Village People - Life in Rural Myanmar

Delays in posting articles has led to me just skipping some and also not writing others. I think I'm going to abandon trying to maintain any sort of continuity or chronological order. Although we seemingly go through life chronologically, it's largely not how we experience it, as we spend so much time reflecting, and planning, and so little time in the present moment. We jump through time and space like a trigger-happy channel surfer who goes from watching a live news broadcast, to a futuristic sci-fi movie, to the history channel.

Especially for my life at the moment, "living" abroad, but with no place to call home, drifting about aim-fully and only touching down long enough to catch my breath and regain my composure before heading back out into the world, refining my sense of purpose, it just doesn't make sense to be chronological. That being said, as I experience new things, I will probably write about them first, but don't be surprised to see old reflections thrown into the mix.

So before I head out today to another monastery for a week, I wanted to share with you at least some photos from the 4 days I spent in a small rural village, high in the mountains of Myanmar, where the people are living a life largely how they have been for centuries.

What interests me is how should we feel about the inevitable changes these people face, and what do we stand to learn from their way of life?

As much as we want to help these people with things like education, health-care, and having a clean water source, we also want to preserve their culture, something we can use as a model of a people that live a simpler life. But how to do? This is no easy task. I think the one thing is that we can be aware, and we can reserve a special place in our hearts for those peoples of the world that are still living off the land, disconnected from the progress of modern civilization, and living in such a way that in their hearts and homes, they are thriving, happy, and living peacefully.

I am very grateful for having had the opportunity to spend some time in this village, with these people, and I hope to not forget that in the midst of this crazy world, there exists a place within the hearts of all of us that remembers what it's like to live a simple life.

WANT SOME?

Not uncommon to see the young caring for
the extremely young.

At the watering hole. Seemed to be a job they
gave their children. Yes, that's drinking water...

Overlooking the village I stayed in for 3 nights. 

Not exactly camera-shy.

My guide carrying my pack for me in flipflops on
the 3 hour hike back to civilization. A day rate is less than $3,
and I paid this guy $6, so I didn't feel too bad...

Sunrise over valley on the other side of the ridge from
where I was staying.

Me in Myanmar

The monks walking to lunch. They went first, then us (the lay men),
 then the nuns, and finally the lay women. 

Well, today marks my 28th day in this country and that means the end of the allotted duration of stay on my tourist visa. In other words, I am sitting at the airport in Yangon and will soon fly back to Thailand.

Having just left the Mahasi Meditation Center, and excited to return home, it's hard to express the happiness that I am feeling. If I was excited to come here in the first place, I am easily twice as excited to get back to Thailand. I miss it there, it has become a place that feels like home to me, so have been away from home for 4 weeks now, and alone, has been somewhat difficult.

Nuns. 

The past 9 days have been by far the most difficult. Myanmar is known as having one of the strictest disciplines of meditation in the world. Many of the hardcore temples and meditation centers in Thailand are actually taking Myanamar's lead, and most of those temples are also using the Mahasi Method, which was developed by the Venerable Mahasi Sayadaw, who although has been dead longer than I have been alive, has a presence that can be felt all over this country. His centers are also located all over the world, numbering in the hundreds, and he is regarded as one of the most influencial Buddhist meditation masters of the 20th century.

This is how you cook for a monastery.

Unfortunately for me, he also is responsible for developing one of the most intense training regimines that would be conceivable to expect a normal human to be able to endure, and willingly. As to whether I knew exactly what I was getting into is a matter of uncertainty. I recently finished a 21 day course at Wat Chom Tong in Thailand that also uses the Mahasi Method and a similar program, but the expected 10 hours a day at Wat Chom Tong was nothing compared to the schedule of at least 15 here at the Mahasi Center, and in Thailand, they let you sleep 6 hours as opposed to only 4 here.

That being said, the 21 day course was intense, and given that it was a course, it had a beginning and an end. The beginning was easy, starting out with short sittings, and taking breaks in between. Then it gradually eased you into 1 hour increments of sitting and walking, and maintained the 20 minute breaks in between. Around day 15, they started reducing my sleep, and had me take my meals in my room instead of eating at the dining hall with everyone else, and for the last 3 nights, I was not permitted to sleep whatsoever, nor take a shower. I was to practice all day, and all night, for 3 days, while only taking breaks when necessary. But, because it sort of worked its way up to that point, I was able to endure, and although I ended up accidentally falling asleep a few short times during those final 3 days, I managed to endure and mostly stuck to the program.

My only roommate. Every time I came back to my room, I'd play where's frogger.
Sometimes, he proved to be pretty elusive. I wanted to catch him and put him outside
at first, but then I realized he had been there longer than I had. If anyone
was the intruder, it was me...

Here in Yangon, if there is a program, I wasn't aware of it. You just sort of come and go and practice on your own. From the first day to the last, you should be practicing 15 hours a day and only sleeping 4. No one really watches you, with the exception of a monk who will make sure everyone at least wakes up in time for the 4 am group sitting, but other than that, you are on your own. I didn't really know what I was getting into 9 days ago when I arrived at the center, as I hadn't really looked into it much, I just decided to go and showed up.

So I did my best, but I only got in 15 hours on one of the days, and I only reduced my sleep to 4 hours on one of the nights. I started to get lazy by the end and the past few days I have been taking it easy, and not worrying about the schedule so much.

This guy beating against a huge piece of wood was a nice addition to the lunch bell. 

Today, now, I feel incredible. I guess one of the best parts about going to a place like that is leaving. But not only because I'm finally out of there, but because of what happened inside. Because I was able to let go of my initial goal of getting in 100 hours in 9 days and only 7 full days, I think I feel better now than I would have if I had reached my goal. While it is nice to set goals for ourselves, especially healthy ones, we can become attached to them. Sometime, a few days ago, I was finally able to admit that I had become attached to the outcome of my goal and it was just another thing I was reaching for, just another thing to accomplish and latch onto.



Since I met my goal of 200 hours during the 3 week course, I was worried that I might let myself down if I didn't come through this time around. But I'm not disappointed. What I am looking for is freedom, and although meditation practice is helping me find it, I need to constantly check in with my motivations. If I'm just trying to rack up hours, I might as well stay home, because the meditation won't do me any good with that attitude. It can be a difficult thing, to see what drives us to do the things we do, but with observation and a little honesty, we can gain insight into whether it's the heart or that head that is fueling our fire.

This time, I had to stop and refocus. What am I really after here? What is my reason for putting in all this time and effort? It's not just something you can do once and be done with. You have to keep checking in, keep looking in the mirror to make sure you haven't lost your initial wholesome purpose.

Some elder monks eating lunch. The guy on the left was a badass.

So today, I feel light, and I have realized an important lesson. It doesn't matter if I practice a lot or a little, it matters if I cultivate an attitude that will help me learn to let go and not identify with a false sense of self that is created by the ego. Sure, meditation has become the primary focus of my life and my sense of direction in the last 2 or 3 years, but it's not who I am. As long as I remember that, I can keep practicing and moving forward, instead of getting stuck in conquests and concepts, going round in circles in the back eddy of my life-stream. At the moment, I have found my place somewhere in the middle, and that is good enough for me, for now. As for tomorrow, well, that will offer another wonderful opportunity to take a deep look, and see if I've once again lost my balance.


Thanks for listening.

From Inside the Mahasi Meditation Center

Well, here I am, a little more than halfway through my 9 days (7 full) at the Mahasi Meditation Center in Yangon, Myanmar, deciding to pull out the old tablet and type in some thoughts here. Why? Well, I have never gone to such lengths to produce some sort of writing at a retreat or during a course, because usually it is strictly forbidden and I have something invested in being there, but this is different.

During this stay at the center, I could honestly care less if they kicked me out tomorrow or even tonight for that matter. I never really planned to come here, I have nothing invested in it. I suppose it would have been easier to say that the short list of rules and guidelines never mentioned anything about not reading or writing, but I also find it important to indicate my overall attitude at this point which is relevant to the purpose of this work.

First of all, this is not my dream-come-true meditation center. Every night, they play these recordings on cheap speakers all over the monastery, blasting traditional Burmese music mixed in with some non-melodic chanting and various other tracks that make it quite difficult to focus. When I arrived, I had the complete absence of a welcoming. There was no tour (it took me about 3 days to figure out what was where) of the over 100 buildings on what is essentially a meditation campus, I wasn't given any sort of talk, not even the "Information for Foreign Yogis" pamphlet that I saw a Japanese guy with. I was just shown to my room and given the key. The rest I had to figure out for myself, and luckily, my next-door neighbor, a monk from Thailand, has been very helpful to the extent that we have figured out how to communicate with each other.

With the exception of a short bout of water-borne illness on the second night and a near argument with the "teacher," no big deal, he's just the master meditation teacher of the monastery with a PhD in Vipassana Meditation and whose picture can be seen blown up all billboards all over the city, I've had a somewhat uneventful and painstaking first 4.5 days, trying (unsuccessfully) to keep up with the most gruelling schedule I've ever seen, which includes only sleeping from 11pm to 3am and a minimum of 15.5 hours of meditation per day. Needless to say, I've been having a bit of a tough time and even considering leaving.

I planned to spend my 4 weeks in Myanmar traveling around, and it wasn't until halfway through my trip that I had the idea to find a place to sit for the last week or so. It's not that I'm not taking it seriously though. If anything, perhaps I have been taking it too seriously. In a place that seems completely devoid of sympathies for English speaking foreigners and seeing as how I am in the only non-Asian in the men's foreign dormitory, it hasn't been easy, and I've just been a little more on edge than usual. So after I a walked out of my interview with the teacher today,  I finally had an experience that I find is worth sharing.

So what was my experience?

Well, I guess I've really been trying to get this technique down, being that it is essentially the same as the 21 day course at Wat Chom Tong I took in Thailand last month and I have been working with it ever since. Now, with the teachings coming straight from the book by Mahasi, the man with the master method, known world-wide as the Mahasi Method, I have been striving even harder to put the pieces together. It's a tough thing, this striving business, trying to get it just right. If you strive too hard, you won't get anywhere. Not enough, and again, you won't get anywhere. You have find the illusive "middle way," and that isn't always easy. So I came back to my room, after having failed to get my question even acknowledged by the teacher, and picked up Mahasi's "Fundamentals of Vipassana Meditaiton" that is available here for sale at the front office, hoping to get some more insight into this practice of insight meditation.

If anything, I became more frustrated at Mahasi's assumptions about how long the process should take to see certain results, and finding the whole thing to be very results oriented in general, focusing primarily on reaching Nirvana instead of peace and understanding in a more practical sense. I have always been able to trade that far-reaching goal of enlightenment for the practical goal of improving my life one day at a time, but being at this center has made me lose that sense of balance a bit.

That's not me, but I had one just like it.

After reading for a half-hour or so, I put the book down and hesitantly climbed the stairs to sit under my mosquito net on the top deck to get back to work and in the meantime, something happened. When I put the book down, I was disinterested. I was frustrated and myriads of judgements were rolling through the projector onto the big screen of my experience. I wasn't even trying to edit them. I wasn't even trying to practice anymore. On top of that, I had no energy, and no motivation to keep practicing. As my Malaysian friend Dom said at the last course, "My fire was out."

Right about the time when I sat down under my net, the shift occurred. I think it came in the form of an idea. Instead of continuing to practice the way I had been instructed by the teacher, I was going to go my own route. I found his teachings, on account of his limited ability to speak English, somewhat of a broken record, and didn't take in to consideration the situation I had found myself in. Sometimes, it's best to customize the practice in order to address these things. Had I been able to speak Burmese or if his English was better, we probably could have gotten somewhere together, but as it was, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I was feeling a little overwhelmed with the practice, and my concentration in the last couple days has been waning significantly. I needed a change. So I decided to break down the practice into more focused sections that I could analyze. As a whole, the practice is to note the rising and falling of the abdomen until some other element of your direct experience takes the center stage in which time you note whatever that may be before returning to rising and falling.

In Buddhism, the only things you can experience are what comes in through the 5 normal senses and the 6th sense of the mind. With so much stimulation, it can be difficult to not just float around in space and not really get any work done. So the first hour, sitting outside surrounded by constant sounds of insects, birds, music, etc, I chose to single out the experience of hearing. I've practiced this way before, singling out the experience of hearing, but not while also noting that experience every time I heard a noise and not for an entire hour. Basically, I was noting "hearing" almost the entire time, as there was never really a lack of sounds for sensory input.

Inside the air-conditioned meditation hall for foreign yogis.
Okay, so I guess this place wasn't so bad afterall...

I was amazed at how much energy and concentration I had. It was like it came out of nowhere. The whole process was suddenly fun and exciting. Of course, other sensations, such as pain or thoughts would arise, but I was able to quickly name them and return to the experience of hearing. The hour went by pretty quickly and instead of taking a break, I went straight into my second hour and decided to focus only on the rising and falling of the abdomen. Normally, you are instructed to be quite lose with allowing the other sensations to arise during this practice, but for this session, I wanted to really concentrate only on the movement of my belly. Again, I would quickly name other "distractions" and then return immediately to the breath. This time, I went inside, which was much more quiet, and that helped to really single out this different experience. And finally, I went back outside, to focus on sensations in the body. By the end of the third straight hour, and 13th hour of meditation today, I was losing my steam, but still made it through fairly easily.

At the conclusion of each session, I inquired into the my experience as to whether or not I was able to find anything permanent or substantial. The answer was inevitably no, and gaining insight into the impermanent and impersonal nature of arising phenomenon is exactly the purpose of practicing vipassana meditation. When I asked myself, for example, if the thousands of "itching," "tingling," and "pain" sensations that I noted during the mindfulness of body exercise were evidence of anything that represented permanence or my "self," I sort of just had to laugh. "Hopefully not," I thought to myself.

Singling out the different elements of my practice really helped me to understand what it is I am trying to do here, and that is basically developing a trigger finger on the spotlight of awareness, quickly "catching" any arising phenomenon in order to not be swept away by them. It's too easy for a thought, a sound, or a pain in the body to lead to a long drawn out train of thoughts that can last for what seems like an eternity. Being able to catch them, as my friend Bryce did to deer with his headlight while we were camping once in Montana, and say "gotcha," turned out to be pretty rewarding. Tomorrow, I hope to continue practicing in this manner to include an hour of just watching mental phenomenon before I finally put them all together. Seeing just how involved one sense is, it is now no wonder to me why I was feeling overwhelmed while working with them all simultaneously (with the exception of taste and smell, which rarely come into play during a sitting meditation).

I hope that this new sense of curiosity and excitement for what can be a very tedious and boring practice will help to get me through the next 4 days unscathed, but in no way do I expect that to happen. It's going to be tough, here all alone, in silence and solitude, with nothing to face but the harsh reality of my own music. I guess that's why I'm here though, so I might as well be grateful for the opportunity to do so.

On the Road to Mandalay

Although my first bus journey through Myanmar was quite comfortable and the food stop was the best I've ever seen, I noticed that I didn't really have any expectations going into yesterday's second of such trips. It's a good thing too, because had I come to expect the type of comfort and service that I had on the first trip, yesterday would have been a living hell on earth.

When the bus pulled up to my hotel in Nyaung U, which is the small town near the ancient monuments of Bagan that many visitors end up staying in, I thought there was some sort of mistake. "Here we go," I thought, this was the nightmare that I had heard about so many times. I got on what looked more like an overcrowded city bus than a long distance runner. I followed the attendant who was carrying my bag. Hmm, funny he he's not putting it under the bus, I thought. Instead, he was hoisting it over his head, and squeezing past the line of people that were seated on little plastic stools in the aisle. The first thing I noticed was just how many people were on this bus. The second thing I noticed was that I was indeed the only foreigner. Not sure if I had the seat I had been promised, which was fittingly seat #13, I followed the attendant and managed to squeeze past the "aislers" as I'll call them, waiting if the supposed seat would reveal itself.

The thing about aislers is that they tend not to move much as you approach to slide past. They sort of just sit there on their stool, and maybe lean to one side or another ever so slightly. With my smaller bag in hand, and another slung around my shoulder, I had the opportunity to get up close and personal with my new companions right from the get-go. At least, the aislers don't seem to mind when you just sort of stumble your way down the line, crawling over them and oftentimes falling into them. It's hard to tell if they are hating life or not, but I tend to doubt it, because they too, weren't carrying expectations for the trip. In fact, they probably knew all to well what they had signed up for.

So at 3:45, the would-be 8-hour trip had begun. Yes, the bus had air-con, if you could call it that, but it wasn't located directly above my head as you'd normally find, and couldn't hope to fight the blazing hot sun that came blasting through the light-colored-curtain-covered windows. About halfway down the aisle, an overweight middle-aged gentlemen had turned his knees to face the middle and was gesturing with his hand that the tiny crevice between him and the window was my seat. This is another common gesture, which on this bus with essentially no leg-room, meant that I had to crawl over one more body before I could try to plant my butt in the seat. Even my frame couldn't hope to fit in the confines of one of these seats, so the fat guy next to me didn't have a chance either. He didn't seem to mind though, and just sort of slumped his body into the middle of the seat and spilled over into both the aisle and onto me.
He had a friendly demeanor, unlike the little skinny kid that was taking up my space on the first bus ride, and although I had much less space on this bus, I was actually sort of comfortable, almost like I was being hugged by this guys rather soft frame and the edge of the bus. I checked in with my attitude, curious to see the level of my aversion to the newfound situation. Although I wasn't pleased, my mind was soft and cradling the situation just like the man and the window were cradling me. I guess this practice is working, as this could have easily been a low point of my trip. But the thing about any practice is that you must keep practicing, so this, for me, was a wonderful opportunity to do exactly that.

I don't have to be loving every situation in life, that just doesn't make sense; the practice isn't to love everything all the time, it's more about honesty and recognition. It's okay to feel any emotion, any judgment or criticism. Buddhism just tells us that if we let these emotions go unnoticed, they tend to brew in our minds and create suffering. If they can be acknowledged, they are instantly weakened, as we are reminded, "Now I am experiencing unpleasantness, I'm sure it will pass soon." So with this understanding, we can be present with whatever aversion we face, knowing that everything is temporary. Also, if we can break down the experience further, we might not be so overwhelmed by what the mind thinks of the whole thing. So for me in that moment, I was noticing sweat, heat, pressure (from the lack of space), judgment, and anxiety. Without resisting these aspects of my experience, they didn't have the power to ruin my day.

On the single TV at the front of the bus played some Burmese comedy that looked like it was shot in the 70's, though I'm fairly certain it was recent, and was formatted like a never-ending sitcom. I'm not sure how long it was but, as I didn't take to watching it much, but it must have been at least 2 or 3 hours. Either way, it kept the passengers in a good mood and I enjoyed the frequent outbursts of laughter from the elder monk in the row across the aisle from me and my heavy-set friend. My friend was laughing too, but rarely out loud. Instead, he just sort of jiggled, which was given his soft frame, was almost like a mini-massage for me and I came to appreciate it.

2 hours in, we stopped at a small village to pick up some passengers, and I followed the elder monk's lead as he headed for the bathroom and squeezed past the aislers. As we were at an actual bus "station," the bathroom was pretty unsanitary but nothing new, and I was relieved that I had the chance to relieve myself. 4 hours in, we stopped again, and this time for food, so everyone filed off and I didn't have to crawl over anyone. If the food stop on the first bus trip was the Las Vegas of food stops, this was, well I don't even know, this was by far the worst place I've ever seen. It was a straw hut, in which I decided not to eat at for fear of getting sick, and instead once again headed for the bathroom. Luckily, it was just for #1, and when I walked into the dimly-lit outdoor line of home-made urinals swarmed by insects, I just started laughing. Basically, they were just plastic funnels strapped to a wall, or something like that, I tried to keep my distance and could barely see them anyway. If anything, these people are pretty handy with stuff like that.

Now that's a urinal!

At around 10pm, we had our first breakdown, in the middle of nowhere. I filed off to relieve myself again and then took the opportunity to do a little stretching and enjoy the brightness of the star-lit sky. I checked in with my mind again, and noticed that neither was I surprised, nor had I expected this breakdown. At that moment, I remembered back to a thought I had when I first boarded the old beater that went something like, "Maybe we'll make it, maybe we won't." Those are just details. Life is always happening, and we can always practice gratitude and mindfulness in any situation, not just when we arrive safely at our destinations.

We didn't make it, either. Well, I did, and so did the rest of the passengers, but the bus never did, at least as far as I know. That spot in the middle of nowhere wasn't its final resting place though, as after about 30 or 40 minutes, we were fired up again and bouncing down the road a cool 60 km/h. I knew we must be getting close, as I could see a beautiful golden pagoda lit up in the distance, that could only be associated with some sort of living mecca of Buddhism, which is exactly what Mandalay is.

After about 30 more minutes, we either broke down again or maybe the driver just pulled over to fix the bus. This time, one of the attendants was quick to grab a couple tools and throw himself under the bus. As I filed off, I noticed that we were stopped right in front of a little food stand and a friendly looking lady rocking out on the wok, which was full of fried rice and veggies. Pretty hungry, I walked up and pointed to it, and was happy to have a real meal after so long. After I ate, I got back on the bus, deciding I was just going to try to get some sleep and wait it out, but without the engine on, the place had become somewhat of a sweatbox and required everyone to open their windows. What this means, after dusk, is that the bus was now a feeding frenzy zone for hungry mosquitoes, in which I can't kill due to my vow of non-violence.

Already having been bitten several times before I realized this, I regretted keeping my bug spray in my main backpack which was all the way down the aisle, stuffed above the heads of some drowsy back-seat passengers.  At least I could zip the bottom half of my sherpa pants on and try to hug my knees into my chest so I could keep an eye on my feet and ankles, which seem to be a favorite spot for mosquitoes. When they land on me, I wave my hand around, hoping to swirl the air enough to get them to fly away. Either that or I gently brush them off and ask them kindly not to return. It works pretty well too, but the come back, they always come back. The guy sitting next to me, which was actually a new heavy set and friendly gentlemen (the other guy had gotten off mid-way and was quickly replaced), stayed off the bus at the food stand, and so I was able to use the vacant seat next to me to prop up my legs.

After another hour or so, we started moving. Not the bus, but the people. Everyone was grabbing their things and getting off in a hurry. Not sure what was going on, I followed suit. Not only was I the only foreigner on the bus, but there didn't appear to be anyone who could speak English, either. Usually, the driver or attendant can speak pretty well, or if one of the passengers can, they are quick to offer help not only as a friendly gesture but also as a way of showing off. I looked around, trying to make eye contact with some of the passengers, as if to say, "Alright, which one of you can speak English here?" No takers, no surprise. It's going to take a lot more than that to surprise me at this point.

I was the last one off, and saw that everyone had crammed themselves into a people-hauling truck, with two rows of benches facing each other in the bed and a rack on top in which was also full of people and gear. My situation didn't look good, as even the "tailgate," aka a wooden deck that shot off the rear of the truck, was quite full. Also, I wasn't even sure what the plan was, and was basically just standing there with all my stuff until my friendly neighbor from the second half of the journey motioned for me to hop on. The guys standing up on the tailgate, holding onto the bars of the overhead frame, moved over a bit to make room for me, and moments later, we were back on the road to Mandalay.
Without enough space to put my bag down, I was forced to stand for the remainder of the journey with it on my back. I was very grateful that the 35lb bag wasn't a 50 or 60lb bag that some travelers have, because as it was, my knees were already starting to buckle every time we hit a bump. Needless to say, my hands were gripping the bars in front my face so intensely, for fear that I would otherwise fall off, that when we arrived in the city, I practically had to pry them off.

When we came to a stop, a half dozen guys swarmed the truck, as they would in Thailand, eager to get me to agree to take the rest of the way on the back of a motorbike "taxi." Unlike Thailand that equips it's motorbike taxi drivers with colored vests, these guys are basically just a dude and a bike. You have no idea if they are actually taxi drivers by profession or stumbled out of the bar and decided to try to make a few extra bucks on the way home. Or, even worse, if they are looking to take you into some dark alley and rob you.

But the kid was super nice, and when we arrived at my hotel, which I had the lady from my hotel in Yangon book for me 2 months ago when I was still in Thailand, only to find out that the place was full, he drove me all over the city looking for a room. I had originally made the reservation for 6th, 7th, and 8th, but after realizing there was no overnight bus from Nyaung U to Mandalay, I had the lady from Yangon book it for the night of the 5th as well. But she didn't. Actually, it was even her idea, and I reminded her a couple times. But nevertheless, I didn't have a room. At that moment, I was reminded of a thought I had when the bus broke down the first time, that went something like, "Wouldn't be surprised if I got there and they gave the room to someone else, thinking I was a no-show."

So, after about only 12 or 13 full hotels, we finally found one, at what was now probably 1:30 in the morning. The place looked pretty nice, so when the guy said the only room he had was $60/night, I once again wasn't surprised and shelled it out. I was grateful to have a TV with an Indian cable network that was playing Mortal Combat: Annihilation, air-con that actually worked, and a hot shower that was actually hot. Living it up for a night, I guess that's okay, hopefully I don't run out my quickly dwindling stash of cash before the trips over, as there isn't an ATM machine in this entire country!

All in all, in spite of the obstacles I faced, I kept a pretty good attitude and was able to enjoy the adventure of traveling, by bus, on the road to Mandalay.

If I can keep up this practice, of neither expecting, nor not-expecting, the unexpected, I have faith that the rest of my journey will bring adventures, and mis-adventures, that I can also enjoy.

If this sort of sounds like having low expectation, in a way, you are right, but the problem with low expectations is that they prevent you from enjoying life when it is actually good. If you are pessimistic about everything, you can't enjoy when things are favorable, you sort of miss being able to see it. So this attitude that I'm attempting to cultivate is having no-expectations.

What I've noticed is that this is somewhat impossible, as we can't stifle the mind and therefore can't prevent expectations from arising. It's just a matter of being able to recognize when they are at work and acknowledging them. We can do this by simply saying to ourselves, "expectations arising." This can be done at the first stage, before the expected event, and then during the event, which is usually either a "Yep, I was sooo right," or "Wow, this is a surprise!" So for me, on that day, I was able to notice that earlier in the day, I sort of had the idea that it was unwise to expect anything. That came from the the acknowledgement of what in fact was a low-expectation arising. So first I had a low-expectation, and then I acknowledged it, and turned it into a non-expectation.

It's a process, it's a practice, it's something to shoot for, and might even be called a mental flotation device for sticky situations. Whatever it is, it seems to be helping me on this trip, and I'll keep using it.

Back on the beers: Failing to find freedom from the bottle

As I sit down to write this, I am in the middle of my first drink in over 3 months. Well, it's not quite my first drink, I actually had 3 tiny sips of alcohol this morning, on a day trip to Mount Popa in which we stopped to see how local villagers make various products from palm trees, including whiskey and wine. Originally, I set out to quit drinking for the 3 month Buddhist Lent period which has recently ended. Given that 3 months is twice as long as my previous record set last year, I felt that it was big enough of a challenge. But something in me was hoping I could make it longer. Now, having finally  given in, and feeling somewhat guilty, what follows is my confession.

This blog isn't about the triumph of the will, it's the blood and guts of the path to purification. No one said it was going to be easy, and so the struggle continues.

Earlier this year, I had the pleasure of reading "Autobiography of a Yogi," by Yogananda, and remember the part when he tells of how his teacher taught him about non-violence. One day, when he was still a boy, he raised his hand to kill a mosquito that had landed on his arm. Before he struck the mosquito dead, he remembered what his teacher had taught him about not harming any living creatures, and so restrained himself.

His master, having witnessed this restraint, inquired as to why the boy hadn't killed the mosquito. Confused by this, Yogananda reminded him about his teachings of non-violence. His master clarified the teaching, and said that the purpose of non-violence wasn't to stop killing, it was to purify the mind from the desire to harm other living beings. In this way, he said that Yogananda had already killed the mosquito in his mind when he raised his hand to do so. Since the deed had already been committed at the mental level, he might as well go through with it on the physical level.

Having taken a vow of non-violence myself just over 2 years ago, I can relate to this teaching. At first, it was very difficult, as my mind was conditioned to swat and kill any mosquitoes that landed on me. But after time, I have found that the impulse to kill has almost completely vanished, with the exception of a mental breakdown that occurred when I put on a t-shirt that was covered with tiny ants inside, leading to the sudden collapse of my non-violent vows and a tiny ant massacre. But, the point of the vow wasn't to protect the innocent ants from being slaughtered by a surprised shirt-slinger, it was to protect myself from the dangers of responding violently when faced with aversion.

In Buddhism, there is no good or bad, no right or wrong. There is only Kamma (Karma in Sanskrit), which is simply cause-and-effect.

So what kind of effect comes from reacting impulsively with violence toward tiny creatures such as mosquitoes?

Well, one thing about Kamma is that we don't necessarily have the ability to look down the causal chain to see the consequences of our actions. But we can speculate, we can take this into consideration.

In my opinion, I feel that the near absence of my violence toward tiny creatures has also led me to treat my fellow humans more favorably, and that at some level, there is no difference to the way we treat mosquitoes and humans.  If we choose aversion instead of compassion everytime a mosquito, or person, lands on us in the wrong way, we are only making the experience of living harder for ourselves. Buddhist philosophy, and conveniently the more recent findings of quantum physics, tells us that we are one with everything in the universe. The mind, and its perspective, is the only thing that separates us from each other, as well as from a tree, a rock, a grain of sand, and yes, even a mosquito. As it turns out, we are all made up of the same stuff, or lack of stuff, and that matter isn't really solid at all.

Everything we see in our environment is the result of our conditioned material response to an immaterial world. 

But anyway, back to this beer, which is now my third and the purpose of this post. And no, I'm not writing slowly, I'm drinking quickly.

In the Therevada tradition of Buddhism which thrives in many SE Asian countries and Sri Lanka, also known as the "Doctrine of the Elders," a lay-Buddhist, such as myself, is "supposed" to follow 5 precepts. The 5th of which is the vow to refrain from taking intoxicating drinks that lead to heedlessness and a lack of mindfulness. That being said, many Buddhists in these countries consider drinking a national past-time. Again, there is no judge here, there is no guy in the sky condemning the actions of the human race, there is only cause and effect.

It's quite easy to see why drinking would be "discouraged" by the Buddha. The effects that stem from the act of drinking vary, but definitely include "less than desirable" outcomes. It makes people do stupid things, and by people, I mostly mean myself.

So why am I drinking?

No, I didn't think back to the Yogananda story and give myself the green light. I only thought of that story after I was halfway through my first beer and ran next door to grab my tablet and bluetooth keyboard on which I could share these mental formulations with whoever was interested (or bored) enough to read them.

The past 3 months have been relatively easy to refrain from breaking the 5th precept of not drinking compared to the last 3 days. Sure, I have had thoughts, and maybe even fantasies, about going back to the bottle, but for the most part, they came and went quickly and only resided on the surface level of my experience. The past few days, on other hand, have been somewhat of a different story. It's like it's been in my blood, and even though I have managed to sit through some serious cravings, and even somewhat of a mental breakdown two nights ago in which I thought I was coming down with food poisoning but only turned out to be something of a withdrawal, I practiced restraint.

It's not just that I have been feeling weak and lonely, now one week into my solo-journey through Myanmar, which I have, but I have also, at times, been feeling very grounded and strong. But everything is temporary, including strength, and what follows strength is weakness. Back and forth the pendulum swings. Sometimes, I sit in the middle, only watching. Sometimes, I am blindfolded, and along for the ride.

So is it bad that I'm drinking? No, there's nothing intrinsically wrong with lifting a glass of beer to the lips and drinking it down, nor is there anything intrinsically wrong with the "less than desirable" outcomes that tend to follow. But here I am. This is what I am experiencing, and this is a lack of my strength manifesting in this very moment. And to be honest with you (and myself), it feels pretty good.

No, I'm not better than anyone. Do I desire a life free from alcohol? Yes. But I'm not there, and I'm being honest with myself about how much control (or lack thereof) I have over worldly attachments and desires. As Steve Armstrong, a meditation teacher that I had the privilege of sitting on retreat with a year ago said, "Just do the best you can, and let that be good enough." If I am getting good at one aspect of the practice, that is it, "I'm just gonna let it all be good enough." That doesn't mean I'm being lazy, that doesn't mean I'm not putting in the hours. It just means that I am realistic about how long it takes for progress to be made. Our thoughts, actions, and desires stem from everything we've ever done leading up to any given point. They are all stored somewhere in our sub-conscious. Thinking that you can undo them in an instant would be like the conductor of a train suddenly deciding he didn't want to go to the way of the tracks and trying to turn off and follow a different path. Can you say train-wreck?

If you want to take a different path, you must first lay new tracks. 

What I mean by that is that whatever you are conditioned to do will likely repeat itself unless you do the hard work of creating new conditions for yourself. If you are a heroin-addict, and you just try to walk away without changing anything in your life, you will probably be sadly mistaken. It's just not that easy, and it's not healthy. We need to take gradual steps toward improving our lives. The addict needs help, not denial. Maybe a support group or new friends. A new lifestyle. Medication and a doctor or therapist might be required. It depends on the person. And it depends on the change. If you want to have big muscles, and you go to the gym once and work-out super intensely, expecting that by the time you leave the gym you will have big muscles, you are mistaken. It's going to take time. It's going to take hard work.

So now that I have broken a streak that I was so proud of, that I held dear to my heart, I will now take the opportunity to practice compassion for myself, by realizing that I, as well as everyone else, is just doing the best they can with that they have. Someday, with continued practice, discipline, and perseverance, I hope to put the bottle down and walk away for good. But that day hasn't come, and so I sit, and so I drink.

In no way do I mean to justify my actions. I am sure tomorrow I will regret this "decision," or "reality," that I find myself in. But sometimes, I need to fall over before I can pick myself up again. Having been standing tall, I found myself teetering, barely finding the footing to keep myself up. Now, I have taken what little was left of the ground I was standing on, and am prepared to deal with the consequences of my actions. Maybe it's the association of drinking that I have with traveling. Maybe it's the build up of over 3 months of restraint. Maybe it's the loneliness of finding myself all alone in a 3rd world country. It doesn't really matter.

The truth is, I have yet to purify my mind from my desire to drink. I'm getting closer, and I believe it to be possible, but the rise to purity of speech and action is not just a decision, it's the result of hard work, determination, and what could be years and years of practice. And, as Yogananda's master explained, action exists in the mind before it is carried out by the hand. In my mind, I had already lost the battle. The decision to cave was just a way of admitting that I was, and am in fact, defeated.

Thanks for listening, it's been a pleasure sharing these beers with you.

Doing vs. Experiencing: Not just checking off the "list"

When I first arrived at my hotel here in Bagan, I met a friendly older British man who struck up a conversation, and when I mentioned I intended to stay 3 nights, he responded with the opinion of "That's too long, you can see the temples in a day, then what will you do?"

Now, I've stayed 2 nights, and am already regretting the fact that I didn't plan to stay for longer. I have found this attitude to be common amongst a certain type of travelers, the type that I like to call "list-checkers." They tend to go to a place, especially the popular destinations, see the sights, check it off the list, and move on. It's not that I am confused about what he meant when he said you can "see" the temples in a day, it's just that I didn't come here to see them, I came for an unforgettable experience.

So what's the difference?

If I came for an unforgettable experience, I got a life- changing one. I could easily stay in this place for another week, or even a month, and I wouldn't get bored. As I was meditating in the dark, cool cavern at the end of the tunnel in the cave monastery yesterday morning, I came to realize this point first-hand. Over the course of the hour I sat in silence, there were several tourist groups that came through, being led by a local tour guide, and as soon as they would enter the cave, I could not only hear them, but I could feel their presence. Here I was, sitting peacefully, and they would sort of bust in, talking loudly and carrying a sort of frantic, list-checking attitude. They probably spend a full day going to as many places as possible, asking a million questions, and catching an ear full of historical facts along the way.

It's not that I disagree with this method of visiting these ancient monuments, in fact, I found myself listening in to one of the guides, as she related the interesting history of a place that I was now meditating in for the second day in a row. I felt that I had already connected with the energies of this place, and could feel its history, so hearing the details of the history had actual meaning for me. It was funny too, because the cavern I was sitting in is sort of the "special spot" at the end of the tunnel, and so the tour guides would save it for last. The entire time the tourists were in there chatting it up, they had no idea that they were visitors, and that there was already someone using the space for its initial purpose.

Their experience would go something like this, "And finally, you will notice this room here, intended for meditation." They would say these words right as they would shine their flashlight into the cavern to reveal something unexpected, and probably a little startling, which was me sitting there quietly in the dark. The light of their flashlights would reflect off the glass-enclosed Buddha shrine in front of me and the glare would beam through my closed eyelids. But at least I knew it was coming, as I could hear them getting closer and closer. As for them, I wouldn't be surprised if their heart skipped a beat or two.

Sometimes I'd hear them make a noise, that little gasping sound you make when you realize you're not alone. And then the tour guide would say something like, "Oh and there you go, there is someone meditating in there now, let's go this way." The tourists seemed to be in families, as I could hear children's voices, often in French or some other European language that I don't understand. The children, having been carrying their normal (loud) voices the entire time, would be stifled by a courteous parent, whispering something to them about how they should be quiet so as to not disturb me. Friendly gesture, I thought, but a little late at this point, as I already heard everything you've blurted out in the past 5 minutes.

Either way, it's a good thing I'm practicing Vipassana, and can use the direct experience of hearing your vocal outbursts as the object of my meditation, attempting to stay with the sensory input of "hearing, hearing, hearing," and not getting wrapped up in the content of what you were saying. I say "attempting," because if the conversation is in English, it's very difficult to not follow the dialog.

When the mind gets caught up in the content of sensory input, be it a sound, a thought, or pain the body, it often follows by chiming in with its two-cents of judgment. For me in this situation of listening to the list-checkers, I found myself both annoyed by the disturbance and at other times interested in the content what was being said.

The practice at this point is not to block the judgment from arising, this just creates tension in the mind, but rather welcome all experience to arise, and then simply acknowledge that it's there. So when judgment is arising, a simple mental noting of "judgment arising" helps to keep the practitioner from being lost in the judgments.

What tends to happen though, is that the mind will circularly judge by not only judging the unknowing visitors, but then itself for being so judgmental. If gone on unnoticed, this can be a vicious cycle, and so by gently reminding yourself that judgment is arising, and acting with compassion toward those who you have judged and yourself, you can give the arisen phenomenon of judgment the space for it to pass away. It's only when we grab onto it that it becomes strong, so if you can be aware that it's at work and let go if it, it will pass. Once it has passed, you can return your attention to the experience of hearing, or any other object of your direct experience, such as breathing, pain, thinking, etc.

Judgment comes in all flavors, not just negative ones, so the practitioner must also keep an eye out for the judgment of praise. "Wow, look at me, I was able to shine the light of awareness on judgment and stop it in its tracks." The mind is still judging here, so if this happens, again, you just note "judgment arising" and continue observing your direct experience.

This is such a tricky area to not get wrapped up in. Just keep noticing your experience by the most basic elements of hearing, judging, or thinking. Continue to return to these experiences gently, and you can get a feel for this interplay between observation and judgment, which can frequently be played off by the mind as being one and the same. They aren't though, one follows the other. Observation happens, and then judgment. Again, you don't need to try too hard to prevent anything from happening.

Nothing is supposed to be happening. 

Just do your best and keep it nice and light. When you can't escape the cycle of judgment, just being able to laugh at yourself is a great way to take a step back from everything. You don't have to be doing a "good" job. Just doing your best is enough.

When we take the time and are wiling to observe with honesty, humility, and kindness, there are so many things, in every little moment, that are available to help wake up from being led around unconsciously by the mind and its judgment. When I went into the cave, I went looking for a peaceful place to get away from everything, but life came to me, it always does. My little bubble of peace was bursted by list-checkers and I was granted the wonderful opportunity to be able to deal with a much deeper issue of judgment that I didn't expect to run into.

If we are open and receptive, we find these deep-seated issues are always at work in our lives, below the surface, behind the scenes. It's only when we bump into them, or are willing to see them, that we even know they are there. We can do some important work for ourselves, which will in turn help us treat others more compassionately and lovingly, by being willing to see them and not just waiting for traumatic events to rattle the cage. Judgment is always at work, in response to things little and big, so if we can notice when the experience of judgment arises by simply noting it as such, we are closer to not allowing it to run our lives and being free, in the moment, and at peace with ourselves and our surroundings.

If you take your time while traveling or even in everyday life, really settling in to the subtle details, the moods, and flavors of this experience we have of being alive, you become aware that so much more is happening from moment-to-moment than you would have noticed had you just been charging through.

As for the magical place of Bagan, I believe the purpose for these massive structures to be built in the first place was to really have a profound effect on the observer. Were they built in vain? Were they built for us to take beautiful pictures and then go home?

I certainly hope not. The one who has the opportunity to witness such a vast and magnificent collection of pagodas and monasteries also has the opportunity to be fully moved by them. But to be fully moved by something, a movie, a song, a book, anything, we have to be open and receptive and not stuck in our minds. Think about it, when you are watching a movie that deeply touches your heart, it is like you are really there. You aren't caught up in thinking and judging. That is one reason why we enjoy the experience of watching movies or other forms of entertainment, it allows us a much needed break from the incessant thoughts of our minds. But with the practice of mindfulness, we find that catching a break from the mind is possible in every moment, not just when turn on the TV or open a book.

So in the last two days of biking around, going from one monument to another, I've been trying to balance the internal desire to soak up as much from one place as possible and the realization that there are so many to see. "I wish I had more time," is the thought I keep catching myself repeating.

Sitting in that cave, the pace really became the obvious difference. There I was motionless, inside and out, and they would come barging in, take a few pictures, and out they went, on to the next stop of the tour. Of course, when you decide to take a tour, you don't have much of a choice as to do anything different. The tour would be great too, and if I had a month here, I'd do one too, on the last day. But first, I'd go spend entire days in some of my favorite spots, or even sleep at the foot of a 40' Buddha statue.

If the builders of these great monuments wanted to leave something behind, something that would still be standing over a thousand years later, what were they trying to tell us? Was it merely a display of power and prestige, or is there something more?

To me, this is a wonderful chance to connect with Buddhism. The austerity, the peace within the nobility and great power that comes from the practice of observing the mind. In my journey, I can never see too many Buddha's, and can never bow too many times to that sacred idea that anyone, with the right attitude and courage to go within, can overcome all those little things that make us weak, all those little needs and desires and judgments that perpetuate suffering in our lives. What an image, so profound, so deep, so inspiring.

Walking into one of the biggest temples yesterday, my whole body began to shake. I was nearly brought to tears and could barely walk. If the builders did in fact intend to send a message to those that would come after, I was surely receiving that message, loud and clear.

"Humble yourself, to the great power that one individual has to change the course of history forever, and when you are brought to your knees, shaken to the very core, pick yourself up, and follow in his footsteps."

Luckily, he laid out those footsteps in great detail and clarity, and for the rest of it, well, I guess that's up to us.

Bombs over Bagan, Burma

I'm peddling my little heart out, trying to make it home before the night sky turns to black. From behind me, I hear a sound so loud and choppy it could only be coming from a helicopter. I have flashbacks of my two tours in Vietnam before I realize I'm only 27. I look behind me, At first glance, I see nothing. Second glance, I make out a black steal machine, hot on my tail with no headlights, and honking at me. I'm already on the sandy shoulder of the road, trying to stay upright as the sand gets deeper and attempts to throw me from the old rickety bike I've rented from my hotel.
The machine is barreling down on me at a rate of speed just barely faster than mine. I'm at top speed, and am fairly certain this hunk of junk is too, so we race it out. I don't want to give up my speed now, as I'm climbing a gentle slope and it can be impossible to regain speed in this sand once it's lost.

A car door opens, the passenger jumps into the street without looking. I swerve and barely avoid running him over, just as what turns out to be some sort of homemade tricycle car that looks like something you'd find in a 1920's museum has gained speed and is passing me. He doesn't give me more than a foot or two of leeway, even though the far side of the street is free from traffic. I see my lane, and take it. Just enough room to fit between the less-than-cautious pedestrian and the tricycle chopper.

Moments later, a car pulls out in front of me. Right out in front of me. And he's going slow. Really slow. My bright yellow shirt tells me that it's not a case of ignorance, but rather an ill-timed maneuver. I am fully confident there was no haste in the decision, if you could call it a decision, but nevertheless, my impulsive reaction is to silently curse the driver, or was that out loud? Impulse and reaction noted.

He's going so slow that even though I'm going uphill, I can easily pass him, but what side to choose? In a split-second, I decide to go left, around the outside, and hope that he doesn't decide to pull out all the way. He doesn't, and instead, just completely takes up the shoulder at a steady 3 mph while I zip past him thinking, "Really?"

A group of monks cross the road, I know they see me, but they too are just "going for it." I give a little tap to my break, unsure of my next move. I think I have too much speed to go behind them on the left, and I know I can't trust the sorry excuse for a brake that came equipped on this vintage cruiser, so I decide to sneak-by on the right and nearly collide with the leader of the pack.

I guess that's the price you pay to get that view of the pagodas at sunset 4 miles from town. It's a small price too, as long as you can avoid the treacherous terrain and unweilding  drivers. "It's all part of the adventure," I keep telling myself.

It's easy to lose faith in humanity when you are out there almost getting run over by them in traffic, but as soon as I make it back to my guest house, I am reminded of their sincere and genuine kindness. There's just something about driving that makes you wonder sometimes. I guess the idea of common courtesy isn't extended to the world of transportation over here.

Well, in a way, it is, as the custom is to give a little "beep beep beep" of the horn everytime you are about to pass someone. They actually use the horn for a friendly means of communicating with each other, where as in the states, it's usually closer to a "F-you buddy! I'll follow you home and kill your whole family!" It's a dichotomy, it is, to live in world where someone will give you a friendly notice before they almost run you over and take your life.

The day didn't start out so harrowing though. My first move, after taking a nap to make up for the 4:30 am arrival and 8:00 am check-in, was to track down this cave monastery that I guy I met in Yangon had told me about. He said you could go down there and expect to find a cool and quiet place to meditate, away from any traffic and the blistering heat of the day. So I asked the guy behind the counter at my guest house if he knew where such a place was, and as it turns out, it was just a 20 minute bike-ride away. So I packed some things for the afternoon and set off, with a map in hand and only a general idea of where I was starting from. After a few wrong turns and some help from more-than-willing locals, I was pointed in the right direction and on my way.

When I arrived, my location was confirmed by a sign that read "Nanda Mannya Cave Grotto Kyat Kan Monastery." A monk, and a territorial dog, greeted me when I pulled my bike into the monastery, and when I made a gesture with my hands for meditation, he pointed me to the entrance of the cave. There were three entrances, and I didn't know which one to choose, so I started with the one of the left, only to find a monk catching a nap on a bamboo cot. I backed out slowly, and took the one on the far right. I wasn't sure where they led, or if the initial corridor I was looking at was the extent of them.

It was dark in there, and I was glad I thought to bring my flashlight. As it turns out, the corridor with the sleeping monk led into another one and I took that down until it opened up into another room. The batteries in my flashlight were going out, and so I stopped to put the fresh ones in that I had just purchased. I found a straw mat on the floor and was preparing to sit for meditation right there until I turned around and saw yet another corridor leading behind me. I took that one, and found that it branched out into three more tunnels that all led to the outside world on the other side, and also contained rooms with cots and more channels that connected back up in the end.

Three entrances to the tunnels.

I was quite surprised to see the layout of the tunnels, and was happy to find that I was the only one down there, except of course, for the sleeping monk. I explored the layout a bit before I discovered a couple doorways that were padlocked and one final room, which turned out to be the one I was looking for, the shrine room. It had a glass case with Buddha-images inside, and a straw mat in front in which one could sit on. Perfect.

So I sat for an hour. My mind was so still and clear, and the only sounds I could hear were the echoes of birds chirping above the surface. Since I had arrived early in the morning and took a nap before heading out, I had gotten a late start and only had time to see a few temples after the meditation I was losing sunlight. I decided to take to the highest point around, the look-out tower that I had already briefly visited. The entrance fee of $5 was good for the whole day, and the guy who took me up the 11 floors in the elevator, and one final floor by stairs to the rooftop, had suggested I come back for sunset, and I'm glad I did, because what a cool way to see the valley in which I would spend the next 3 days exploring!

I had some nice pictures to go along with this, but the internet connection here is brutally slow and I've already worn out somewhere between 3 and 5 hours trying every means possible just to get one photo posted. I guess when I get back to the "real world," aka Thailand, I'll have to post a bunch of pics from this trip.

A reflection on writing this blog

I'd like to take a moment to reflect here on the process of writing this blog, as this is a new endeavor for me, and I find the practice interesting. By practice, I mean the reflection of my experience in terms of not just what has expired, but also what I stand to learn from such happenings. Not only that, but it takes a bit of time to produce such writings, and given that I'm fighting off a severe bout of laziness here, it's not always on the top of my list of things to do.

The writing process itself isn't too time consuming. If you haven't noticed, my writing style is much closer to stream-of-consciousness than carefully crafted articles. If I catch myself thinking too much about what I should write, I just stop and try again on another day. Usually, I am compelled to write, as this is one way I am sharing my life with others in a place where I am, on the practical level, all alone. Essentially, I am never alone, and only my mind separates me from the rest of creation, but the fact remains, I have 28 days as a solo-traveler.

It's usually the nit-picky details that take a while, especially in Myanmar where the internet is shaky and unreliable, and any sort of photo uploading can take so long that it just becomes easier to give up. And then comes the process of editing. I write pretty fast, so errors are abundant and sometimes when I go back to read what I've written, there are parts that don't make any sense.

Additionally, having started this blog, and my journeys, I am reminded of this on occasion throughout the day and a sort of self-awareness that stems from this. What I mean by that is the dreadful yet sometimes helpful experience of thinking "What will I write about this?" Since the purpose of this blog is to write about my journey within, Buddhism, and meditation, the frequency of such self-reflective pondering into the content of my future writings can seem like torture.

Especially when I was on retreat last month for 3 weeks, it was enough to make me want to quit writing. In fact, I had been putting off writing for that very reason. In Buddhism, we want to be aware of the present moment as much as possible. So when you embark on a endeavor that you know very well will bring more thoughts into your reality, the tendency is to avoid the endeavor altogether. But then I realized, I'm not here to make things easier for myself. I'm here to challenge myself and see whether or not I fail. And if I fail, I'm here to pick myself up and try again, and again, and again. This isn't about perfection, it's about observation and honesty. It's about taking a look at myself and having the courage to not only accept what is happening, but also to share it with others who are interested (or bored) enough to read it.

Nothing is outside of the Dhamma. What that means is that the principles of Buddhist meditation aren't limited to the experience of sitting cross-legged and with the eyes closed. Quite the contrary, every moment of everyday is what this whole thing is all about. In some practices, meditation is something that is somewhat of an escape from reality. And the more I open myself up to the world about my undying love for meditation, the more I come across this perspective.

In Vipassana, or Insight meditation, the purpose is to bring mindfulness into every aspect of waking life, and for the more advanced practitioners (not me), even into the sleeping life. So the advanced Vipassana meditator practices 24/7. Does this mean they hide in a cave somewhere, away from the problems of the world? No. Well, maybe they do, especially for some amount of time, but then they re-enter the world, stronger and with more clarity, ready to face the challenges of the world and to offer that strength and clarity for the benefit of others.

So as my practice deepens, I am find myself being reminded more and more of the lack of separation between "daily life" and "meditation." Today, when I had a motorbike taxi driver take me to a nearby temple to sit for an hour, after having tried to practice mindfulness beforehand, I was reminded of this point. As I sat down and closed my eyes, I realized that the intention remained the same, and besides removing the distractions of busy Mandalay streets, nothing had changed. I didn't "go into" meditation. I was already practicing, albeit somewhat poorly. But my meditation is often poor when I sit down, cross my legs, and close my eyes, just like it is often poor when I am on the back of the motorbike taxi zipping through intersections without stoplights and traffic rules.

Yes, having the experience of "what am I going to write about this?" can be very annoying, and sort of destroying the validity of the process of stream-of-consciousness writing. When the mind brews over something, it takes the spontaneity away from it. Although this writing style of carefully planned words has it's place and can be quite beneficial, it's generally not my intention and my personal opinion is that it's not very enjoyable (to write). I find when I sit down and blurt out a page (or 5) without hardly having to blink, I not only relate to the content more but I also feel the process to be more therapeutic.

Take this writing for example, I didn't sit down to write this, I sat down to jump through the boring hoops of uploading some photos for and edit a previously written blog from about 5 days ago, but then I had one one thought, and I opened the word processor on my tablet and began blasting away. Sure, like Seinfeld, perhaps my favorite show of all time, this article is about "nothing." But on the other hand, there is something here, and I think, or feel I guess, that it's worth sharing, or at least worth writing for my sake.

And as to my inquiry into the usefulness of writing about such matters of traveling and Dhamma, versus the seemingly unavoidable and sometimes annoying aspects that sort of take you out of the moment and project the mind into the future of "What will I write about this experience," I offer no solution.

Instead, I remind myself that this is nothing but a practice and try to stay present, even if that means I am noting the experience of "annoyance arising" while I'm meditating and a waterfall of ideas for my blog is rushing through my mind. Like I said, I accept the challenge, and although I continue to question to validity of this blog's intention and success rate of keeping me in the moment, the writings continue...

A bus, a breakdown, and a bathroom in Burma...

You know, I've heard nothing but terrible things about trying to take long-distance bus rides in Myanmar, but I must say, after my first such attempt, I am more than impressed. With the exception of the young guy sitting next to me who didn't understand the concept of "personal space" and kept spilling over into mine, and a 2:30am breakdown, it was possibly one of the better bus experiences I've ever had.

The bus "station" in Yangon. 

When I arrived at the bus "station" in Yangon, I couldn't helped to be overwhelmed by what was more like a neighborhood of long rows of private companies and a lack of a central building or ticketing area that would connect them. The area was huge, and it made me thankful that I already had my ticket in hand and a taxi driver who knew right where to take me. I can only imagine the nightmare that would ensue for one who got dropped off there without a ticket. There are probably dozens of companies going to the same destination, but the quality of the service and the buses vary greatly. On my bus, which was fairly old, we were given pillows, a large bottle of water, and a little package  containing a toothbrush and a towelette. Not bad for the 3rd world, and definitely better than the lack of service you come to expect in the states if you have ever had the misfortune of relying on Greyhound.

But what I can really appreciate is the way you are treated in this country before boarding and after getting off. In Thailand, the "swarm" is very common. What I mean by that is that whenever you enter or exit an area that is heavily guarded by locals trying to get your business, they get in your face and are all competing for your business. They will tell you just about anything to get you to go with their company, or take their taxi, or even let them carry your bags. I remember when I first arrived in Bangkok about 2.5 years ago, my friend Tracy and I got off the bus from Thailand's largest island, Phuket, where we had been training to be English teachers, and I told the guy who carried our bags "thanks" when they were loaded up in the cab.

He wasn't looking for a thanks though, he was looking for money. But he never asked if I wanted him to carry my bags for me, because if he did, I would have said, "No thanks, I can get them by myself." So that's just the style in Thailand, swoop in and pick up your bags and then expect to be paid for a service that was provided but never quite warranted. So when I first got to my hotel in Yangon, I sort of flinched when the young guys who were working there ran up to grab our bags after an old beater bus picked us up from the airport. But they just do it to offer a nice service, and in no way are you supposed to tip them, at least from what I could tell.

And it happened again, at the bus station, the guys ran up to the taxi and took my bag to put it under the bus. It's like they won't let you touch them, and it's all done with a bright smile on their faces. Happy to help, they are, and without wanting anything in return.

It is so relaxed here that it makes me feel quite at home. Yes, Yangon is a step or two down from Bangkok, in terms of the quality of living, cleanliness, etc, but there is a certain charm to it that I haven't seen elsewhere. The other night, while walking down a rather tight road lined with block after block of 7-8 story apartment buildings, I noticed how many people were sort of sitting or standing on their balconies, either interacting with each other or just visually engaged in the happenings of the neighborhood. The apartment buildings are pushed so close to the sidewalk that people were having conversations from 5 or 6 floors up with people across on the street on a 3rd or 4th floor. It just had such a warm community feeling, and on top of that, the children love to yell out "hello!" as you walk past.

So when I arrived in Nyaung U this morning at 4:30 am, there was half a dozen guys waiting at the bus station and offering rides by various means of transport (horse and buggy, tricycle rickshaw) to get people to their hotels. What I have come to expect is that these guys will swarm your face the second you take a step off the bus, which is quite a way to be greeted while arriving in a new town at that hour, but to my surprise, that was not the case at all. One guy helped to dig my bag out from under a couple others, and then I sort of stood off to the side for a minute or two before being nonchalantly approached by one guy first, and then another a minute later.

"Where are you staying?" was the question in somewhat decipherable English. The tone and attitude of the guys was so relaxed and quiet, I half expected they were going to try to sell me drugs instead of offer me a lift into town. "Maykhalar," I responded, "do you know?" "Yes, yes, do you have a reservation?" "Yes, I have already," I informed them in my broken yet understandable English. When I asked them how far it was, they actually told me the truth, saying the town was only 700 meters away and that I could walk to my guest house in 15 minutes. Wow, that is amazing, usually a tuk-tuk driver in Thailand would say anything but that in order to get your business.

2:30 am breakdown. Inside the open compartment is a "mechanic,"
aka a handy passenger who ended up fixing our bus. 

Now I don't want to make Thailand sound like a bad place to travel, but in my opinion, it's better to live there than to travel there. Living there, you get to know the ropes, and you can sort of maneuver your way through the country while minimizing your dependency on scammers and swarmers. Okay, there are many seasoned backpackers out there that seem to be able to do this also, but for me, it took learning the language and culture a bit before I felt like I was empowered.

It's not that Thai people aren't as friendly as the Burmese. I'd say it's just that the tourism industry is so large and has grown so fast, that we (travelers) are actually breeding scammers and swarmers that were never there before, due to the amount of money there is to be made off of us and the relative ignorance of the typical visitor. When you see travelers biting the hook from these guys so easily, it's no wonder that they are out there fishing for us.

Anyway, back to my bus trip. Another thing I have come to except when taking these long bus trips in SE Asia is that the bathrooms at the scheduled stopping points can easily be a low point of your trip or maybe even your whole life, depending on how prepared you are (toilet paper/hand sanitizer ), and if you are a woman or going #2, your ability to squat down and hit a toilet that is more like a hole in the floor, all without touching anything! In most of those bathrooms, you can forget about the possibility of there being soap, toilet paper, or even the more common "bum gun," which is somewhat of a garden hose that is a substitute for toilet paper.

So when we pulled up at our scheduled food stop at 9:30 last night, I stumbled off the bus and was surprised to see what was essentially the Las Vegas of bus stops. There were many bright lights and a line of different establishments, some being hotels with restaurants, some being restaurants, and some being more like huge food-courts. All in all, you could probably have close to a thousand people eating in this place at one time. Not knowing where I should go, and still undecided as to whether or not I was even hungry after eating bag of  cashews that I figured would be a safer bet than relying on a grimy, dimly lit food stand that I've seen so many times, I just walked in a straight line toward the madness. Had I known I was arriving in the mecca of bus stop food centers, I would have saved those tasty (and local) cashews for later!

But I had another issue brewing in my mind, or in my belly more accurately, so I decided to scope out the dreaded bathroom situation. "Oh man, are you really going to do this here, now?" I asked myself. But I didn't see any other option, I was already past due and from what I had been told, I still had another 9 hours until I reached my destination.

I still wasn't quite ready to face my music though, so I decided it best to test out the urinal side of the establishment beforehand. I must say, looking down to an actual urinal instead of a nasty trough, and reading the words "American Standard," really offered a glimpse of hope to my shaky situation. When I was leaving, I was further impressed by a mirror that you could actually see yourself in and a multitude of soap dispensers that were fully loaded. Okay, I thought, it doesn't get any better than this, time to roll the dice a little. Still weary,  my lack of confidence was once again stifled by a startling discovery of a flushing toilet equipped with a bum-gun and toilet paper! Not only a rare siting in this part of the world; it was the first time I've seen such a wonderful sight. Still in what I consider to be a squatting zone (I try to make contact with as few toilet seats as possible) I was finally able to take care of business.

Not knowing how much time had expired, I hurried back to the parking lot feeling a lot more confident about my ability to survive the remainder of the journey, only to find that the parking lot, which was practically empty when I got off the bus, now contained 40 or 50 similar looking buses, one after the other in a huge row. Yep, failed to ever really get a good look at the bus I was on, and exactly where it was parked, so this could have been a bad situation. Also, I was sort of half asleep when we pulled up, and wasn't sure if I was still dreaming when I thought I heard the conductor yell "30 minutes!" I scoured the lot, up and down, trusting a faint memory that was now seeming all so distant, but my bus was nowhere to be found.

Obviously, the initial reaction is "Wow, sweet, they already left, good thing I have my passport, all my money, my new Nexus 7 tablet, and am in a super safe place with a lifetime supply of food and water." Okay, that's a lie, that was more like the reassurance that came after the initial freak-out of "Oh my God, what the hell am I gonna do?!"

I kept looking, now doubling and tripling back in what was quickly becoming a frenzy, and then I saw something. Through a narrow gap between two buses, there was was something there, something that I didn't know was even possible. Sure enough, there was a second row of buses! I busted through the gap and scanned the row, which only contained 5 or 6 buses compared to the mega-fleet that had blocked my view in the front row. I quickly spotted another foreigner in a sleeveless muscle T-shirt that I recognized as being one of the few other foreigners sharing the journey with me, and my troubles were over. Folks were just starting to board again, and I filed in line, and returned to my seat, more than happy to see if I could get back into that dreamspace that was interrupted by what indeed was the conductor yelling "30 minutes!"

So what I guess this all boils down to is that I have realized that my expectations, although allowing for a brilliant surprise to come in my favor, also left me spending much of my night in a nervous anxiety, hopelessly awaiting a certain fate that never came. Instead of being relaxed and enjoying the moments as they came and went, I was tense, and terrified of what might become of my rumbling stomach and what I thought was going to be another sketchy bus stop bathroom. So if anything, I should take a hint from the locals and just take it easy.

Yes, there will be some times when life hurts, but it's only when we take the pain seriously and personally that we suffer. This process isn't about perfection, it's just about honesty. As long as I can continue to observe and be honest with myself, and then practice kindness for whatever I observe, I am doing my job and I can have faith that repeated observations of unhealthy mind-states will lead to healthier ones.

Oh, and of course, never take a clean bathroom for granted. If you think your life is bad, but you have toilet paper, a toilet seat, and soap, think again, because you have it better than most in this part of the world. I know this already, but without the constant reminders, gratitude for the little things seems to fade away so quickly. I guess that makes me blessed, because living in SE Asia affords me to have that opportunity to be reminded on a daily basis!