow well in the back yard. Also in the yard, 10 meters from the well, is a twenty year old outhouse, still in use. There are no municipal waste collection services in Bounsong’s village. Instead, his wife burns the household refuse in a barrel out back. Whatever can’t be burned, they dump in an empty lot a few doors down. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Bounsong is fortunate. He owns a motorbike. It’s nothing fancy but the 1979 two stroke engine still runs, even though the exhaust is a thick black smoke. He doesn’t have a driver’s license (or birth certificate, identification card or passport for that matter) and he can not afford a helmet for each of his family members while they all ride together to the market. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Bounsong is a fictional character, but this depiction is no exaggeration of the average citizen in his area. The simple truth is, life in Laos is pretty tough, and for people like Bounsong, there is neither time nor financing to do anything about people call "the environment".</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"><b> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-weight: bold;">The <i><span style="font-style: italic;">Global</span></i> Environment</span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">The phrase “the environment” has, over the past century, morphed into quite a buzzword. To many people “the environment” includes all things from fossil fuel addiction to cloth diapers to photosensitive, degradable plastic bags. To others, myopic tendencies come into play; one might think only of urban green space percentages; another might feel greatest danger coming from off-shore dumping; a third might distress over their child’s relentless allergies and dedicate their life to promoting organic legume and tuber cultivation. In truth, the environment is all these things – a great multitude of things. Contemplate that thought for a moment and you may draw the conclusion that it is not just a multitude of things; it is <i> <span style="font-style: italic;">the</span></i> multitude of <i> <span style="font-style: italic;">all things</span></i>.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">True, the environment is our physical surroundings. It is also the impact of outside forces (our society for example) on those physical surroundings. And the environment is also our perception – our individual, constant mind-state – of our surroundings. What we think and what we feel is at the root of all things which we do. How <i><span style="font-style: italic;">we</span></i> <i> <span style="font-style: italic;">feel</span></i> about our life, our jobs, our neighbors, our country, our enemies, has a profound influence on what <i> <span style="font-style: italic;">we do</span></i> about our environment. The sum total of our life situation is, in fact, our environment. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Let’s put our feet back down on the ground for a moment.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"><b> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-weight: bold;">Back With Bounsong</span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Ask Bounsong what he thinks about the environment and you are likely to get a very confused look. Ask him about deforestation, and he might grimace; his uncle in the north can no longer practice slash and burn cultivation, so now they are very poor and ask him for money. Ask about rubbish removal and most probably there will be little comprehension of how or why. Tell Bounsong to have his motorbike inspected for NO2, SO2, and PM10 emissions and, like most citizens, he will nod his head in agreement but in practice simply avoid all police checkpoints for the next couple weeks until the matter is forgotten, entirely.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">For Bounsong, matters of the environment are intangibles. It’s not that Bounsong doesn’t care, it’s just not relevant. These concerns mean as much to him as what type of adhesive should be used to affix ceramic tiles to the bottom of the space shuttle. Bounsong is just as likely fix his motorbike as he is likely to go to the moon.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Bounsong cares about it, of course. He cares about the environment very much, after all, he is a farmer. He is also a sensitive man, a family man. And he wants his children to have better lives than he has. He wants to leave behind for his grandchildren a plot of land which they can farm and he wants them to be healthy. If that means that he has to spend 100% of his annual income on a used motorbike, ok, but first, Bounsong has some other concerns.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">In the region where he lives, infant mortality is second only to Cambodia, His wife is pregnant with their third child so he needs to set a little aside for that and he’s a bit nervous because maternal mortality is also pretty high, statistically speaking that is. His own life expectancy has climbed from 51 to 59 years of age, so that’s almost a full decade for him to work off any debt he may incur, unless he gets sick. In the past year, one relative has died from tuberculosis, another from malaria, a niece and a nephew were lost to dengue fever and a woman he used to know lost 3 relatives to bird flu. That was last year. Aside from that, only 12 of his 29 male cousins use methamphetamines on a daily basis – he’s not sure about the 4 in prison. What Bounsong also doesn’t know is that his son will die in a motorbike accident at the age of twelve. Two years after that, his daughter will turn to prostitution at the age of 15 to help pay for her father’s medical bills and subsequent burial costs.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I’m sorry; you were saying something about what’s coming out of Bounsong's tailpipe?</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"><b> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-weight: bold;">The Delicate Subject</span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">We know that Bounsong is not a malicious or vindictive man. We know he would happily fix his only form of transportation if he could. But we also know that he’s got bigger problems. He lives in a world where for 59 years he will be struggling to get enough food to eat, fresh water to drink and a place to sleep. After that, he will catch a curable disease and die. All of this will happen, whether or not he changes that exhaust pipe.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I would like to think that some eccentric philanthropist will drop in on Southeast Asia and donate a bunch of environmentally friendly motorbikes, about 200 million would be a good start. Maybe Honda, in its dedication and commitment to solving global warming issues will exchange any competitors’ product with a new 100% electric motorbike. Maybe the government, who struggles to find financing for basic waste water treatment, will plop down a few billion dollars to convert all of its citizen’s motorbikes to consume clean burning alternative fuels. This will all happen as soon as Bounsong returns safely from the moon.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">It comes down to money and priorities. For Bounsong, and for that matter, <b> <span style="font-weight: bold;">the entire the world population</span></b>, immediate survival ranks highest among all else. Hunger will always win over the environment. If a human being needs to step on something in order to eat, they will do exactly that. For struggling nations trying to put themselves on the map, they too want a population who has been fed, even if the truck that carried the rice spit out black smoke to deliver it. It doesn't have to be this way, but the brutal fact of the matter, that's the way it is right now. In situations where a country or a person has the resources, of course, they need to focus some attention preserving the world for the future, after they have preserved themselves. The act of environmental preservation is not isolated in monitoring greenhouse gas emissions. It goes far deeper than that. It reaches into our daily habits, our spirituality, our feeling of freedom and our sense of being. Protecting the environment reaches it's deepest and most core essence always in the same place: the stomach of every single person on this planet. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0pt; margin-bottom: 0px;"> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">As a person concerned about how we are impacting the environment, take a look at the numbers of people in this world failing to feed their family, the numbers of people dying from disease, war and starvation. Find out what is the source of those struggles. Take a candid look at what is imposing such insurmountable challenges for basic life and sustenance? What is behind that? There, you may find the answer for what is harming our environment the most. </span></span></p>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-20885805894793260992007-10-13T00:19:00.000-07:002008-12-09T20:59:21.331-08:00Don Khone Sloth Rocket<p class="MsoNormal"><font size="2" face="Arial"><br /><span style="font-size: 10.0pt"> <br>To say that I am a slow traveler is a gross understatement. I think the term <i><span style="font-style: italic">sloth-like</span></i> is more accurate. I like to take my time, get lost, distracted, involved in my travels. I don’t care much for ‘tomorrow’ pressing on my backside. There are times, however, when I must suspend my preference and rocket through a place.</span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal"><font size="2" face="Arial"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpeZE17J0ZedRCWqiL3xxZCnF_a9J2Lz5szsVCxICCDAiAvOAoSlEafnrIoBtNHHheTW1cI1JBr6RKzky5jHbAgafdBiND83MELIUcylKHvkNEDHNIbbQbz4D6P6MWSH5Yy1yq/s1600-h/PA010278.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpeZE17J0ZedRCWqiL3xxZCnF_a9J2Lz5szsVCxICCDAiAvOAoSlEafnrIoBtNHHheTW1cI1JBr6RKzky5jHbAgafdBiND83MELIUcylKHvkNEDHNIbbQbz4D6P6MWSH5Yy1yq/s400/PA010278.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5120719170399383762" border="0" /></a>My tour of Sii Pan Don, Four Thousand Islands, has long been on my list of places in Laos to visit. It is a shame that I only have 24 hours to spend here. Located at the southernmost tip of Laos on the Cambodian border, this cluster of islands in the Mekong River is a tranquil paradise. I skipped the two largest and most popular islands, Don Khong and Don Det, and headed straight for <a style="color: blue; text-decoration: underline" href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=en&geocode=&time=&date=&ttype=&q=13%C2%B057'+N,+105%C2%B055'+E&ie=UTF8&ll=13.95306,105.916786&spn=0.149603,0.32135&z=12&iwloc=addr&om=1">Don Khone</a> – the more serene of the three islands. As I expected, the island of Don Khone is friendly, laid back and incredibly quiet.</span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal"><font size="2" face="Arial"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZg2glAEHdOzw5dZrWIVYh_Ld7Kbj7H9zSKef2os6bFm3b-FkZoWGEhpxEoEyn9uhDSCQG-GsczY3eTPnaJwUQcEwAXLUHB4KpCAOYd6Cmb7-cz5EZmoPQim7ocL5bjXj1n3vz/s1600-h/PA010287.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZg2glAEHdOzw5dZrWIVYh_Ld7Kbj7H9zSKef2os6bFm3b-FkZoWGEhpxEoEyn9uhDSCQG-GsczY3eTPnaJwUQcEwAXLUHB4KpCAOYd6Cmb7-cz5EZmoPQim7ocL5bjXj1n3vz/s400/PA010287.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5120720544788918498" /></a><br />I chose to stay at Pan’s guest house partly because of the owner’s low pressure sales tactic (“I have a guesthouse. Would you like to take a look?” about as blaze) and partly because I was too tired to look at anything else. The guesthouse is a series of seven wooden bungalows running perpendicular to the river. I chose room #7 closest to the river – an end unit offering two sets of windows for ultimate cross ventilation. Outside, there is a sign which reads “In our rooms the fans work from 6pm to 2am”. It’s early October, so 2am came around 9 o’clock – plenty cool enough to skip the fan and shut down the generator. Blissful silence in perfect, cool sleeping weather.</span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal"><font size="2" face="Arial"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt">At 3:27am, the roosters do a village check. Someone close by started it, ‘<i><span style="font-style: italic">Is everyone ok?</span></i>’, he asks the starless night. Around the village, cockerels sound off their agreement and assurance that all is well in Don Khone. I lie awake in bed and listen to them settle.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0nbQGLgP95J8pT56TKFl_pIZaXXHxls69vNiuNTmnCmbSdtUHZoayyGisddE_m0CIdifFhuzMfXvvSxZ6YOgDwapknQ1WCoBwwk1g0HwcFnhzNIZv7M7XhGPbUO25di7TDyI_/s1600-h/PA010294.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0nbQGLgP95J8pT56TKFl_pIZaXXHxls69vNiuNTmnCmbSdtUHZoayyGisddE_m0CIdifFhuzMfXvvSxZ6YOgDwapknQ1WCoBwwk1g0HwcFnhzNIZv7M7XhGPbUO25di7TDyI_/s400/PA010294.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5120721111724601586" /></a><br /></span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><font size="2" face="Arial"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; font-style: italic">‘Today I arrived. Tomorrow I will leave. Not enough time. Not enough at all’.</span></font></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><font size="2" face="Arial"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt">I feel like I am a sloth riding on a rocket.</span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal"><font size="2" face="Arial"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt">I get out of bed and go outside to look at the night, the silhouettes of the palms in the waning full moon – to squeeze another twenty minutes of observation into a timeline which does my location no justice. ‘I should have planned for a week here, maybe two,’ I think to myself, sigh, and return to bed.</span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal"><font size="2" face="Arial"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt">In the morning I sit and write and drink coffee and talk with a few other travelers. I don’t want to leave but I arrange for a boat to take me to the mainland around 1 or 2 pm. I have some more coffee and some rice soup with lots of roasted garlic. The boat captain arrives. He laughs at me. He can take me to the mainland, but there are no buses to take me to Pakse until tomorrow. </span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal"><font size="2" face="Arial"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt">Plans change. Life is a series of changes and unexpected events. I ask the guesthouse keeper if room #7 is available. She smiles. I tell the boat captain to meet me the next morning around 7 am. Agreed, I put my bag back in the room, and head off to look at the waterfalls.</span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal"><font size="2" face="Arial"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt"> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZkPOLqiNIDrHmx1ZeGjExCwzSdUXoG9VXgnMAmS96jQsdT4_86sEPLWGIJjQ0e4rq9DQO-zXC1o_Q0ZAtIOh_7ZZ0BOcgoaVHJ6AyFwaIj16qzCWlHtSoHXmUjJgxubcu_z6Q/s1600-h/PA020328.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZkPOLqiNIDrHmx1ZeGjExCwzSdUXoG9VXgnMAmS96jQsdT4_86sEPLWGIJjQ0e4rq9DQO-zXC1o_Q0ZAtIOh_7ZZ0BOcgoaVHJ6AyFwaIj16qzCWlHtSoHXmUjJgxubcu_z6Q/s400/PA020328.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5120721786034467074" /></a><br /></span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal"><font size="2" face="Arial"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt"> </span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent:<br />0in"><font size="3" face="Times New Roman"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;<br />font-family:"Times New Roman"">"There is a theory which states that if ever anybody discovers exactly what the Universe is for and why it is here, it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable. There is another theory which states that this has already happened."</span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top:0in;margin-right:0in;margin-bottom:5.0pt;<br />margin-left:1.0in;text-indent:0in"><b><font size="3" face="Times New Roman"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman";font-weight:bold"><a style="color: blue; text-decoration: underline" href="http://www.quotationspage.com/quotes/Douglas_Adams/">Douglas Adams</a></span></font></b><font face="Times New Roman"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman""><br><i><span style="font-style:italic">English humorist & science fiction novelist (1952 - 2001)</span></i></span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal"><font size="2" face="Arial"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt"> </span></font></p>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-58221839476861938832007-10-09T22:04:00.000-07:002007-10-09T22:05:20.002-07:00Alone with Fishhead on Mexican Night<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Fish is very fresh and very good in <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Laos</st1:country-region></st1:place>.<span style=""> </span>With a multitude of rivers and lakes, fish is a main part of the <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Laos</st1:country-region></st1:place> cuisine.<span style=""> </span>In fact, fish is the main source of meat protein in the Lao diet.<span style=""> </span>Like most places where fish is a staple food, it is usually served with the head, which is thoroughly consumed, the eyes being a delicacy. <span style=""> </span>The two most frequently seen forms of fish in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region> are Laap Paa (chopped fish with herbs) and whole fish grilled over a fire.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I’ve become so used to fish heads, that a couple weeks ago, I was served fish filets and I found it strange, almost suspicious, that there was no head.<span style=""> </span>It’s not like I <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">eat</span></i> the heads, I just like having them around.<span style=""> </span>At meals with fish heads, I offering this delicacy to others as a gesture of generosity.<span style=""> </span>Most people see through this ploy, but it gets a laugh and someone gets to enjoy a fish head more than I would.<span style=""> </span>Plus, I can show off some of my limited Lao vocabulary.<span style=""> </span>It’s a good experience all around – except for the fish.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I was left alone this evening with some fish to cook.<span style=""> </span>It’s Mexican night; fish tacos. Fish isn’t hard to cook.<span style=""> </span>Grilled, fried, baked, it’s all pretty self explanatory; just stick it with a fork and if it flakes it’s done.<span style=""> </span>Tonight’s task of frying a few fish steaks should have been a no brainer, but it didn’t really turn out that way.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I finished the first batch which had been started for me.<span style=""> </span>Then I went to work on frying up the remainder.<span style=""> </span>Two steaks, a tail and a head, neatly sliced down the middle.<span style=""> </span>I dropped the head halves in the hot oil, face side up.<span style=""> </span>Then the questions started flowing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I realized that I have only cooked a fish head when it was attached to the fish.<span style=""> </span>What should I do?<span style=""> </span>Should I cook it extra because there are more bones, or is it tastier to leave that tiny tad of think matter a bit more… shall we say… <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">tartar</span></i>?<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">The eyes looked up at me and glassed over.<span style=""> </span>They offered no assistance. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I voted for the bones theory.<span style=""> </span>I left the head cooking extra, bringing it to a crispy set of triangles, the eyes long ago hard to distinguish. <span style=""> </span>I took the two fish head halves from the frying pan and put them on a plate.<span style=""> </span>I wonder what kind of reaction they will bring.<span style=""> </span>They’re cooling on a plate now, the fish head halves.<span style=""> </span>I don’t think fishhead is coming to dinner dressed as a taco. Too big, too cooked, can’t even see his eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-58796217804830500092007-10-08T02:59:00.000-07:002007-10-09T23:04:43.508-07:00*Which* Action Day?<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">It was not long after I made a post about Blog Action Day that events in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Burma</st1:place></st1:country-region>* stole a little bit of thunder.<span style=""> </span>Blog Action Day, an experiment to see what kind of impact a unified, <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">blogospheric</span></i> focus on a particular subject might have – in the case of <span style=""><a href="http://blogactionday.org/">Blog Action Day</a></span>, the subject is the environment.<span style=""> </span>Well, it seems that regardless of happens on October 15<sup>th</sup>, it is clearly evident that the internet, and blogs in particular, can have a tremendous impact on public awareness.<span style=""> </span>Whether it is a global issues such as the environment or human rights abuse or a more localized concern, we are in the early throes understanding this very powerful form of communication.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Despite a subsequent blackout on information coming out of <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Burma</st1:place></st1:country-region>, what did arrive on the international “news” scene before the plug was pulled, was both unstoppable and historic.<span style=""> </span>The distribution of news occurred at light speed and there is no way these ruthless oppressors will ever be able to squelch the evidence – no matter how hard they might try to claim shooting Kenji Nagai, a Japanese journalist, was an accident.<span style=""> </span>What is historic about this event is that this was a major piece of evidence that even though it is not being reported by professional journals, the international community shares a common watchdog notification system.<span style=""> </span>Connect the eyes on the ground to the internet and no violation can be hidden from the rest of the world.**<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I said we are in the early throes of understanding how this medium can be used.<span style=""> </span>Some might argue that we are already aware and in many respects we are – we know that we can get information out to the public very quickly and it’s replication makes it impossible to destroy.<span style=""> </span>However, what we have now in it’s current manifestation can be equated to the very first few printing presses – solitary, one-way, mechanical devices for materializing printed ‘information’.<span style=""> </span>However, what we have not achieved is the leap between Gutenberg’s printing press of 1450 to the desktop publisher of the 1990’s.<span style=""> </span>Carrying my analogy into the science-fiction predictive model, it is not just an 12page per minute, collating laser printer on the desk of a home office, rather, it is that printer churning out pages in a place which is half Quaker meeting house, half Roman forum. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">In the present case of <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Burma</st1:place></st1:country-region>, and potentially countless violations to human rights occurring around the world, we are serving as a watchdog against bad behaviour.<span style=""> </span>However, not all is doom and gloom and I predict – or at least I hope – that as we learn to harness this medium, we will begin be more proactive about situations around the world so that university students no longer need to be run down by tanks before someone steps up and says “Hey, that’s not right!”.***<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">In my dream, sometime and I hope not to far from now, my congressional representative will begin to expose their choices, their issues, their goals openly in their politi-blog and soliciting their constituents opinions.<span style=""> </span>Eventually, maybe through this type of medium, we may actually see democracy… real democracy… occur.<span style=""> </span>Or call it something else?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <div style="border-style: none none solid; border-color: -moz-use-text-color -moz-use-text-color windowtext; border-width: medium medium 1pt; padding: 0in 0in 1pt;"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="border: medium none ; padding: 0in;"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Naturally, there are challenges to this.<span style=""> </span>Not everyone has computers.<span style=""> </span>Not everyone is interested.<span style=""> </span>Not everyone can form an intelligent decision when presented with the facts.<span style=""> </span>However, whatever challenges may be before us, the sacrifices and silenced voices of the Burmese monks should be saluted, not only for their bravery to benefit themselves and fellow countrymen, but the remarkable step of progress for humankind. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> </div> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">*I call it <st1:country-region st="on">Burma</st1:country-region> because it <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">is</span></i> <st1:country-region st="on">Burma</st1:country-region> – <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Myanmar</st1:place></st1:country-region>? I’ve yet to meet a Burmese person who calls themselves Myanmar-anese.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">**There are plenty of cases already where internet-distributed information has either been squelched, confiscated and/or censured.<span style=""> </span>However, the days are not many when people will realize this is not right – how would you feel if your government came and took all the Post-It notes off your refrigerator? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">*** The situation in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Burma</st1:place></st1:country-region> is NOT a domestic issue.<span style=""> </span>Beating monks, shooting journalists, and planting evidence of weapons in a monastary is an international issue.<span style=""> </span>If the UN is too insipid to apply pressure, it is up to the people of the world to stop buying Burmese teak and heroin until the junta is ousted and the legally elected National League for Democracy Party is given their elected due.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-29552766832762749932007-10-06T22:22:00.000-07:002008-12-09T20:59:22.057-08:00Savan Smiles<p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRA3cMZL80aQD-MShxLjs4Nq5q0A64qKYUsEZfCTlkZ2rxGeBxiyiWl8CAR3a00gXF0OYCRzvsk7C22RrynHOhgmN07R4PxpKY8Qp_H0KwAe4ifusd9QvMoKvu2hRX1IEKISAx/s1600-h/DSC02925.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRA3cMZL80aQD-MShxLjs4Nq5q0A64qKYUsEZfCTlkZ2rxGeBxiyiWl8CAR3a00gXF0OYCRzvsk7C22RrynHOhgmN07R4PxpKY8Qp_H0KwAe4ifusd9QvMoKvu2hRX1IEKISAx/s400/DSC02925.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5118463556654739618" border="0" align="left" /></a><font size="2" face="Arial"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt">Savannakhet, Laos. The city is a very old woman, dusty and strong with more than few broken teeth. She holds herself together in an undeniable charm – a gritty antiquity of French colonial times blended with dismal, soviet-bloc design and a spattering of lackadaisical makeshift shacks. This southern city wears it’s history on it’s sleeve. I like to walk the streets and listen to the ghost echoes; the clip-clop of horse drawn carriages one hundred years ago, silenced loudspeakers alerting comrades to the cause of 75, distant booms of bombardments from Siam, Thailand, Khmer and everyone else wanting to pluck the jewel of this ancient kingdom.</span></font></p><font size="2" face="Arial"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt">For most tourists, Savannakhet is a one night stop en-route to more documented destinations to the north and south. For me, it is a place I like to spend a little time. I got to know the city pretty well in 2006, making all of my explorations on foot. I am excited to return to Savannakhet to look for evidence of change. Unfortunately, this trip is but a brief stop on my way south, but I manage to get some time to revisit some of my favorite lanes and alleyways during an early morning walk.</span></font><p class="MsoNormal"><font size="2" face="Arial"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt">Stepping past the gate of my guesthouse and heading down the road, a truck passes. Two little boys in the back practice their English, “Good morning,” they say.</span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal"><font size="2" face="Arial"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt">“Good morning,” I call after them and wave my hand.</span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal"><font size="2" face="Arial"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt">I hunt for a Vietnamese noodle shop I like. It’s somewhere near the Catholic church. There are not many Catholics in Laos. There are far more Vietnamese. During the French colonial period, Vietnamese filled the majority of the civil servant positions. They relayed the francais demands to build roads and stables and boarding houses. I can’t find the noodle shop. The church is hard to miss. Down another lane, ‘<i><span style="font-style: italic">Laundry Row</span></i>’ I call it, at least a dozen storefronts hang their washing out on lines with bragging signs of competition: 10,000kip/kilo, 9,000kip/kilo, 8,000kip/kilo. The dogs no longer come out to bark at me, they can smell my ease and know their testing teases have no weight on me. Some boys spot a woman covered up as if she is a bee keeper. She is crazy, deranged; afraid in her vulnerability. Two of the five boys go to tease her. My tongue wags silent in my mouth searching for some variant of ‘<i><span style="font-style: italic">Hey, leave her alone! Maybe someday you, too, will be </span></i>crazy’. I find no words and leave them to their mischief. A left towards the Mekong; this road last year was dirt, now it is paved but already potholed and cracked. Sweet magnolias, <i><span style="font-style: italic">champa</span></i>, arch over the sidewalk and I am in a dream, a tuk tuk driver yanks me from my reverie.</span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal"><font size="2" face="Arial"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt">He woos me to go for a ride. I tell him ‘I go not far.’ He disagrees. I tell him 100 kip (1/10<sup>th</sup> of a penny). He laughs. He tells me today is the boat racing festival (it’s not). He offers me drugs. I decline. He offers me a girl – it’s 8:30 am, I know they are all sleeping, those still awake too wired on crystal meth to lay down on the floor without holding on. I smile, decline and thank him for the information. He looks confused and pulls away. </span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal"><font size="2" face="Arial"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkpQzHhyphenhyphenWDnqVJZyUjaFL_Km4mLZeqhB4UaU3ccOtpVtX7Ne-wt1jJdSLEHKdkTJlMpVmXNud-IgWT0xeRp47yPm3MXfLasGb325nnsmKXn-WQd6Ri7wqPpl3ZlvfZBWjLxPB5/s1600-h/DSC02933.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkpQzHhyphenhyphenWDnqVJZyUjaFL_Km4mLZeqhB4UaU3ccOtpVtX7Ne-wt1jJdSLEHKdkTJlMpVmXNud-IgWT0xeRp47yPm3MXfLasGb325nnsmKXn-WQd6Ri7wqPpl3ZlvfZBWjLxPB5/s400/DSC02933.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5118465459325251762" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size: 10.0pt">I find a café that I know. Like the rest of the city, very little has changed in the last year. At the café, they still don’t like my table selection – they would have to turn on the fan which takes effort: walking over to the switch, lifting a finger, walking all the way back to sit down again. They are still unfathomably grumpy. The son – too old to be living at home, too lazy to find a bride – is still playing video games. The infant is walking now. They still make the greasiest omelets known to man. It mops up last night’s whiskey. The menu still offers both Lao Coffee and Nescafe, and still a request for either yields a hot cup of the instant garbage (this area grows some of the best coffee in the world, Nescafe should be criminalized). I eat and write and plead for a second cup – she wont accept that I can order in her language and repeats everything I say in English. Coffee is coffee everywhere in the world, even bad coffee with an accent. I ask how much. Incomprehensible words I speak. I try again. Nothing. I rub my fingers together. She walks away to do the math on a piece of paper and returns slapping it down on the table. I don’t leave a tip, it’s not customary and all the money in the world would not erase my stigma.</span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal"><font size="2" face="Arial"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt">I head back to the guesthouse and take in more of the city steam. I walk slow to catch the subtleties. I want to go slow. I don’t want to go fast. I don’t want a tuk tuk. I don’t want to buy pens or sunglasses or a knock-off Rolex already displaying the wrong time. I don’t want to drink instant coffee and I don’t want any ganga, girls or yaba (meth). I just want to walk in the heart of this classic beauty of a city and immerse myself in the delicate harsh charm. I smile back and wave to the old woman with her broken smile.</span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal"><font size="2" face="Arial"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt"> </span></font></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" align="center"><font size="2" face="Arial"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt"> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjygl_CDBPlsxTWNPKqhjA5MYDkMjdd1R6LfwHSQGI-cYNlW-b0s4CO7ntc3ZcxSsyqKh9aozfrvu0VBwSm6qB_TzPBu9kETO0UI9UPkKpMKRdNa6tTZdObQTByxEEZEhuGD5Vl/s1600-h/DSC02934.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjygl_CDBPlsxTWNPKqhjA5MYDkMjdd1R6LfwHSQGI-cYNlW-b0s4CO7ntc3ZcxSsyqKh9aozfrvu0VBwSm6qB_TzPBu9kETO0UI9UPkKpMKRdNa6tTZdObQTByxEEZEhuGD5Vl/s400/DSC02934.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5118466653326160066" align="center" /></a></font></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><font size="2" face="Arial"> <span style="font-size: 10.0pt">In northern Laos, the sister city of Luang Prabang has much the same architecture of Savannakhet. However, Savannakhet has not received UNESCO World Heritage status; it has not been gussied up with fresh plaster, brilliant painted shutters and tidy red brick walkways. It is the exposure of the gritty and earthy unabridged history that gives Savannakhet a charm I love. If you happen to be traveling in Laos, don’t short change the untouched reality of Savannakhet.</span></font></p><p class="MsoNormal"><font size="2" face="Arial"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt"> </span></font></p>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-28227117558229332007-09-28T01:11:00.000-07:002008-12-09T20:59:22.294-08:00Boun Hor Khao Salak<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">Boun Hor Khao Salak.<span style=""> </span>What is it?<span style=""> </span>Ask an average, young <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region> person and unless they have</span></span><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;"> spent time as a monk, there is a small chance they can give much of an explanation.<span style=""> </span></span></span><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">For most, the explanation is simply ‘day we give alms’.<span style=""> </span>This religious holiday, also a work</span></span><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">er holiday, comes at the last full moon during Boun</span></span><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;"> Khaophansa, Buddhist Lent.<span style=""> </span></span></span><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">It seems each full moon has a specific importance; last month’s full moon was the day</span></span><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;"> to honor the spirits of the dead; this month, it is to give alms and to make offerings to</span></span><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;"> deceased relatives.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGkK_lY6tL7dFdlTdsMXioCN4-1WewSmO81uAyS-wRzEy-84EBp75M_q3DQsUI5nH_o58GHbJkk3C4klBvUX64Yx3lf9TJa9zC10huM6lKhKU-N8zCsyDUahgQMRMKjbdaqImc/s1600-h/P5240002.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGkK_lY6tL7dFdlTdsMXioCN4-1WewSmO81uAyS-wRzEy-84EBp75M_q3DQsUI5nH_o58GHbJkk3C4klBvUX64Yx3lf9TJa9zC10huM6lKhKU-N8zCsyDUahgQMRMKjbdaqImc/s400/P5240002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115166628089180306" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">The day starts early.<span style=""> </span>Long before sunrise, throughout the country of <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region>, households rise early to make sticky rice (well, <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">our household</span></i> rose early, failing to finish the task the day before).<span style=""> </span>Sticky rice – khao neow – is possibly the single most ubiquitous item throughout Lao.<span style=""> </span>No household is complete without the tools for making sticky rice.<span style=""> </span>No meal is satisfactory, without at least a few of the sticky little balls.<span style=""> </span>Even in a linguistic sense, the mere name of the holiday Boun Hor <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">Khao</span></i> Salak includes a reference to khao; rice.<span style=""> </span>However, in this linguistic sense, I believe it refers to ‘harvest’ in general, rather than rice specifically.<span style=""> </span>In the end, for this event, sticky rice and a cane of sugar seem to have an important priority in the list of items we are bringing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">A meal or two worth of sticky rice in the basket, we collect everything we need and head off to the Wat (temple).<span style=""> </span>Offerings vary, depending on one’s financial ability.<span style=""> </span>The very poor may only be able to spare a modest basket of rice, some water and a small taper.<span style=""> </span>For Boun Hor Khao Salak, a piece of vegetation also seems to be something everyone has brought.<span style=""> </span>We stop on the way to the Wat and buy some lotus buds. Something to do with harvest, I guess, or maybe flowers for the deceased.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">Those who do not live in abject poverty – a noticeable amount do – will include 1000kip (10¢) notes folded lengthwise as part of their alms.<span style=""> </span>Progressing up the income scale, offerings extend to individually wrapped cookies and cakes. Those who are exceptionally devoted, wanting to contribute to everyone’s greater good, or perhaps have lost an important relative and want to make a more substantial offering, may bring a pre-made care package: a basket of essentials such as coffee, sweetened condensed milk, toilet tissue, soap, incense, candles and other items of use to a novice or monk.<span style=""> </span>Often, the monks will re-gift these to families in need in the village.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">Most families have a shiny metal offering bowl which looks like a cross between an American punch bowl and a Russian samovar. The offerings are doled out from this bucket when it is available, otherwise a simple basket will do.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">Arriving at Ban Sindha on the outskirts of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Vientiane</st1:place></st1:city>, I am quite nervous. <span style=""> </span>I have never given alms before. I don’t know the process.<span style=""> </span>Adding to my insecurity, I was convinced to wear a formal dress shirt tucked into slacks with a belt and proper shoes on my feet.<span style=""> </span>This type of attire is extremely rare for me and only makes my foreigner-ness stand out more.<span style=""> </span>Much to my relief, a quick glance around the grounds of the Wat assures me I am not overdressed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">The men wear proper long pants, clean, and buttoned shirts.<span style=""> </span>Over their left shoulder, they wear a sash and tie the ends just above the right hip.<span style=""> </span>The women, are even more elegant in thick silk blouses or vests, similar sashes but tied differently and long, calf-length sinhs (traditional skirts) – despite the ultra conservative design, sinhs are surprisingly flattering.<span style=""> </span>Around the grounds of the Wat, mats are laid out for people to sit for the ceremony.<span style=""> </span>We take off our shoes and sit just outside the main building – a dismal view of concrete nothing and a 4000 watt loudspeaker. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">There is some confusion.<span style=""> </span>We’ve brought a care package but are unsure how to deliver it.<span style=""> </span>My companion knows to write something on a piece of paper, but is not sure what <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">something</span></i> to write.<span style=""> </span>She calls her sister – her husband tells us she has already left.<span style=""> </span>She is supposed to join us with brother, she should be here soon.<span style=""> </span>A woman next to us tells us to write the family name on the paper and bring it to the stage where the venerable monks sit. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">The ceremonies begin with a prayer broadcasted in dull tones through the PA system.<span style=""> </span>I don’t understand a single word of these prayers, but I have come to enjoy them all the same.<span style=""> </span>The first time I heard this type of prayer it was at a Baci ceremony where I was the guest of honor.<span style=""> </span>There seems to be a certain magic in the chanting.<span style=""> </span>At that Baci ceremony, I felt a distinct lightness, a euphoria, washing through, over, around and beneath me.<span style=""> </span>Since then, I always try to allow the power of the chant envelop me instead of frustrating myself with my lack of vocabulary.<span style=""> </span>People have a full conversation during these prayers – it seems perfectly ok. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">After the chanting, alms are delivered.<span style=""> </span>There is a long table with 10 baskets.<span style=""> </span>Each basket has a bowl for sticky rice and a bag for candy and cash.<span style=""> </span>First, the elders give alms.<span style=""> </span>These men appear to be like deacons in a Christian church, assisting with the other logistics of the ceremony.<span style=""> </span>After the male elders give alms, the rest of the men in procession pass each of the baskets lined up on a table.<span style=""> </span>I take my place as the last male.<span style=""> </span>I mimic the men in front of me.<span style=""> </span>First, a ball of sticky rice is placed in the basket.<span style=""> </span>Then, a 1000 kip note and a cake or candy is raised to the forehead and then placed into the bag.<span style=""> </span>I get confused.<span style=""> </span>I forget to put rice in one of the baskets.<span style=""> </span>A deacon sets me straight.<span style=""> </span>There is no possibility I will go unnoticed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">The women proceed to give alms in the same way.<span style=""> </span>Then children give alms.<span style=""> </span>There are three of us, myself, a woman and a teenage boy; we share our offering bowl in turns.<span style=""> </span>After everyone has finished with this, we return to our mats for another prayer – another moment of touching the occult dimensions of our existence whether we comprehend or not.<span style=""> </span>After the second prayer – or maybe during – the elders collect the alms given and bring them to the main building.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">Next, an offering to deceased relatives is made.<span style=""> </span>Smaller balls of sticky rice are offered.<span style=""> </span>The woman next to us is poor; she makes four small balls of sticky rice and places them on a leaf in front of her.<span style=""> </span>We have a little bit more money, so instead of a leaf, we used our shiny offering bowl.<span style=""> </span>It’s silver colored tin.<span style=""> </span>Others have gold colored bowls, also made of tin.<span style=""> </span>I see a woman with a beautiful hardwood carved offering bowl.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">We make three small balls of sticky rice and place them on the edge of the bowl.<span style=""> </span>Then, in unison with the other practitioners, we pour water into the bowl.<span style=""> </span>The less advantaged woman to our left had a small 7oz bottle of water to offer into the leaf she had placed on the ground; we had a 750ml bottle.<span style=""> </span>She has a taper; we forgot to bring one.<span style=""> </span>We drain the entire bottle of water into the bowl. (I’m later told this was also an preparation oversight on our part and a small bottle would have sufficed.)<span style=""> </span>After this, the group-led part of the ceremony concludes with very little fanfare – a couple of bows.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">People stand up from the mats and with their offerings in hand approach one of the many stupas (ornate gravestones) on the perimeter of the grounds of the Wat.<span style=""> </span>Another silent prayer is made and the water and rice are poured onto the ground or placed on the stupa.<span style=""> </span>Some people have left small tapers burning there.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">Then everyone leaves.<span style=""> </span>They leave nonchalant, with barely any expression of relief or fortitude or any other apparent show of emotion.<span style=""> </span>The whole affair seemed to be as mundane to them as washing one’s face in the morning – maybe even less exhilarating.<span style=""> </span>However, wrapped inside of this seeming indifference, there is a casual solemnity, a Sunday morning feeling.<span style=""> </span>Quiet.<span style=""> </span>Placid.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">Pulling out of the grounds of the Wat on the motorbike, I ask my companion, “So, today is a worker’s holiday?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">I check my watch; it’s just before 9 a.m., “So that means all of <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region> will be drunk by 11?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">“Mmmmmm,”<span style=""> </span><i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">Mmmmm</span></i> means ‘yes’ in Lao.<span style=""> </span>To the westerner, it is a non-committal response, but to the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region>, it is as sure as saying yes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">I am under the weather; a nagging chest cold set on by that dastardly air conditioner.<span style=""> </span>Unfortunately, I will have to skip the rest of the celebration and observations of the holiday.<span style=""> </span>During the daytime, I understand, there is some Lao dancing, which no doubt goes well with Beer Lao and whiskey.<span style=""> </span>At night, there is a candle ceremony, which I also regret planning to miss.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">In the afternoon, as I convalesce in bed, the phone rings.<span style=""> </span>Bad news.<span style=""> </span>Uncle Won has passed away.<span style=""> </span>I had just met him the day before.<span style=""> </span>He had pneumonia – advanced stages of it.<span style=""> </span>He was a man of medium build, but the months of illness had deteriorated his body to a mere 30 some-odd kilo.<span style=""> </span>His bones poked through his skin like a tortured, starved prisoner.<span style=""> </span>He sat away from the group, knowing his contagion.<span style=""> </span>I watched his eyes, dark and glassy – watching us childlike in his not knowing yet mannish in his recognition that his time on earth is coming to an end.<span style=""> </span>He smoked a cigarette and went back to bed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">When the news comes, there is a sputter of panic on cell phones.<span style=""> </span>Each brother and sister and aunt and cousin and uncle and brother in law is calling the other with news of his passing.<span style=""> </span>I am home alone.<span style=""> </span>I am useless on the phone.<span style=""> </span>Baw khow jai.<span style=""> </span>I don’t understand.<span style=""> </span>Oddly, I know the word die, but I don’t recognize it out of context.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">To die on Boun Khao Salak is a very inauspicious event – the body will have to be brought to the crematorium on the same day.<span style=""> </span>Some more sputters of cell phone calls and the matter is settled; it was a misunderstanding.<span style=""> </span>Uncle Won passed away the night before.<span style=""> </span>Presumably the news was delayed to avoid upsetting the alms giving of the morning.<span style=""> </span>Or more likely, someone just didn’t get around to it.<span style=""> </span>One cousin did not find out until a full day later.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">Still under the weather, I ask if it would be a great insult to skip the funeral.<span style=""> </span>As much as I would like to have gone to pay respect and to learn a bit more, it would be unwise for a sick man to attend.<span style=""> </span>They will understand, but there will be plenty of questions about my absence.<span style=""> </span>Even though they know I don’t talk, they seem to like having me around.<span style=""> </span>I think again about Uncle Won’s eyes.<span style=""> </span>It will be a full year before a ball of sticky rice is offered to his spirit – to make him feel warm in the meantime, I leave a small portion of sticky rice on my plate at dinner.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-73295475268723734592007-09-23T23:10:00.000-07:002012-07-31T17:38:39.460-07:00Blog Action Day<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I just heard about something which has caught my attention. Sorry if this is old news, I’m a little sheltered, here in <st1:place st="on">South</st1:place><st1:place st="on">east Asia</st1:place>. It is called <a href="http://blogactionday.org/">Blog Action Day</a>. On October 15th, over 5,000 bloggers will post something regarding the environment. I think this is a very interesting experiment/demonstration/field test. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Blog Action Day poses the question: “<i><span style="font-style: italic;">What would happen if every blog published posts discussing the same issue, on the same day? One issue. One day. </span>Thousands of voices.”</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span><a href="http://blogactionday.org/" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5113654404463997058" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM39gLgNkOp0sTHxJYkKu0TE3Dwpdtn12wtlaakvuT9jRu1FYcd_fmcba80gvc2657xTysqr47lGJvKumo-5uOHCnN15C19ouCucYs5IL3Yf-O85VrlPApro45h-HGGrLdYtq9/s400/BAD.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Have you ever had the experience of learning a new word and then it seems like everyone around you is using it? I’m wondering if Blog Action Day will generate a similar result. Will dinner tables, news agencies, coffee clutches around the world all, through six degrees of separation, turn their attention to the environment as a result of Blog Action Day?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">As for me, I think it’s time well spent to create an entry on that day to talk about something to do with the environment – probably something relating to my observations in Laos, an emerging country with some very serious environmental risks looming in the near future.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Take a look at the <a href="http://blogactionday.org/">Blog Action Day</a> website, you may find it interesting. <a href="http://blogactionday.org/">http://blogactionday.org/</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-28796308834805219042007-09-22T01:50:00.000-07:002007-09-22T01:55:21.245-07:00Guava Mouth<p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:10;">Seven score and one week ago, Abraham Lincoln, issued the Emancipation Proclamation. <span style=""> </span>Tomorrow will mark the fifty year anniversary of 9 black students entering the doors of the exclusively white <st1:placename st="on">Central</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">High School</st1:placetype> in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Little Rock</st1:city> <st1:state st="on">Arkansas</st1:state></st1:place>.<span style=""> </span>Over the years, things have become much better in the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">USA</st1:place></st1:country-region>, not only for blacks, but also Asians, Latino and all other ethnic groups.<span style=""> </span>Many people will say racism is a big problem in the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">US</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style=""> </span>While I don’t disagree that racism is an issue in American culture, I have to say that it is not nearly as bad as other places.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:10;">As a white man living in <st1:city st="on">Vientiane</st1:city>, <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region>, I face a daily barrage of racism.<span style=""> </span>Most of it is petty remarks or assumptions (I’m white hence I filthy rich).<span style=""> </span>While most Laotian people are friendly and welcoming, racism is an inescapable fact of life for whites in <st1:place st="on">Asia</st1:place>.<span style=""> </span>I spend an inordinate amount of time and energy thinking about, dealing with, and deflecting racism.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:10;">Last weekend I went to the supermarket to restock my cupboard.<span style=""> </span>This particular supermarket is located at ITECC (Lao International Trade Exhibition and Convention Center) and has a good selection of western and eastern food.<span style=""> </span>I like shopping at ITECC because not only does it have some hard to find items (kidney beans in a can, for example), but there is something about supermarkets that I find very comforting.<span style=""> </span>Even in my own country, I will often spend a couple hours wandering the aisles of a supermarket during off hours.<span style=""> </span>However, the experience I had last weekend was not as comforting as I had hoped.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:10;">About midway through my shopping, two small <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region> children unaccompanied by an adult, noticed me.<span style=""> </span>“Falang!<span style=""> </span>Falang!” they yelled.<span style=""> </span><i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">Falang</span></i> is what they call foreigners in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style=""> </span>They made a big production out of my being in the supermarket.<span style=""> </span>Hanging on to my cart, touching everything I had placed there, they continued to shout, <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">‘Falang’</span></i> and other observations their language such as bald, big, big nose and so forth.<span style=""> </span>Everything I touched, they had to touch.<span style=""> </span>And they said things like “Falang likes this” or Falang likes that.<span style=""> </span>The other shoppers chuckled at this – some ignored it.<span style=""> </span>I tolerated their behavior since I can understand that I may be quite different than what they are used to.<span style=""> </span>After about 15 minutes of these two kids pestering me, I finally said, in English, “Ok, enough, time for you to hit the highway.”<span style=""> </span>They disappeared.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:10;">Later, I thought about this experience.<span style=""> </span>I thought about how that would go over in my own country.<span style=""> </span>What would happen in an average American supermarket if two white kids followed an Asian around yelling “Asian!, Asian!”.<span style=""> </span>Would the other shoppers chuckle?<span style=""> </span>Would the store manager walk by, blandly amused.<span style=""> </span><i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">Ah, just kids!</span></i>.<span style=""> </span>I don’t think so.<span style=""> </span>I think if a kid did that in a <st1:place st="on">Southern California</st1:place> supermarket, at best they would be dispatched from the store.<span style=""> </span>If I were there to witness it, they would have the pleasure of hearing a very long and sharp-tongued lecture on the shame of broadcasting ones ignorance and hate filled mind. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:10;">This type experience is not an unusual occurrence, it’s just one example.<span style=""> </span>I try to explain to my Laos friends how, in <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">my</span></i> culture, if a shop keeper tried to charge varying prices based on the color of someone’s skin, they would very quickly be in serious legal trouble.<span style=""> </span>If a group of customers all stood around joking about how an Asian immigrant could not pronounce words as well as they should, I would think there is a good chance someone would speak up and say “Hey, that’s not right”.<span style=""> </span>I know this type of thing does happen in the <st1:country-region st="on">USA</st1:country-region>, but not anywhere near as frequently as it does in <st1:place st="on">Asia</st1:place>.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:10;">I wonder about the source of racism in <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">America</st1:country-region></st1:place>, specifically, anti-Asian sentiment.<span style=""> </span>I don’t think I’m going to win any friends with this next remark, but I have to say it.<span style=""> </span>Is it possible that some of the racism Asian-Americans feel comes from their own deeply ingrained racist behaviour? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:10;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:10;" >It’s a slow day for beggars today – five in one hour, 3 repeat visitors.<span style=""> </span>The rich Lao people sitting at the next table are not approached.<span style=""> </span>The beggars only beg from white people.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:10;">For a little more understanding of the word Falang, this person’s blog sheds a little light on the etymology and blithe attitude of racism in Southeast Asia:<span style=""> </span><a href="http://reallifethailand.blogspot.com/2007/03/farang-kii-nok.html">Real Life Thailand - Farang kii nok</a><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-15676490839725534992007-09-19T02:23:00.000-07:002007-10-09T23:03:38.658-07:00Free Market Mirage<p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:10;">A colleague of mine and I have lost touch for the past year an a half while I have been in <st1:place st="on">Southeast Asia</st1:place>.<span style=""> </span>The other day, I noticed him on Facebook and added him as a friend.<span style=""> </span>My reasoning for wanting to stay in touch with him is twofold.<span style=""> </span>First, I consider him a friend; a person who I respect immensely for both his professional acumen as well as being a man of impeccably good character.<span style=""> </span>Second, I want to stay in touch with him because, professionally, we share the same ideology of enthusiasm, integrity and an inquisitive nature – hence, there is potential for us to enter into mutually beneficial business relationships. (As an additional note, Naisan’s capacity for light-speed synapse inspired many advanced educational techniques I developed between 2003 and 2006)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:10;">Looking into his current endeavors, I noticed he has a blog at <a href="http://www.naisan.net/blog">www.naisan.net\blog</a>.<span style=""> </span>His <a href="http://www.naisan.net/blog/?p=17">latest entry</a> dealt with the death of capitalism.<span style=""> </span>I found it very interesting to read his short post and move my mind back to the conditions of the <st1:country-region st="on">USA</st1:country-region> while I have been immersed in a very different situation here in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:10;">As capitalism dies from the insidious workings of the omniscient “them” back in the USA (and in most of the globe), I am watching Laos go through the painful birthing of it’s own form of one-party capitalism.<span style=""> </span><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region>, in an attempt to sustain itself as a sovereign nation and free itself from <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">least developed nation</span></i> status by 2020, has entered into a free market economy.<span style=""> </span>It’s not like there is much choice for <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style=""> </span>After decades of solidarity with the Soviet Union, once big brother conceded that great philosophical mind-plays are not always sustainable socio-economic methods, <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region> had to enter into the global market.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:10;">How will that work? I wonder.<span style=""> </span>How will a country who has sustained itself in a vacuum outside the free market since 1975, transfer it’s ideology to a free market mindset while at the same time the world free market seems to be collapsing under the weight of the likes of Cheney, Bush, GE, Haliburton and the rest of the behemoths?<span style=""> </span>Will this birth into free market become a stillborn lark – too little, too late – or will <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region>’ expertise learned from decades of corruption, lobbying and special interests be boon to its role in the soon coming free market mirage?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:10;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:10;">DISCLAIMER:<span style=""> </span>Of course, what I write here is merely off-the-cuff, personal pontifications.<span style=""> </span>I certainly do not claim to be an expert on capitalism, communism, socialism or the current state of affairs on the global economy – or even the Peoples Democratic Republic of Lao, for that matter.<span style=""> </span>I shudder at the thought that any harm would come to the nation of <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region> – a country I love immensely and for which I have great respect for the perseverance of it’s people and leaders. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:10;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:10;">By the way… beggar count today: 22 individuals in 90 minutes.<span style=""> </span>Four adults, 18 children.<span style=""> </span>Akiki is taking the day off, I guess.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-56535214523897247712007-09-17T01:41:00.000-07:002007-09-17T01:42:05.247-07:00Begging Monopoly<span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Begging.<span style=""> </span>I don’t like begging.<span style=""> </span>I used to give money to beggars.<span style=""> </span>Now, only under a very extreme circumstance will I give a beggar anything at all and in those cases, only food.<span style=""> </span>It’s not that I am unsympathetic, it’s just that I can not tolerate the idea that a stranger who is completely uninterested and unwilling to do anything for me expects me – often demands of me – to fork over my own cash.<span style=""> </span>I just don’t work that way.<o:p></o:p></span></span> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Back in the 1980’s when I was living in <st1:place st="on">Brooklyn</st1:place>, there was a beggar at one of the subway stations in my neighborhood.<span style=""> </span>Each day I would see him sitting in the passageway mumbling to himself with his hands outstretched.<span style=""> </span>On occasion, early on, I would drop a few coins in his hands.<span style=""> </span>Then, one day, I realized that I had been passing this same person in the same place wanting the same thing for a very long time.<span style=""> </span>I thought about it.<span style=""> </span>I had had over a dozen jobs over 8 years, moved house five times, put myself through school, bought a car, wrecked the car, sold the wreckage, got married, went from wearing $80 suits to wearing $800 suits… why on earth did I give this man money?<span style=""> </span>His “job” was to profile those people who have money and expect them to hand over their cash, assuring them he had no intention of doing anything other than living off their wages.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Now, granted, this is not a simple subject.<span style=""> </span>The man clearly had some mental problems and Mayor Koch had flushed New York City’s mental hospital funding so the man was at a huge disadvantage (Koch later funded an effort to involuntarily remove the mentally ill from NYC streets).<span style=""> </span>Once the markings of disenfranchisement manifested; soiled clothes, unbathed body, tangled hair, unwashed teeth, deprivation of medication, getting any form of employment was much more difficult.<span style=""> </span>The momentum grew in his terrible plight.<span style=""> </span>However, I firmly believe the number one reason why this man was (and still is as of 2005) begging, is because he makes money doing it.<span style=""> </span>Lots of money.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I know another man in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Vancouver</st1:City>, <st1:country-region st="on">Canada</st1:country-region></st1:place>.<span style=""> </span>He is a crack addict.<span style=""> </span>He gets funding from the <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">British Columbia</st1:place></st1:State> government to pay for housing and food.<span style=""> </span>He uses 100% of his begging income for drugs and alcohol.<span style=""> </span>I’m not making this up – I’ve had plenty of conversations with him.<span style=""> </span>Each night you can find him outside the 7-Eleven on 10<sup>th</sup> and <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Alma</st1:place></st1:City> asking people for money and cigarettes (retail value of one cigarette in BC is about $0.50CDN). Does he have any intention of stopping drugs or stopping begging?<span style=""> </span>Absolutely not.<span style=""> </span>He <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">likes</span></i> crack.<span style=""> </span>And the 7-Eleven customers have no problem paying for it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Why am I talking about this today?<span style=""> </span>It is something that I have been paying attention to here in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region> for over a year.<span style=""> </span>A year ago I noticed only a few beggars on the streets of the central tourism area of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Vientiane</st1:place></st1:City>.<span style=""> </span>Today, I see a dramatic growth.<span style=""> </span>A more official counting by <span style="color:#333333;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">Peuan Mit/Friends-International in October 2004 counted 209 street children in one day.<span style=""> </span>Whatever the actual numbers may be, I am confident in my observation that there is a very real growth surge in the begging industry in <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Laos</st1:country-region></st1:place>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;color:#333333;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">One of the most notable and prominent beggars in Vientiane, Akiki, sits outside Joma Bakery (the most expensive coffee shop in the city) or next door at the Phimphone Market (one of the most successful retail businesses in the city).<span style=""> </span>He’s a nice enough guy and is respectful to his “customers”.<span style=""> </span>To be fair, I should mention that Akiki has Downs Syndrome.<span style=""> </span>And, granted, it is hard enough for a skilled, healthy, young man to find work in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region>, let alone a person who is mentally or physically challenged. However, there is no way Akiki is going to change his profession.<span style=""> </span>Why?<span style=""> </span>Money.<span style=""> </span><st1:place st="on">Lot</st1:place>’s of it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;color:#333333;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">Consider the average <u>monthly</u> wage for a government worker in <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Laos</st1:country-region></st1:place> is 350,000kip/month (about $35USD).<span style=""> </span>One afternoon, I watched how much Akiki earned in 3 hours: 150,000kip.<span style=""> </span>I’ve seen him make less, but certainly those numbers are not unusual.<span style=""> </span>I have even had discussions with others who, like me, have seen him using his ATM card.<span style=""> </span>An ATM card!!!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;color:#333333;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">The other day, right after I posted my last entry, “Coopetition”, I saw Akiki do something which inspired me to write this entry. <span style=""> </span>It was a thought of competition. I was sitting outside the Joma Café when three other street children had approached me for money.<span style=""> </span>I told them no.<span style=""> </span>They were about to approach the other table sitting outside when Akiki jumped up from his spot next door, blew his police whistle, and chased the 3 others away. It seems that not only does Akiki make a <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on"><i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">Laos</span></i></st1:place></st1:country-region><i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;"> fortune</span></i> at his job, but he maintains a monopoly on his place of business (he does share it with one physically handicapped boy, on occasion).</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Is Akiki, or the other alleged 208 beggars in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Vientiane</st1:place></st1:City> to blame for this?<span style=""> </span>No, not really.<span style=""> </span>He may have a monopoly on those two storefronts, but there are plenty of other places to beg.<span style=""> </span>It’s not really the location, it’s those people who fund the industry who are most at fault.<span style=""> </span>And the people who are funding this operation are the tourists – tourists with wonderfully benevolent intentions.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Some people give money to ease their conscience.<span style=""> </span>Others, out of pity. <span style=""> </span>Still, others, really believe they are helping someone. Whatever the reason, at the core of the issue, it is ignorance the fuels the begging industry.<span style=""> </span>People who give money to beggars are ignorant of the problems they are causing – giving money to beggars causes much more damage than relief.<span style=""> </span>Do people really think that beggars don’t talk to each other?<span style=""> </span>Of course they do.<span style=""> </span>And they know exactly how much they can earn and from who they can earn it (maybe, tomorrow, I will elaborate on that one).<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Furthermore, behind the scenes of this industry is a much more insidious menace at work.<span style=""> </span>It is often organized crime, the mafia or <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">a mafia</span></i>, orchestrating the begging circuit.<span style=""> </span>If the cartel came to you safe suburban door and asked for money, exactly how much would you give… to ease your conscience?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Maybe I am opening myself up to a lot of criticism, but it is important to spread the word.<span style=""> </span><b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">Under no circumstances should anyone respond to begging with anything other than a polite ‘NO’.<span style=""> </span></span></b>If you feel you must give a portion of your income to the needy, do so in a proper way. <span style=""> </span>Here’s one example: $50 = One below the knee prosthesis - <a href="http://www.copelaos.org/index.html">COPE Laos</a>.<span style=""> </span>Using PayPal, about 7% of your $50 donation is NOT used towards helping someone in need; the rest goes directly towards the recipient’s care.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">In the time it took me to write this (which included a number of delays and stopping for lunch), I was approached seven times by different beggars.<span style=""> </span>In the same time, I did not see one single <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region> national approached for money.<span style=""> </span>It is clear that tourists are targets but it is not only because of the apparently enormous cash roll they are carrying, <span style=""> </span>but also because they do not understand what they are financing: a highly competitive, dangerous, and self-esteem destroying, unnecessary way of life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Never stand begging for that which you have the power to earn </span><br /> – Cervantes<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-28846080581249933622007-09-15T03:50:00.000-07:002007-09-15T03:52:17.406-07:00Coopetition<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Too often people think that one person’s success precludes another’s.<span style=""> </span>This simply is not true.<span style=""> </span>“Miss Hoyle” on MySpace published a list of <a href="http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendID=235829522&blogID=309673712">33 writer’s contests</a> on her blog the other day.<span style=""> </span>In her introduction she says, “</span></span><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Times New Roman";">Okay, I might be shooting myself in the kneecap here by sending <b><span style="color:red;"><span style="color: red; font-weight: bold;">"my competitors"</span></span></b> all this information; but in truth, I think we writers need to work together.</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">”.<span style=""> </span>I could not agree with her second thought more.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">One of the projects I intended to complete in <st1:country-region st="on">Laos</st1:country-region> was a series of podcasts providing information about major tourist attractions in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style=""> </span>Just the other day, an acquaintance asked me how the project was going.<span style=""> </span>I winced.<span style=""> </span>The podcasting project I intended to do was shelved for one major reason:<span style=""> </span>I could not find a Lao national who was willing to put forth the effort to learn about these things and visit the attraction.<span style=""> </span>Despite not finding a co-narrator, I continued for a couple months writing draft scripts for the project, but eventually saw the writing on the wall and abandoned the project.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Today, on <a href="http://bangkok.craigslist.org/wri/396681798.html">Craigslist</a>, I found a site who is looking for exactly this type of thing.<span style=""> </span>Authors/narrators are free to set their own prices (if any) and can publish at their own pace.<span style=""> </span>The site is called <a href="http://www.audiosnacks.com/">Audio Snacks</a> and they want people to submit recordings of guided tours of any place where they have “inside knowledge”.<span style=""> </span>As a result, I am thinking about reviving my own project of podcasting in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Have you ever seen someone get bent out of shape because someone else got a job, materialized an idea they had or achieved some other form of success?<span style=""> </span>Have you ever felt this yourself?<span style=""> </span>It’s an outrageous reaction to someone else’s success and it is completely in the wrong direction.<span style=""> </span>Success is like love – there is an infinite supply of it.<span style=""> </span>All you have to do is chip in, share, and keep an open mind.<span style=""> </span>There is plenty for all of us and it has a compounding effect on the world. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-41242615911530402452007-09-13T21:29:00.000-07:002007-09-13T21:32:30.575-07:00Dig It<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Some things don’t change no matter where you go in this world.<span style=""> </span>Across the street from the café where I write, there is an empty lot.<span style=""> </span>It has been empty a long time.<span style=""> </span>Just yesterday, or this morning, a big pile of sand was dumped.<span style=""> </span>A neighborhood dog is intrigued.<span style=""> </span>I know this dog.<span style=""> </span>I’ve seen him around.<span style=""> </span>We’ve never spoke, but I know his face and he probably knows my scent.<span style=""> </span>He stands on top of the mound.<span style=""> </span>He is king of the new sand pile.<span style=""> </span>He barks at another dog – a blond dog who is slow & numb and doesn’t like being barked at.<span style=""> </span>The other dog, the one on top of the sand pile, he sees his street from a new vantage point.<span style=""> </span>He digs.<span style=""> </span>He digs furiously tossing sand from the top of the pile into the lot, onto the sidewalk, out into the street.<span style=""> </span>The worker with the wheelbarrow comes to take a load of sand to the storefront under renovation; the dog steps off the mound, lets the worker fill the barrow, then returns to his perch.<span style=""> </span>He digs some more.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I wrestle with writers block – two months, now.<span style=""> </span>It’s awful.<span style=""> </span>Some say it’s a fallacy, writer’s block; it doesn’t exist; it’s just an excuse for not writing.<span style=""> </span>I can think of nothing.<span style=""> </span>I delete nearly everything word I type.<span style=""> </span>I can only watch the dog and think how some things are the same the world over.<span style=""> </span>Dogs & new piles of fresh soft sand.<span style=""> </span>Dig.<span style=""> </span>It makes me think of one of my favourite stories, a well known story.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Two boys, twins.<span style=""> </span>One an optimist, the other a pessimist. The pessimist is put in a room piled high with toys, games and all the diversions so loved by little boys.<span style=""> </span>He sits, long-faced, making no attempt to even explore any of the toys.<span style=""> </span>‘Why?’, he’s asked.<span style=""> </span>‘Because I have no one to play with.’<span style=""> </span>He is the pessimist.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">The other boy, his twin brother, the optimist, is put in a different room, a room with only a giant pile of horse manure – nothing else.<span style=""> </span>Equipped with no shovel or tool, the boy climbs onto the pile of manure and begins to dig.<span style=""> </span>He digs furiously, excitedly, hopeful. ‘Why?’, he’s asked, “Why are you digging in this big pile of manure?’.<span style=""> </span>‘Well,’ he explains, ‘with all this manure around, there must be a pony nearby.’. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Thank you, dog.<span style=""> </span>Although we have never spoken, today, you are my saving grace.<span style=""> </span>Not only have you given me something to write about, you have also made me hope there is a pony in here somewhere.<span style=""> </span>Keep digging, doggy, you’ll find your bone, I just know it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-51308328583982452952007-09-13T04:11:00.000-07:002008-12-09T20:59:22.612-08:00Walking Meditation<span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:10;">There are different forms of meditation; walking meditation, </span></span><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:10;">standing meditation, reclining meditation, sitting meditation.<span style=""> </span></span></span><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:10;">The most common form is sitting meditation.<span style=""> </span>Sit down.<span style=""> </span>Get comfortable.<span style=""> </span>Focus.<span style=""> </span>Focus on the chakras.<span style=""> </span></span></span><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:10;">Chakras are all over the body.<span style=""> </span>There are 7 big ones aligned with the spine, the crown chakra sits just above the top of the head.<span style=""> </span></span></span><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:10;">These are energy nexuses.<span style=""> </span>Focus on them.<span style=""> </span>It takes some practice, but it’s not as difficult as it first seems.<o:p></o:p></span></span> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjggNYSyFd2Gcs4BzTKU7TgzMitxIhPt9X3inLpcNzuFLcEVbG0KISbAXdFp-6nUape6Tjn5dUG25u094ejmofI49D0p7dES-cMTd0Nnoj7b9PvlU7RN96i-IG4Q1ZOgc9XvLek/s1600-h/P5280083.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjggNYSyFd2Gcs4BzTKU7TgzMitxIhPt9X3inLpcNzuFLcEVbG0KISbAXdFp-6nUape6Tjn5dUG25u094ejmofI49D0p7dES-cMTd0Nnoj7b9PvlU7RN96i-IG4Q1ZOgc9XvLek/s320/P5280083.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109646040782998594" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:10;">I like walking meditation.<span style=""> </span>Years ago – lifetimes ago – I did a lot of sitting meditation.<span style=""> </span>Things have sped up since then and I like to go places, do things, get somewhere.<span style=""> </span>I still practice sitting meditation, but I also like walking meditation.<span style=""> </span>Meditating while walking took some time to learn, but like sitting meditation, it is not as difficult as it first seems.<span style=""> </span>And it opens the door to opportunities.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:10;">This month, I’ve decided to give up my motorbike.<span style=""> </span>After a few days of walking, I realized I had been missing too much of my surroundings.<span style=""> </span>The <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">ban</span></i>, the village, where I live is a nice community.<span style=""> </span>There are rich people and poor people and I like that things are mixed that way. In the center of the <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">ban</span></i> is a crossroads with two “restaurants”.<span style=""> </span>One is a noodle shop which is very popular with the university students.<span style=""> </span>I’ve eaten there enough times that they know not to give me any chicken feet.<span style=""> </span>Across the road, the restaurant is more like a pub.<span style=""> </span>It’s underneath a house and the ceilings are about six feet high.<span style=""> </span>The floor is concrete but it could just as well be dirt.<span style=""> </span>There are some walls, but not many.<span style=""> </span>Up until the point where I gave up my motorbike, I had never stopped there, even though I wanted to. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:10;">Walking back from work one afternoon, I passed by this place.<span style=""> </span>Some men my age were sitting having some beers.<span style=""> </span>They said hello.<span style=""> </span>I said hello.<span style=""> </span>Next thing I knew, we were passing around shots of Lao Khao, rice whiskey – powerful stuff, could be used as nail polish remover as well.<span style=""> </span>On my motorbike, I simply sped past this place and never got to know my neighbors.<span style=""> </span>It’s hard enough being white around here.<span style=""> </span>There’s no way to hide it and there is no way anyone is going to overlook the fact that I am different.<span style=""> </span>Different I can handle.<span style=""> </span>Aloof is something that just isn’t me.<span style=""> </span>As I sped past on my motorbike, it was too easy to label me as aloof.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:10;">Meditation is not a matter of checking out – being aloof to ones surroundings.<span style=""> </span>Actually, it is a matter of <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">checking in</span></i>.<span style=""> </span>It is a practice of getting to the reality, the heart of the matter, the true existence of things.<span style=""> </span>Walking to and from work (I use that term creatively), I get to practice my walking meditation in the very literal sense.<span style=""> </span>I also have more of an opportunity to get to the heart of my existence here in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region>, in my neighborhood.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:10;">Before, I was simply speeding past my own life.<span style=""> </span>Hurrying from home to there and from there to home, I was missing what I came here for.<span style=""> </span>I was not fully engaging in a culture I found so appealing, so natural and in tune with my own resonance. Instead, I was just driving through it.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:10;">Now, on my way home, I stop off at the “pub” and share a few beers with the guys.<span style=""> </span>There’s a lot of conversation.<span style=""> </span>Sometimes I have a general idea what they are talking about.<span style=""> </span>Other times, I’m completely clueless.<span style=""> </span>I don’t mind it much.<span style=""> </span>I know a few jokes and they laugh like crazy when I tell the guy with seven children “Condom! Condom!”. They know I like Lao whiskey, beer with ice, grilled pork intestines, mint, meatballs.<span style=""> </span>They know I am not above getting down on my knees and playing with the children.<span style=""> </span>The children have a blast playing with the rubber masks I carry in my backpack just for that purpose.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:10;">Yesterday, I was fortunate enough to have a translator.<span style=""> </span>It felt good to get some feedback.<span style=""> </span>They like me.<span style=""> </span>They think I am a good person.<span style=""> </span>They are glad I am part of their community.<span style=""> </span>They see that I am different than most <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">falang</span></i> (foreigner).<span style=""> </span>They agree that I am Lao – somehow, born in the States, white with Anglo and <st1:place st="on">Mediterranean</st1:place> parents, I am Lao.<span style=""> </span>Maybe a past life.<span style=""> </span>Maybe a future life.<span style=""> </span>Certainly, in this life, I am Lao, inside, somehow.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-28278140228899238042007-09-12T01:19:00.000-07:002008-12-09T20:59:23.063-08:00Summer's End<span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >The earmark of summer’s end, Memorial Day (or is it Labor Day? I can never remember. The one at the end, the one just before school… I think it’s Labor Day), came and went over on the other side of the world and here in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region>, I got to sneak squeeze a little more time.<span style=""> </span>No one was watching.<span style=""> </span>No Memorial Day.<span style=""> </span>But, I have to let it end, though.<span style=""> </span>I have to get back to it.<span style=""> </span>Back into the flow, back on track and - ouch -<span style=""> </span>nose to grindstone.<span style=""> </span>Summer must come to an end.<span style=""> </span>I squeeze a little more time because there’s no Memorial Day in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style=""> </span>The next weekend, or the one after, is the boat racing festival in Luang Prabang.<span style=""> </span>It seems like an appropriate marker.<o:p></o:p></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjePWW7guCEQEdQ4qqLlABbLyF0ITHwXZnCkPt2nA5qAAlTGjhwNQcPMQTlV5G7YwnqbSN2GR3UVk1j-H3yKGY5xS184hA1Hcb2SRC7mhe2Glfvxbo47xdknS4ZZHKllJ16kRnl/s1600-h/P9100016.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjePWW7guCEQEdQ4qqLlABbLyF0ITHwXZnCkPt2nA5qAAlTGjhwNQcPMQTlV5G7YwnqbSN2GR3UVk1j-H3yKGY5xS184hA1Hcb2SRC7mhe2Glfvxbo47xdknS4ZZHKllJ16kRnl/s200/P9100016.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109230618661227538" border="0" /></a></span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >September 11 is the day for the Boat Racing Festival in Luang Prabang.<span style=""> </span>It’s also Horkhaopadapdin, the day – the very very early morning part of the day – to honor deceased relatives with offerings to assure their spirits that they did good in this world and their memories are respected, cherished, thanked, safe journey wherever you are.<span style=""> </span>Longer boats. The boats on the river are larger than what we know in <st1:city st="on">Cambridge</st1:city>, <st1:city st="on">Dartmouth</st1:city>, <st1:city st="on">Georgetown</st1:city>, <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Exeter</st1:city></st1:place>, the Head of the Charles.<span style=""> </span>They are longer and wider and heavier and 50 not 8 men are geared with short fat paddles not long thin oars.<span style=""> </span>The rhythm is still there.<span style=""> </span>The coxswains use drums and some are not coxswains, they just drum and there’s one in the front as well as the back.<span style=""> </span>There might be some in the middle, too.<span style=""> </span>They row on the Nam Kang and not the <st1:place st="on">Mekong</st1:place>.<span style=""> </span>The <st1:place st="on">Mekong</st1:place> is too mighty; harsh and wide and full with obstructions.<span style=""> </span>The banks are closed and the riverside is lined with Lao people and very few tourists – the children dress in their best clothes and some little girls proudly wear new, clean, yellow patterned dresses holding daddy’s hand overwhelmed at the sights and the uncountable faces and knees and packages and dogs eating bones under street side vendor’s tables. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >Country folk come in from all over the province.<span style=""> </span>It’s a big day.<span style=""> </span>It’s easy to spot who is cosmopolitan and who is not.<span style=""> </span>I’m told the children used to wear their school uniforms if that’s all they had, but now some wear dirty t-shirts and ripped pants if that’s what they want.<span style=""> </span>They are becoming more worldly.<span style=""> </span>It’s easy to spot who has made special effort to bring the family to see the festival and visit with cousins and aunts and uncles and maybe an eldest son lucky enough to study at Wat Sop, Wat Sene or Wat Phousi. Little boys proudly walk through the crowds with plastic carbines, with plastic AK-47’s, with plastic Luger’s. The men soak themselves in Beer Lao and the women join in as much as they can without forgetting they have children to watch but it’s not a problem because Lao men are just as likely to pick up their crying child and console them.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_NrmucgeB-VFQCo6RzqJEU5MArjmb06WeH5uXsj0HZ0_HVp53ARXLPiUASO2e227OwYiWvUWcz1mWju4LOrcpIDFavEi3WNZ04sF4DcOi-eA6zQErZf4WXC-ZgnsL9skfMP1d/s1600-h/P9100037.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_NrmucgeB-VFQCo6RzqJEU5MArjmb06WeH5uXsj0HZ0_HVp53ARXLPiUASO2e227OwYiWvUWcz1mWju4LOrcpIDFavEi3WNZ04sF4DcOi-eA6zQErZf4WXC-ZgnsL9skfMP1d/s200/P9100037.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109235201391332402" border="0" /></a></span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >The races seem tertiary after the street side vendors and the face watching over big bottles of beer and grilled chicken on sticks and sweet Lao sausage.<span style=""> </span>The crowds are overwhelming to me.<span style=""> </span>To many balloons and umbrellas trying to poke me in the face.<span style=""> </span>We retreat across the peninsula to the Mekong side – to a quiet riverside restaurant for an early afternoon sitting of Lao barbeque; it’s called ‘sindha’ or something like that but I like to call it sim card because it sounds like sim card and saying ‘I want to eat sim card’ makes me chuckle.<span style=""> </span>It’s easier to make such jokes when broken English is the standard and I can’t speak the local language.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >We could take a bus back to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Vientiane</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style=""> </span>It’s cheaper.<span style=""> </span>$11.50.<span style=""> </span>But it’s not much fun and no longer interesting to me – I’ve done the trip too many times for it to stimulate anything.<span style=""> </span>I don’t even get upset at the power lines blemishing across a stunning pair of limestone karsts north of Vang Vieng.<span style=""> </span>Even the VIP bus – the good one where they give you little packaged sponge cakes and a bottle of water and they give you moist towelettes near the end of the trip just before the tire blows out and by the time we’re all back on the bus and the tire is changed, our hands are dirty again – it’s just not interesting anymore.<span style=""> </span>The flight is six times more expensive.<span style=""> </span>The flight is eight times quicker.<span style=""> </span>I decide to skip the bus ride.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >I’m a little torn about flying.<span style=""> </span>My brother tells me not to fly because around here things are not done the way they are done in the west and it’s not quite as safe as the budget airlines who sprung up out of deregulation in the 80’s<span style=""> </span>(was that the 80’s?).<span style=""> </span>My embassy tells me not to take the bus because the Hmong are still ticked off and the jungles north are filled with resistance and it’s been a while but there have been incidents… <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >The ticket agent hands me back my passport, credit card and boarding pass.<span style=""> </span>I look at the date: September 11.<span style=""> </span>It’s just another day but I can’t help but make the connection.<span style=""> </span>I wait for boarding to begin.<span style=""> </span>For me, it’s just another dead zone strip of time between the festival and getting home.<span style=""> </span>For others, it’s a different new experience. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >It’s fun to watch someone fly for the first time.<span style=""> </span>In the waiting area there is a collected excitement about her.<span style=""> </span>Excited on boarding.<span style=""> </span>Excited on take off.<span style=""> </span>Excited even putting her bag through the x-ray machine and she beeps and the man waves his wand around her and that too is exciting. The second time through she doesn’t beep and they make a joke about it.<span style=""> </span>The sun has set and there is only jungle below so no lights to see; only blackness and the reflection of her face in the window.<span style=""> </span>Eventually she eases back into rapid fire page flipping of the inflight magazine.<span style=""> </span>At the back there is a calendar of events, holidays and festivals for 2007.<span style=""> </span>It says the 26<sup>th</sup> is the day for remembering and making offering to deceased relatives.<span style=""> </span>I no longer find factual contradictions an annoyance.<span style=""> </span>The 8 a.m. bus can leave at 1:45 p.m. if that’s when it leaves.<span style=""> </span>That’s just the way it’s done.<span style=""> </span>It’s a contradiction.<span style=""> </span>Fact.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >I</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj50QF06Wj2jbzZ5GJErC7yMEWTs_ZEDpkCl1EktbeOUv4zC0Fwip4P0zxmKPM8cJ6XMRZpacVJ2UDB1VyoY9Wifr5mgy5qCxAAQVwWJFMm5W94tPnb_ttGH1H9LNCOuiWCAVqN/s1600-h/P9100029.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj50QF06Wj2jbzZ5GJErC7yMEWTs_ZEDpkCl1EktbeOUv4zC0Fwip4P0zxmKPM8cJ6XMRZpacVJ2UDB1VyoY9Wifr5mgy5qCxAAQVwWJFMm5W94tPnb_ttGH1H9LNCOuiWCAVqN/s200/P9100029.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109232474087099426" border="0" /></a></span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >’m glad she’s older.<span style=""> </span>Too old to discover the child thrill of bringing her seatback tray to it’s full upright and locked position then back down and up and locked and unlocked and down and locked and unlocked and locked and unlocked… click, click, click, clickclick, clickclick, click.<span style=""> </span>5 minutes. 10 minutes. How long will this go on?<span style=""> </span>Glad she’s too old for that.<span style=""> </span>She leaves it in the full upright and locked position.<span style=""> </span>I felt something let go in me when I showed her how to use the seat belt.<span style=""> </span>An old resentment from being too many times a passenger watching the preflight safety demonstration.<span style=""> </span>We roll our eyes, the seasoned travelers, at the flight attendants who have to, <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">by law</span></i>, demonstrate how to operate the seat belt.<span style=""> </span>Who doesn’t know?<span style=""> </span>She didn’t know.<span style=""> </span>Why would she? It took her a couple tries to master it.<span style=""> </span>I’m glad for the experience, glad I can let go finally.<span style=""> </span>One less thing to irritate me about flying.<span style=""> </span>One more thing to remind me how much child exists in all of us – wide eyed, not knowing, we don’t know everything and when we do, there is always the plane instead of the bus.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-78386926008204376422007-08-13T22:41:00.000-07:002007-08-13T22:53:48.967-07:00Don't Wait<span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I had a conversation with someone the other day.<span style=""> </span>She was depressed.<span style=""> </span>She wondered, What will do?<span style=""> </span>How will I do it?<span style=""> </span>How can I do anything?<span style=""> </span>I can not do anything.<span style=""> </span>She’s twenty-one years old and doesn’t know which direction her life is going.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Listening to her grief, I thought of my self when I was that age – actually, for most of my early twenties I worried about such things, sometimes sinking into a deep fatalistic depression.<span style=""> </span>I let her vent her fears and concerns for a while and tried to turn her in the direction of a little less self-pity and a little more action.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">“You’re still young,” I told her, “you don’t have to know what you’re going to be when you grow up.<span style=""> </span>Don’t worry, it will come to you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">It’s not very easy to accept such advice.<span style=""> </span>It puts a lot of faith on something that no one can back up without the passage of time.<span style=""> </span>I tried a different, more tangible tactic to help my friend pull herself out of her self-inflicted malaise.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">She doesn’t know what she wants to do.<span style=""> </span>That’s ok.<span style=""> </span>There are plenty of times in life when we don’t know what we are going to do next.<span style=""> </span>Eventually, the idea will come and it is at that time we must act. <span style=""> </span>Which brings me to the title of today’s entry, DON’T WAIT.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">When we are not sure of what we will do next, that is not the time to sit and wonder what we will do next.<span style=""> </span>Obsessing on our own confusion gets us no where other than more deeply entrenched in our own confusion.<span style=""> </span>It serves only to make us feel worse and make arriving at a decision a painful waiting experience.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Of course, if you don’t confront your problems, they will never be resolved.<span style=""> </span>However, once confronting our problems becomes the problem itself, then it is time to focus our attention elsewhere and allow time – and our subconscious genius – to work out a suitable solution.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I told my friend to table her worries of what will she do and focus instead on <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">how</span></i> she will do.<span style=""> </span>Worrying about what you will be when you grow up is not helping.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I suggested to her, “Instead of worrying, why don’t you learn how to succeed first.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">The expected blank look came to her face.<span style=""> </span>People all around the world do not know of this method, however, it is viable and very effective.<span style=""> </span>Learn how to succeed and you will succeed at whatever you choose.<span style=""> </span>The secret of succeeding is not a matter of getting lucky or having the right contacts.<span style=""> </span>The secret is to teach oneself how to set goals and achieve them.<span style=""> </span>Be warned, though, learning how to succeed starts small and is greatly reliant on setting realistic goals.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Twenty-one years old.<span style=""> </span>Don’t know what to do.<span style=""> </span>Don’t know how to do it.<span style=""> </span>Can’t do anything.<span style=""> </span>It seems like a very short dead end street to me.<span style=""> </span>But look over there, not too far off this path is another path.<span style=""> </span>A path begging to be explored.<span style=""> </span>It’s a path where <u>s</u>pecific, <u>m</u>easurable, <u>a</u>chievable, <u>r</u>ealistic, <u>t</u>ime-based (SMART) goals can be set and reached<span style=""> </span>Set your sights low at first.<span style=""> </span><i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">I will make sure all my bills are paid and all my accounts are up to date each Friday for the next two months. </span></i><span style=""> </span>Maybe that’s too aggressive.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">For five consecutive days, I will wake up each morning before 9:00 am and make at least one phone call to a prospective employer.</span></i><span style=""> </span>Eventually, your goals will become more complex as you master setting and achieving goals.<span style=""> </span>Then you will be prepared to do what you want to do when you grow up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">It’s not so much a matter of what your goals are.<span style=""> </span>It’s more a matter that you train yourself to set smart goals, approach them with clarity and determination and recognize the rewarding feeling of accomplishing what you said you would do.<span style=""> </span>It’s a very useful technique for strengthening the success muscles.<span style=""> </span>Something I wish I had learned twenty years earlier.<span style=""> </span>Something I wished I knew about when I was sitting around, feeling sorry for myself, wondering what I would be when I grow up.<span style=""> </span>I could have been spending that time teaching myself how to succeed so that once I figured out what I would do, I would have some experience in achieving my goals.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-74460508213150507342007-08-10T20:37:00.000-07:002008-12-09T20:59:23.226-08:00Amateurs<span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p></o:p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://g-ec2.images-amazon.com/images/I/4172WzXNPrL._SS500_.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px;" src="http://g-ec2.images-amazon.com/images/I/4172WzXNPrL._SS500_.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >There’s a reason to my lack of posting lately.<span style=""> </span>It has to do with a newspaper article I read</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" > poolside at the Nana Hotel in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Bangkok</st1:place></st1:city> (fifteen stories of perversion in</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" > Sukhumvit).<span style=""> </span>The article was a review of a book called “<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cult-Amateur-Internet-killing-culture/dp/0385520808/ref=pd_nr_b_27/104-6152019-2847143?ie=UTF8&s=books">The Cult of Amateur: How today’s Internet is killing our culture</a>” by Andrew Keen.<span style=""> </span>I can’t find a copy of the book here,</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" > but I’ve read a number of reviews and reader-reviews.<span style=""> </span>Most people say the same thing:<span style=""> </span>it gives provocative insight, but goes off the rails in some areas.</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" ><span style=""> </span>Regardless if the book is good or bad, it’s existence and general sentiment has made me think a little bit more about what I’m putting out in blog form.<o:p></o:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >There is a compounding</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" > element that has added to my paralyzed efforts.<span style=""> </span>Much of the content I produce is based on Buddhist philosophy.<span style=""> </span>One of the Buddhist principles is to not disseminate false information</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" > (ubiquitous in all faiths... <b style=""><i style=""><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">I think</span></i></b>).<span style=""> </span>Ethically I do have some responsibility to be accurate when presenting any material; personally, I feel this</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" > even stronger in the context of religion or spirituality. <span style=""> </span>While never presenting myself as an expert on the subject and using some good-ol’ fashioned <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">doing the best I can</span></i>, I hope to maintain</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" > some form of immunity.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >I read those words and can not help but wonder:<span style=""> </span><i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">Immunity from what???</span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >Do we need immunity in order to speak or act or write?<span style=""> </span>Do we need licenses – certifications of authenticity – to empower us to share an idea, opinion or belief?<span style=""> </span>Is the onus on the</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" > speaker, and not the listener, to define what is fact and what is conjecture?<span style=""> </span>If so, I need to shut up a long time ago. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >Similar to the padded playground where no one learns to be careful because they don’t understand how much broken</span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" > bones hurt, people are trying to muzzle free, misinformed, <span style=""> </span>communication.<span style=""> </span>Long before the world became literate (or started down that path), Og was free to go up to</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLEs6jGtKWLJco2upspVaWrm2zU5_Tv7Uc8A3ZQAH-LxNVlfv9cAhQ6OmxP4W60cpCiafa3GsB2Es2Z2vFmbEk17YFPADzcPCn4k_7kDfHDE45AaeEaaDgGplWy92sZF0I8QjZ/s1600-h/Hebrews.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLEs6jGtKWLJco2upspVaWrm2zU5_Tv7Uc8A3ZQAH-LxNVlfv9cAhQ6OmxP4W60cpCiafa3GsB2Es2Z2vFmbEk17YFPADzcPCn4k_7kDfHDE45AaeEaaDgGplWy92sZF0I8QjZ/s200/Hebrews.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5097282720862985682" border="0" /></a></span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" > Toh and grunt for as long as Toh would entertain him.<span style=""> </span>Toh never believed Og’s grunting, but he would listen to it from time to time, just to get another perspective. Toh is a brave man for taking his chances with the myriad misinformation outside the padded playground.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >The cult of amateur goes back much further than the internet, so does the killing of culture.<span style=""> </span>Amateurs have been badly fixing their own tools, poorly advising their children, inappropriately consoling their heartbroken friends and a doing a bad job with a whole plethora of other things for centuries.<span style=""> </span>They’ve had no formal training, often gave lousy advise and disastrous results have followed.<span style=""> </span>Other times, a laymen has provided good advice leading to healthy marriages, community progress, even scientific or artistic breakthroughs. <span style=""> </span>Sometimes, it’s not even the quality of the advice but the cathartic nature of communication itself which spawns a bright ending.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >So, if communication – and I stress, communication of unwittingly false information – is the death of our culture, how long ago did our culture begin to die?<span style=""> </span>Certainly no one ever thought that cats would steal the souls from sleeping infants and no one ever told another person that bathing was a deadly act.<span style=""> </span>No chef ever told another that tomatoes were poisonous and there was never an educated person who believed the world was flat.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >My opinion, which is always to be regarded with great skepticism, is that the cult of amateur is exactly what defines culture.<span style=""> </span>It is the expert who categorizes culture, yet it is the amateur who constitutes it.<span style=""> </span>Nothing new is happening here.<span style=""> </span>Og and Toh grunted.<span style=""> </span>Horace Greeley duked it out with the penny press. <span style=""> </span>Oprah hosted the highest rated talk show in television history.<span style=""> </span>Og, Toh, Horace and, I believe, Oprah, had no college education, no doctorate in anything and certainly no credentials other than they experienced, they listened, they decided what they believed and then they spoke up – sometimes inaccurately with disastrous results.<span style=""> </span>Calling Horace and Oprah amateurs isn’t really fair since they are experts in spinning information.<span style=""> </span>However with the clarity of retrospect, ask a General and not a newspaper editor where to send troops; ask a therapist and not a talk show host how to save your marriage.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >Are we a culture who buys into bogus beliefs?<span style=""> </span>Certainly.<span style=""> </span>Yet, it isn’t the people spewing those beliefs who need corrective action.<span style=""> </span>It is the audience who must question the source and the validity of anything they hear or read.<span style=""> </span>It’s a scary world out there.<span style=""> </span>You will be on your own deciding what to believe and what to dismiss.<span style=""> </span>Have faith that you, too, will make a bad decision from time to time.<span style=""> </span>You will probably also say something that isn’t exactly true.<span style=""> </span>But don’t worry about killing your own culture, it’s been dying for a lot longer than you think.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;" >[<i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">By the way, some things in this entry I looked up on the internet.<span style=""> </span>It’s definitely all true, because someone put it on a website.</span></i>]<o:p></o:p></span></p>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-1630292601980768032007-08-02T20:39:00.000-07:002007-08-02T20:40:19.347-07:00Answers?<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Do you have the answers?<span style=""> </span>Are you sure? <span style=""> </span>It may come as a shocking surprise but not all that we think is true.<span style=""> </span>It may be true for a while, but all things must come to an end.<span style=""> </span>Perhaps information is not excluded from this.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">An expert on smell and scent claims that not all things have a smell.<span style=""> </span>He explains that for something to have a smell it must emit molecules the size of 16 carbon atoms or less in order for it to have smell.<span style=""> </span>He sounds quite certain of this.<span style=""> </span>However, I can not help but think of the <a href="http://www.onelook.com/?w=koan&ls=a">koan</a> ‘<i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">if a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?</span></i>’.<span style=""> </span>If something emits a scent larger than 16 carbon atoms, a size too big for our olfactory system,<span style=""> </span>is it void of scent or is it <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">us</span></i> that is void of perception?<span style=""> </span>Here is where I, the layman with no scientific training, and the expert, with a vast repertoire of research, must part ways.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">We are an audacious species.<span style=""> </span>We know only what we can think. And we refute that which is incomprehensible or indiscernible.<span style=""> </span>Yet that does not prove it does not exist.<span style=""> </span>We have ghosts and spirits and psychic activity on the fringe of our accepted common knowledge to occupy the time of rebellious thought pioneers.<span style=""> </span>But what lies beyond this fringe area?<span style=""> </span>How vast is the space which exists beyond the universes?<span style=""> </span>How vast is the space which exists beyond our thoughts?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">As a child, we believe that mom and dad are gods.<span style=""> </span>Later, our teachers become emperors and empresses.<span style=""> </span>Hormones kick in, teenage rebellion overtakes our previous knowledge and mom, dad and teachers take an icarian dive.<span style=""> </span>We grow even older and outrunning the cops changes from exciting to pure stupidity.<span style=""> </span>Time passes and we slip from resenting our seniors to the asking those more experienced for advice.<span style=""> </span>Age seeps in and, eventually, we end up liking elastic waistbands because they are more comfortable, more practical, like cataract sunglasses.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Answers change and we need to accept this.<span style=""> </span>We need to acknowledge that what might have been perfect yesterday is only tolerable today and tomorrow we have no taste for it. <span style=""> </span>That is only the tip of the iceberg.<span style=""> </span>How much of what we know is absolutely wrong, and yet we all buy into this mass hypnosis from lack of energy or fear of going against the grain?<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">This could go on forever.<span style=""> </span>But I know I have vinegar to buy and a lamp to fix and a few other errands to run.<span style=""> </span>Perhaps I will see a ghost at the market.<span style=""> </span>Perhaps I will levitate with my packages over the chaotic traffic.<span style=""> </span>Perhaps I will discover that my reserves of love are three times the size of a molecule I can smell.<span style=""> </span>I don’t have the answers, only observations.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-74589484749600748562007-08-01T23:27:00.000-07:002007-08-01T23:33:08.184-07:00Who?<span style="font-family: arial;">During last night's dinner conversation...<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> Shakespeare, William Shakespeare, the famous playwright?<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;"> hmmmm... I've never heard of Shakespeare. I've heard of Britnay Spears.<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;"> No relation.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">An explanation of the terms <span style="font-weight: bold;">genius </span>and <span style="font-weight: bold;">bubble gum </span>followed.</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;"><br /></span>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-53707531913415676532007-07-24T20:37:00.001-07:002008-12-09T20:59:23.451-08:00Something to Say?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyaifPH1-tvPtlLe5Vd3Gv8YcqgFVzEjXt1QYo68iqGZ9NfjCtKdEkv3LCNzmDRjsf0R_zRx8UU95__QILAepFWpav8IXIWSXbcfGZjwyeJDlQMsZeaFsGxeuy3pUVh9EXBncw/s1600-h/P7150089.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyaifPH1-tvPtlLe5Vd3Gv8YcqgFVzEjXt1QYo68iqGZ9NfjCtKdEkv3LCNzmDRjsf0R_zRx8UU95__QILAepFWpav8IXIWSXbcfGZjwyeJDlQMsZeaFsGxeuy3pUVh9EXBncw/s320/P7150089.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090974899963846082" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;"></span></span><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">One of the most uncouth things a person can do – and one of the most frequent faux pas of falang in <st1:place st="on">Southeast Asia</st1:place> – is to raise their voice.<span style=""> </span>Raising one’s voice shows a myriad of flaws.<span style=""> </span>It shows loss of self-control.<span style=""> </span>It shows unnecessary disrespect.<span style=""> </span>It shows ignorance to local culture (when in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Rome</st1:place></st1:City>…).<span style=""> </span>Most of all, it shows everyone within earshot the skid marks in your own underwear.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">This morning I skipped the 7:30 departure to a particularly good dive location.<span style=""> </span>I wanted to sleep in.<span style=""> </span>I wanted to rest a little extra before heading back to the mainland and my quiet and orderly existence in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style=""> </span>By habit, I woke at 7:00 a.m., checked the time and opted for more sleep.<span style=""> </span>At 7:55, I was awakened by voices outside.<span style=""> </span>I could hear the voices, but could not make out the words.<span style=""> </span>I slid back into sleep.<span style=""> </span>The voices continued.<span style=""> </span>By 8:05, I abandoned by grandiose thoughts of sleeping until 9 or maybe even 10; the voices showed no sign of stopping.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">I listened more closely.<span style=""> </span>Was someone telling an exciting tale of last night’s adventures?<span style=""> </span>I hoped so.<span style=""> </span>I got up and went to the bathroom.<span style=""> </span>I tried to peek through the ventilation slits of the concrete wall to see what was happening outside – I thought of my nosy ex-wife who always peered through curtains and wanted to know what was going on with other people.<span style=""> </span>I couldn’t see the men.<span style=""> </span>There were two men. I could tell from the voices.<span style=""> </span>One was English.<span style=""> </span>The other I thought to be Thai.<span style=""> </span>The Thai voice was trying to express, to console, to empathize, to find a suitable solution.<span style=""> </span>The English voice spoke over and beat down on the Thai voice – he did not want to hear, he only wanted to have his say, to assert his rightness, to aggress his own absolute perfection.<span style=""> </span>The Thai voice was calm and rather quiet.<span style=""> </span>The English voice was everywhere and demanding.<span style=""> </span>Did he want a refund?<span style=""> </span>I thought of a trip to <st1:country-region st="on">Jamaica</st1:country-region> years ago when a honeymooner wanted a refund in early October because the brochure failed to mention the daily rain in the <st1:place st="on">Caribbean</st1:place> in October.<span style=""> </span>I pissed, dressed and walked outside.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Stepping onto the porch, the words were now discernable. <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">Bed bugs… I didn’t put bed bugs in the mattress… It’s your fault… if anyone is responsible for bed bugs it’s you.</span></i><span style=""> </span>The Englishman had a long brown shit stain flowing out of his mouth.<span style=""> </span>The Englishman thinks the Thai intentionally wants itchy guests who will tell others about a crappy resort where conditions are substandard.<span style=""> </span>The Thai is patient and as I step out onto the porch, the conversation ends.<span style=""> </span>The shirtless Englishman with an homogenously rebellious tattoo on his lower back walks away with flippant gestures and aural puss seeping into the sand.<span style=""> </span>The Thai is smiling, not because he has won or because he is happy or because he enjoyed an 8:00 am pissing contest or because his other guests had to listen to this nonsense – he is happy because he knows there is no point in being unhappy.<span style=""> </span>His day can not be ruined because of someone else’s bad behaviour and miniscule suffering. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: Arial;">How is it done correctly in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Thailand</st1:place></st1:country-region>?<span style=""> </span>How is it done correctly anywhere in the world?<span style=""> </span>Calmly approach.<span style=""> </span>Make it quietly clear than a problem has occurred and a discussion is warranted.<span style=""> </span>Step into a private area, a place where no one has to endure your own dirty laundry.<span style=""> </span>Have your conversation.<span style=""> </span>If voices are raised, they are raised in a cloistered fashion.<span style=""> </span>The matter is exposed, a solution is presented and all people walk away with at least an agreement to disagree.<span style=""> </span>Then, maybe the guy in bungalow 3 will sleep a little later than normal and have nothing to write that day.</span></span> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-73689838271384977872007-07-21T21:33:00.000-07:002008-12-09T20:59:23.653-08:00Fishing, Not Catching<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">It’s nice to take a break sometimes.<span style=""> </span>Some people call it decompression.<span style=""> </span>Some people call it shifting your</span></span><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;"> assemblage point.<span style=""> </span>Call it what you like, it’s can do a world of good to alter the daily routine so that we can see the richness in our daily routine.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWuZk-3HiPUtaknlmNjoW0NSOFC_QzddhTQceif7FKR6Yy5hxFUVfvw4yDnXVG-E6CILbXxUpvLw2KRrvxCPRZWdGGgl4xveB1QALXG0tTik3X9qLDnwF4gth_xofgP3hENcvL/s1600-h/P7150053.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWuZk-3HiPUtaknlmNjoW0NSOFC_QzddhTQceif7FKR6Yy5hxFUVfvw4yDnXVG-E6CILbXxUpvLw2KRrvxCPRZWdGGgl4xveB1QALXG0tTik3X9qLDnwF4gth_xofgP3hENcvL/s320/P7150053.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5089876612401749426" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">Here on unnamed island, where I wrote <a href="http://eclecticjourneys.blogspot.com/2006/05/what-do-you-do.html">What Do You Do</a> over one year ago, I am again reinvigorated by the sound of the waves, communing with the red banded sea snakes, hunting for the elusive sea turtle and avoiding the trigger fish.<span style=""> </span>The mornings start early with a couple a SCUBA dives, the afternoons require sweaty patience while alternating between the sand and dips in the hot ocean water.<span style=""> </span>But what I am fishing for is not necessarily found in the sea.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">Sometimes I need to just sit back, relax and see what comes.<span style=""> </span>Maybe it is a job opportunity, maybe it is a moment of inspiration, maybe it is a sensing of my own life blended with a sense of my own mortality.<span style=""> </span>I can not predict what lie below the surface.<span style=""> </span>Like a fisherman, out in his boat in the early morning hours, I put my line and wait.<span style=""> </span>Perhaps the fisherman will get a nibble – a snapper, a trout, a boot – <span style=""> </span>perhaps he will row ashore empty handed.<span style=""> </span>Yet, like the fisherman, it is not so much that I catch something, it is the act of going out and trying.<i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span></i><span style=""> </span>And <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">trying</span></i>, in and of itself, is a strange twist of logic.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;">I put my line in the water and see if something comes.<span style=""> </span>While bobbing about, I try not to think about what I might catch.<span style=""> </span>I try not to think about the big one I got just the other day. <span style=""> </span>How will I season what I have not yet caught?<span style=""> </span>It is pointless to pre-heat the oven for a meal with no ingredients. Instead, I listen and taste and smell and swallow what it is I have at the moment.<span style=""> </span>And as I tap into that moment, the bob dunks under the water – or it doesn’t.<span style=""> </span>Eventually, I row ashore with a more clear perspective on who I am, who is the fish, what is a boat, a rod, a hook.<span style=""> </span>I row ashore and try not to congratulate myself for thinking I know what <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">trying</span></i> means.<span style=""> </span>Instead, I just am.<span style=""> </span>And that should be enough for now.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23326464.post-57182059368073818982007-07-12T19:44:00.000-07:002007-07-12T19:51:23.463-07:00How do you act out a preposition?<p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style=";font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:10;" >For</span></span></b><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:10;"> whatever reason, I give free English lessons each weekday.<span style=""> </span>Perhaps it’s some form of karmic cleansing. <span style=""> </span>Perhaps it provides a little bit of that structure I’m always talking <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">about</span></b>.<span style=""> </span>Whatever the reason, there is something <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">about</span></b> teaching that gives me a great thrill.<span style=""> </span>The thrill comes <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">from</span></b> many different directions at once.<span style=""> </span>In one way, it allows me an opportunity to reflect <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">on</span></b> my own struggles learning to speak the <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Laos</st1:country-region></st1:place> language.<span style=""> </span>It’s an opportunity to pay it forward.<span style=""> </span>And there is the thrill of going <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">to</span></b> the office supply store to buy materials <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">for</span></b> visual aids.<span style=""> </span>There is the thrill of maybe getting some return <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">on</span></b> that time spent pursuing performing arts.<span style=""> </span>In other ways, it gives me a chance to do what I love the most: help other people.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:10;">In all my classes, whether they are English or computer science or meditation, I make a concerted effort to make sure it is fun.<span style=""> </span>In fact, I try to make class silly.<span style=""> </span>The class has to be fun <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">for</span></b> me and it has to be fun <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">for</span></b> my students.<span style=""> </span>If we are not having fun, we are not learning.<span style=""> </span>Of course, there are always obstacles to bring the fun <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">to</span></b> class.<span style=""> </span>Sometimes I’m tired or unprepared.<span style=""> </span>Sometimes someone is late.<span style=""> </span>One of the most frustrating obstacles for me is when I will say one word, “some” for example, which will cause a long discussion <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">in</span></b> the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Laos</st1:place></st1:country-region> language.<span style=""> </span>I’m learning to let it slide.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:10;">The other day, my students showed up early and made lunch <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">for</span></b> all of us.<span style=""> </span>It’s a nice gesture and I was grateful <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">for</span></b> it – it is true that feeding someone is one of the nicest things a person can do.<span style=""> </span>However, the gesture created a certain challenge <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">to</span></b> my agenda.<span style=""> </span>With full bellies, the students were likely to fall asleep.<span style=""> </span><b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">After</span></b> lunch is the most difficult time to teach.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:10;">To counteract the drowsiness of my students, I knew I would have to really knock the lesson <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">out</span></b> of the park.<span style=""> </span>I would have to draw <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">on</span></b> all my presentation skills – skills beyond simply switching <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">from</span></b> one side of the whiteboard <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">to</span></b> another – <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">in</span></b> order to keep their attention and make an indelible impression.<span style=""> </span>To add insult <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">to</span></b> injury, today’s subject was <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">prepositions</span></i> (you remember them right?<span style=""> </span>In, on, above, through, with, to…).<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:10;">It’s relatively easy to act out the verbs – <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">walk, shout, am</span></i>.<span style=""> </span>It’s also not so hard to point <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">to</span></b> nouns and dress them up <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">with</span></b> adjectives.<span style=""> </span>Even adverbs are not so hard to impersonate… if I am silly enough to demonstrate <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">carefully, quickly, slowly</span></i> and so on, there is a chance they might just remember.<span style=""> </span>However, acting out <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">through</span></i> and <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">at</span></i> and <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">with</span></i> is a bit more <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">of</span></b> a challenge; <i style=""><span style="font-style: italic;">Toward</span></i> was nearly impossible.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:10;">We made it through prepositions I had planned.<span style=""> </span>Salt played a big role <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">in</span></b> the lesson.<span style=""> </span>The salt is <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">on</span></b> the table, <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">above</span></b> the table, <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">under</span></b> the table, <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">with</span></b> the glass, <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">behind</span></b> the glass.<span style=""> </span>There was a combination of horror and laughter when the salt went <b style=""><i style=""><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">in</span></i></b> the glass.<span style=""> </span>For me, my mind was somewhere else.<span style=""> </span>The salt water.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:10;">I miss the salt water.<span style=""> </span>I miss the ocean.<span style=""> </span>Today, I will head <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">toward</span></b> the west and make my way <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">to</span></b> the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placetype st="on">Gulf</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename st="on">Siam</st1:placename></st1:place> to do some diving.<span style=""> </span>After three months <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">in</span></b> a landlocked country I need to look <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">upon</span></b> the ocean.<span style=""> </span>I need to look out <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">over</span></b> the sea.<span style=""> </span>I need to wade <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">into</span></b> the ocean.<span style=""> </span>I need to swim <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">in</span></b> the water.<span style=""> </span>I need to get <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">under</span></b> the surface and breath <b style=""><span style="font-weight: bold;">from</span></b> a Nitrox tank.<span style=""> </span>If my entries are a little less frequent <span style="font-weight: bold;">over</span> the next two weeks it is not <span style="font-weight: bold;">from </span>lack <span style="font-weight: bold;">of </span>interest, instead it is simply because I am having a bit more fun.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Thinkerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18074543930162552065noreply@blogger.com1