Back to Buddhism

Let’s get back to Buddhism for a while. 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. When I write about racism, I am writing about right mind. When I write about teaching, I am writing about right action. I don’t come right out and say it, but the truth is, I’m always writing about the dharma. The benefit, the practice, the use and abuse of the dharma. 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.

There is a base set of principles which serve as the basis for Buddhist study. Actually, there are two sets, the Four Noble Truths and the Noble Eightfold Path. The two are intertwined. 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.

Right View also referred to as Pure Vision, is the first of the Noble Eightfold Path. It is easy to misunderstand what Right View means. Often, I have seen people latch on to Buddhist philosophy and interpret Right View as ‘this [buddhism stuff] is the only correct perspective’. Dismiss that attitude right away. That kind of thinking will only slow you down; audacity is a heavy burden to bear.

Instead, think of Right View as a litmus test of your openness to perceive and the growth that provides. Is what your are seeing the true essence, or has something else provided barrier to a lucid experience?

Let’s bring this to a more tangible example and then I will sum up with some other important stuff about Right View.

I have been living in Vientiane, Laos for some time now. I have many friends who have lived their entire life here. As the capital city of Laos, it is indeed a metropolis complete with municipal buildings, shopping and business districts, street lights (optionally obeyed), and so forth. In comparison with other cities in other countries, it is undeveloped, small and offers very little – or so many visitors may think.

I have met many tourists to Laos whose first stop is Vientiane. 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. I even had one friend tell me ‘get out of there, that city is sh*t!’. What is happening is not that Vientiane is sh*t, it is simply our view is not clear.

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. It is it’s own city with it’s own identity. The same way a traveler to Vancouver would be very disappointed that it is nothing like Miami, a traveler to Vientiane will never be satisfied if they seek any city other than Vientiane. That’s the first part of Right View – don’t expect Paris, France when you get off the buss in Paris, Texas.

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.

Last weekend, I took a little day trip in Vientiane. 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. After speaking with the monk, my companion asked me if I would like to see the poorest section of Vientiane. 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. However, I agreed to go look with the understanding that I am interested in learning more about the city and Laos culture and lifestyles.

We headed down an undeveloped road, breathing dust and getting sprayed with pebbles with each truck roaring past us in the other direction. 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. 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”.

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. 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 Vientiane. It was peaceful and quiet and contemplative. Around the campus were natural holes in the rock slab which collected rainwater and served the monks as washing wells or simple meditation ponds. From some spots, there was an obstructed view of the Mekong River through the trees. 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.

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 Vientiane area. At this wat, there were many unique buddha images, nagas, and various other icons nestled amongst rocks and ponds. Truly a wonderful place for a monk to delve deeply into their studies.

Neither of these two locations are in a guide book. My companion, a lifelong resident of Vientiane, had never heard of these two places. We found these locations by simply hopping on the motorbike and going out into the world. We both agreed that it felt like we were somewhere other than Vientiane, perhaps an island in the Gulf of Siam. Overall, even with the dusty, unkempt road leading to them, the experience was enlightening.

That is the second part of Right View. What I thought I knew about Vientiane two weeks ago is different than what I think today. That difference, that growth in my awareness, came from my (our) ability to suspend what I normally would do in Vientiane so that I might see a different dimension of what I know. 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. 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.

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. Right View is also a matter of sustaining that awareness. It is one thing to stop, temporarily, our judgment & our prejudices. It is another thing to dismiss them permanently. Right View empowers us with the ability to live in each moment without expectation. It allows us to see the world unfolding in it’s beauty and ugliness all around us and be content. It enables us to understand better the inalienable bond we have with the world which is us.

Gin nuai look

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.

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.

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.

Meet Bounsong

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.

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.

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.

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".

The Global Environment

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 the multitude of all things.

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 we feel about our life, our jobs, our neighbors, our country, our enemies, has a profound influence on what we do about our environment. The sum total of our life situation is, in fact, our environment.

Let’s put our feet back down on the ground for a moment.

Back With Bounsong

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.

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.

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.

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.

I’m sorry; you were saying something about what’s coming out of Bounsong's tailpipe?

The Delicate Subject

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.

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.

It comes down to money and priorities. For Bounsong, and for that matter, the entire the world population, 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.

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.

Don Khone Sloth Rocket

 
To say that I am a slow traveler is a gross understatement.  I think the term sloth-like 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.

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 Don Khone – the more serene of the three islands.  As I expected, the island of Don Khone is friendly, laid back and incredibly quiet.

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.

At 3:27am, the roosters do a village check.  Someone close by started it, ‘Is everyone ok?’, 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.

‘Today I arrived. Tomorrow I will leave. Not enough time. Not enough at all’.

I feel like I am a sloth riding on a rocket.

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.

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. 

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.

 

 

"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."

Douglas Adams
English humorist & science fiction novelist (1952 - 2001)

 

Boun Hor Khao Salak

Boun Hor Khao Salak. What is it? Ask an average, young Laos person and unless they have spent time as a monk, there is a small chance they can give much of an explanation. For most, the explanation is simply ‘day we give alms’. This religious holiday, also a worker holiday, comes at the last full moon during Boun Khaophansa, Buddhist Lent. It seems each full moon has a specific importance; last month’s full moon was the day to honor the spirits of the dead; this month, it is to give alms and to make offerings to deceased relatives.

The day starts early. Long before sunrise, throughout the country of Laos, households rise early to make sticky rice (well, our household rose early, failing to finish the task the day before). Sticky rice – khao neow – is possibly the single most ubiquitous item throughout Lao. No household is complete without the tools for making sticky rice. No meal is satisfactory, without at least a few of the sticky little balls. Even in a linguistic sense, the mere name of the holiday Boun Hor Khao Salak includes a reference to khao; rice. However, in this linguistic sense, I believe it refers to ‘harvest’ in general, rather than rice specifically. 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.

A meal or two worth of sticky rice in the basket, we collect everything we need and head off to the Wat (temple). Offerings vary, depending on one’s financial ability. The very poor may only be able to spare a modest basket of rice, some water and a small taper. For Boun Hor Khao Salak, a piece of vegetation also seems to be something everyone has brought. 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.

Those who do not live in abject poverty – a noticeable amount do – will include 1000kip (10¢) notes folded lengthwise as part of their alms. 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. Often, the monks will re-gift these to families in need in the village.

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.

Arriving at Ban Sindha on the outskirts of Vientiane, I am quite nervous. I have never given alms before. I don’t know the process. 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. This type of attire is extremely rare for me and only makes my foreigner-ness stand out more. Much to my relief, a quick glance around the grounds of the Wat assures me I am not overdressed.

The men wear proper long pants, clean, and buttoned shirts. Over their left shoulder, they wear a sash and tie the ends just above the right hip. 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. Around the grounds of the Wat, mats are laid out for people to sit for the ceremony. We take off our shoes and sit just outside the main building – a dismal view of concrete nothing and a 4000 watt loudspeaker.

There is some confusion. We’ve brought a care package but are unsure how to deliver it. My companion knows to write something on a piece of paper, but is not sure what something to write. She calls her sister – her husband tells us she has already left. She is supposed to join us with brother, she should be here soon. 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.

The ceremonies begin with a prayer broadcasted in dull tones through the PA system. I don’t understand a single word of these prayers, but I have come to enjoy them all the same. The first time I heard this type of prayer it was at a Baci ceremony where I was the guest of honor. There seems to be a certain magic in the chanting. At that Baci ceremony, I felt a distinct lightness, a euphoria, washing through, over, around and beneath me. Since then, I always try to allow the power of the chant envelop me instead of frustrating myself with my lack of vocabulary. People have a full conversation during these prayers – it seems perfectly ok.

After the chanting, alms are delivered. There is a long table with 10 baskets. Each basket has a bowl for sticky rice and a bag for candy and cash. First, the elders give alms. These men appear to be like deacons in a Christian church, assisting with the other logistics of the ceremony. After the male elders give alms, the rest of the men in procession pass each of the baskets lined up on a table. I take my place as the last male. I mimic the men in front of me. First, a ball of sticky rice is placed in the basket. Then, a 1000 kip note and a cake or candy is raised to the forehead and then placed into the bag. I get confused. I forget to put rice in one of the baskets. A deacon sets me straight. There is no possibility I will go unnoticed.

The women proceed to give alms in the same way. Then children give alms. There are three of us, myself, a woman and a teenage boy; we share our offering bowl in turns. 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. After the second prayer – or maybe during – the elders collect the alms given and bring them to the main building.

Next, an offering to deceased relatives is made. Smaller balls of sticky rice are offered. 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. We have a little bit more money, so instead of a leaf, we used our shiny offering bowl. It’s silver colored tin. Others have gold colored bowls, also made of tin. I see a woman with a beautiful hardwood carved offering bowl.

We make three small balls of sticky rice and place them on the edge of the bowl. Then, in unison with the other practitioners, we pour water into the bowl. 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. She has a taper; we forgot to bring one. 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.) After this, the group-led part of the ceremony concludes with very little fanfare – a couple of bows.

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. Another silent prayer is made and the water and rice are poured onto the ground or placed on the stupa. Some people have left small tapers burning there.

Then everyone leaves. They leave nonchalant, with barely any expression of relief or fortitude or any other apparent show of emotion. The whole affair seemed to be as mundane to them as washing one’s face in the morning – maybe even less exhilarating. However, wrapped inside of this seeming indifference, there is a casual solemnity, a Sunday morning feeling. Quiet. Placid.

Pulling out of the grounds of the Wat on the motorbike, I ask my companion, “So, today is a worker’s holiday?”

“Yes.”

I check my watch; it’s just before 9 a.m., “So that means all of Laos will be drunk by 11?”

“Mmmmmm,” Mmmmm means ‘yes’ in Lao. To the westerner, it is a non-committal response, but to the Laos, it is as sure as saying yes.

I am under the weather; a nagging chest cold set on by that dastardly air conditioner. Unfortunately, I will have to skip the rest of the celebration and observations of the holiday. During the daytime, I understand, there is some Lao dancing, which no doubt goes well with Beer Lao and whiskey. At night, there is a candle ceremony, which I also regret planning to miss.

In the afternoon, as I convalesce in bed, the phone rings. Bad news. Uncle Won has passed away. I had just met him the day before. He had pneumonia – advanced stages of it. He was a man of medium build, but the months of illness had deteriorated his body to a mere 30 some-odd kilo. His bones poked through his skin like a tortured, starved prisoner. He sat away from the group, knowing his contagion. 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. He smoked a cigarette and went back to bed.

When the news comes, there is a sputter of panic on cell phones. Each brother and sister and aunt and cousin and uncle and brother in law is calling the other with news of his passing. I am home alone. I am useless on the phone. Baw khow jai. I don’t understand. Oddly, I know the word die, but I don’t recognize it out of context.

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. Some more sputters of cell phone calls and the matter is settled; it was a misunderstanding. Uncle Won passed away the night before. Presumably the news was delayed to avoid upsetting the alms giving of the morning. Or more likely, someone just didn’t get around to it. One cousin did not find out until a full day later.

Still under the weather, I ask if it would be a great insult to skip the funeral. 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. They will understand, but there will be plenty of questions about my absence. Even though they know I don’t talk, they seem to like having me around. I think again about Uncle Won’s eyes. 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.

Guava Mouth

Seven score and one week ago, Abraham Lincoln, issued the Emancipation Proclamation. Tomorrow will mark the fifty year anniversary of 9 black students entering the doors of the exclusively white Central High School in Little Rock Arkansas. Over the years, things have become much better in the USA, not only for blacks, but also Asians, Latino and all other ethnic groups. Many people will say racism is a big problem in the US. 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.

As a white man living in Vientiane, Laos, I face a daily barrage of racism. Most of it is petty remarks or assumptions (I’m white hence I filthy rich). While most Laotian people are friendly and welcoming, racism is an inescapable fact of life for whites in Asia. I spend an inordinate amount of time and energy thinking about, dealing with, and deflecting racism.

Last weekend I went to the supermarket to restock my cupboard. This particular supermarket is located at ITECC (Lao International Trade Exhibition and Convention Center) and has a good selection of western and eastern food. 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. Even in my own country, I will often spend a couple hours wandering the aisles of a supermarket during off hours. However, the experience I had last weekend was not as comforting as I had hoped.

About midway through my shopping, two small Laos children unaccompanied by an adult, noticed me. “Falang! Falang!” they yelled. Falang is what they call foreigners in Laos. They made a big production out of my being in the supermarket. Hanging on to my cart, touching everything I had placed there, they continued to shout, ‘Falang’ and other observations their language such as bald, big, big nose and so forth. Everything I touched, they had to touch. And they said things like “Falang likes this” or Falang likes that. The other shoppers chuckled at this – some ignored it. I tolerated their behavior since I can understand that I may be quite different than what they are used to. After about 15 minutes of these two kids pestering me, I finally said, in English, “Ok, enough, time for you to hit the highway.” They disappeared.

Later, I thought about this experience. I thought about how that would go over in my own country. What would happen in an average American supermarket if two white kids followed an Asian around yelling “Asian!, Asian!”. Would the other shoppers chuckle? Would the store manager walk by, blandly amused. Ah, just kids!. I don’t think so. I think if a kid did that in a Southern California supermarket, at best they would be dispatched from the store. 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.

This type experience is not an unusual occurrence, it’s just one example. I try to explain to my Laos friends how, in my 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. 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”. I know this type of thing does happen in the USA, but not anywhere near as frequently as it does in Asia.

I wonder about the source of racism in America, specifically, anti-Asian sentiment. I don’t think I’m going to win any friends with this next remark, but I have to say it. Is it possible that some of the racism Asian-Americans feel comes from their own deeply ingrained racist behaviour?

It’s a slow day for beggars today – five in one hour, 3 repeat visitors. The rich Lao people sitting at the next table are not approached. The beggars only beg from white people.

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: Real Life Thailand - Farang kii nok

Effort, Energy & Diligence

My student is coming along fine. We’re trading English lessons for Lao lessons. We had words the other day about her lackadaisical attitude. “Having words” in the Lao culture entails a slightly raised voice and a stern glare – there is no flailing of arms, no shouting. As much as I try to restrain the cut-throat methods I learned building skyscrapers for Local 59 and again in the brokerage houses of Wall Street, it is a learning experience with which I struggle.

Although my method was a bit more harsh than my student is accustomed, I reminded her of our agreement; I will teach her as long as she is diligent with her studies. She had failed to do any lessons in her workbook and was taking a nonchalant position towards our podcast projects. She was enjoying the business lunches, but not consuming the work with the same gusto. Her effort was dismally lacking.

The 5^th of the 10 Buddhist Perfections is effort, aka diligence, aka energy, aka vigor. Without pulling out the Buddhism card, I was able to impress upon my student the importance of effort. It did not take much convincing. Viriya parami is an innate quality in human beings. However, we also have a tendency to do just the opposite… to be lazy.

In Christianity, one of the ten 10 mortal sins is sloth (specifically it is spiritual slot but I’m taking a slight liberty). My knowledge of Islam, Shinto, Baha’i and the many other world religions is not deep enough to say for sure, but I’m guessing they too have something to say about effort and sloth. Effort on one side, sloth on the other, this is a coin we all toss everyday. We struggle with it sometimes, but mostly, I see an underestimation of how important this choice is.

If we show exertion, energy, nisus – all part of the effort clan – we are saying to the world and to ourselves, “I am worth it. I have value. I am a life worth living.” This is the shine that gets jobs and promotions and happy marriages and a little slack on a bad day.

If we show apathy, neglect, lack of ambition – the kissin’ cousins of sloth – we are saying “Do not care for me, my thoughts or my actions for, certainly, if I do not care for myself, I am of no benefit to you.” These are the faces that get downsized first; they beg for money and offer nothing in return; they sit all day on the couch wondering why they are sad, out of shape and unemployed.

Every single one of us has the tools to turn this coin heads up. It is one of the easiest choices to make. Is could possibly be one of the easiest parami to practice. Practice of effort can have astounding results. My student is now doing fantastic and I am thrilled with her progress. All it took was a little bit of effort.

Virtue

The second of the 10 Buddhist Perfections is virtue, in Pali language it is known as "sila parami". The word virtue always had a rather uptight connotation to me and I prefer the term “proper conduct”. I like to use this term because it goes beyond the stiffness of virtue and avoids the politically charged arena of ‘morality’. Proper conduct seems to fit better, as if it were a friend walking beside me or a useful bottle of mosquito repellant in my pocket. No one really has to know what I have in my pocket. It’s my quiet tranquilizer, that thin sheet of sila I carry in my pocket.

There are times, especially here in Laos, when it would be very easy to abandon my principles for a little immediate gratification. There are plenty of people who earn their living in less than virtuous way. Beyond the big “P” and the big “D” (whatever they may stand for), there are, again, more subtle ways that proper conduct is demonstrated. Walking down the street on a hot afternoon, an old woman is walking towards me on the same sidewalk. It is the only shady part of the street. I step out into the street so that she can continue walking in the shade. It’s a simple act of kindness, respect for elders and gentlemanly behaviour. It’s very easy to do. It’s called proper conduct. I find it quite enjoyable. People around me seem to agree.

So you sow...

Het dii, dai dii. Het sua, dai sua. – If you do good, good will come to you. If you do bad, bad will come to you.

The first of the 10 Buddhist Perfections or Paramis is generosity. Giving of oneself is manifested in many ways. Sometimes it is very obvious, giving alms to a monk, giving a donation to charity, spending time at a school for underprivileged children. Other times, generosity is more subtle; giving space to others in line, smiling at a stranger, giving someone the benefit of the doubt. These more subtle forms of Dãna parami (generosity) meld with the other 9 Perfections. To whichever category you like to assign your intent means very little, so long as you practice selflessness with each moment.

When a person is generous, many other people will find fault. They will say ‘Don’t give them money; it only encourages them to beg’. They will say, ‘why are you so nice to her when you know she is just using you’. They will find fault in just about every kind act you do. But they will not tell you to do the opposite. They will not say ‘you should spit on a beggar and be mean to them’. They will not tell you this because they know it is wrong. People know, deep inside, that generosity is a virtue. They also know how easy it is to get away with being selfish (or so they think). They do it often. And they wonder why they are so unhappy, so poor, so sick, so lonely.

One day, maybe, I will be a rabbit ready to roast myself. In the meantime… Het dii dai dii. Het sua dai sua.