27 days is certainly a long stretch without sharing much, at least in the way of writing, with the outside world.
Surely each time we walk out the door we share at least something with the outside world, even in the confines of our own worlds, as people of THIS world, we can't avoid sharing and of course, being shared with--a nice way of putting it. If only feeling the despair of a world gone mad was simply a passive act of "being shared with!" And maybe it is.
And why this 27 day lapse? Because I am scared that my thoughts are boring? We generally provide the correct answers to questions we ask ourselves. And also, because that is where I've been--in the confines of my own world, holed up in my 2nd-floor bedroom, curtains drawn from the world outside; plastered by motorcycle helmet as I impatiently move through traffic with a head full of words; behind a veil of smiles as I teach rich kids a language that will make them richer...
Whoa, that all sounds pretty bad. Yeah, so the midsummer's day's blues have come around. I keep forgetting what season it is, the weather is so consistent here. I'm too caught up in how things sound, it seems.
I sat at the bow of a ship whisking me upriver to the sea at midnight enjoying the blackness around me and the thrum of the engine. The same site of my languishing 3 years prior, almost precisely--sitting at the prow of a riverboat a diagonal line across the globe away moving like an elephant down the Amazon. Nothing had changed, but I was 3 years to the wiser, and yeah, fuck, I had changed, and I felt the weight of the world pressing down on me so heavily, in the most profound way--time felt incomprehensible,
--I was a speck, the most important thing in the world and simultaneously utterly devoid of significance...
(in the space between "--hensible" and "--I was," hours lapsed. Because after writing the final "le" I was crushed by the perception that what I was writing was stupid, that no one cares, that it was forced, fake, all for show, worthless. I couldn't type another word. What brought me back? Apathy, in the best form. This isn't for anyone else anymore. This is mine. So I'm going to own it).
Before arriving to Koh Tao--the island--I expected a tiny haven, unspoiled. My colleagues assured me it was the least developed of any place around. Maybe it is, and that saddens me. I was naive to think anywhere teeming with natural beauty has been left unspoiled. Of course that isn't true--there is a foot-wide band of dirt that travels from Georgia to Maine (there and back again) that is beautiful and unspoiled. But fuck man, Koh Tao was a tourist pit. And you know, aspects of it I took advantage of: for one, the diving was outstanding, and once I got past the initial paralyzing anxiety of unnatural claustrophobia 18 meters beneath the air, I eased into the beauty and freedom of the world underwater.
But even more so, the food. Isn't it funny, food? We need it, and it can be so rudimentary in its refinement, so limited, downright gross--and yet we have found a way to make it so pleasurable. Did we do that? Yeah, we did--otherwise we'd still be eating twigs and berries.
The only food options in Suratthani are greasy Thai food and soup. So good until you do it for 3 months. And yeah, dirt cheap...but...yeah. You know. So last weekend I spent 75% of my time out of the water sitting at a table discussing large ideas with complete strangers-turned friends. Traveling can be so lonesome and so joyful. Not that the two preclude each other. but you know, it provides an opportunity to connect with people without a filter. Because we're all in this together, desperate for connection, and constantly on the move. Life on the whole is really like that, but usually we're much more inhibited. So I got my decadence at the dinner table. Korma, quesadillas, burgers, carbonara...cheesecake...what a feeling a good meal can provide; and a good meal should never have to be enjoyed alone, for it is conversation and connection that complete this eating ritual. Satisfaction there.
The other 25% of the time I spent walking, exploring. It turns out the tourist pit of Koh Tao is essentially concentrated in one area, one strip of beach. But when you branch out just a bit, you aren't thrust into lush pure jungle, no...more like lush Thai poverty singeing a heavy burn through what was once a pure jungle. And now all that trash on fire...depressing. But walking is something that can and ought to be enjoyed alone--I don't experience that kind of solace and joy anywhere else, really. So I climbed mountains and skidded down dirt paths into the trees, stumbling upon abandoned beaches and resorts, napping in the sand, reading Steinbeck, feeling wistful...
"having a feeling of vague or forgetful longing..."
I am looking for other ways to cope with life. Any dissatisfaction I feel is just trivial, really. It mirrors my mindset in Charlottesville before I came out. I haven't felt really at ease since I was hiking, and that's probably only because I was constantly on the move, and had this well-defined goal, so I never had to accept any place I was...and of course, I neglect in my memory the times characterized by misery rather than ease, joy...the point is, happiness is an inside job, and even though I'm doing all the "right" things, I'm only doing them, I'm not feeling them, internalizing their purposes or intentions, because I am not listening to the hurt little boy in there, wanting to be heard, communicated with, and grasping, wanting to be fed...in fact, I loathe that boy, so when he overtakes me, I start to loathe myself and sink further...
This is too much--of course it is honest (haha of course? why should we ever assume anything is honest?) but it's too vulnerable for such a public venue. And so I have the urge to temper it with "well it's ok's" and "really I'm fine's" but fuck! That is TRUE. It IS ok. And really. I'm FINE. I'm just where I need to be. You know, I had a GREAT day today. I felt the warmth of Thailand without the stickiness. I smiled at Thailand today. I smiled at my life. I found joy in the mundane. Presence in the moment--that's right--this one, right here...
And this is indulgent, is it appeasing anybody's need to live vicariously through this fellow, me, this guy, who "gets to travel...?" I was on the phone with Capital One Bank the other night reminding them I'm in Thailand and the girl back in Kentucky or Pennsylvania said "you're so lucky you get to travel!" No, I've just structured my life this way 'cause I'm scared of being put in a box and not having a way out. Maybe she is lucky that she gets to have a family and a steady job that she can endure for longer than 6 months, unlike me. Maybe we are all unlucky to be perpetually dissatisfied. Or just lucky to have even the mere capacity for gratitude. Recognition without even feeling it--isn't that something? A small blessing?
But that isn't why people read what anyone else has to say. It isn't just for information or vicarious living. It is to connect, to relate, to not feel so alone, because in the end, this body is all we have, it is a lonesome thing, being human, and ironic too, because there are SO MANY OF US...what opportunity to connect! So maybe it's just as selfish--connecting--but you know, really, seemingly less so than using someone else's words just to feel, alone.
How to be unselfish while burdened with this self: love. Plain and simple. And also the most complex thing we know of! Ha! Life never really is simple is it--and by that virtue, it is infinitely simple via the acceptance of its complexity. Ha! Ha ha! Oh, I could just pop up and bop with joy right now! For a second anyway, before those sediments of joy resettle into the ocean floor of waking life...I mean, what's the difference between calm acceptance, cold indifference, and numbness???????
And about that little boy. A modern neuroscientist would say that there is no separation between the physical and the emotional--emotions are just neurons firing. There isn't a "me" and a "him" within the same body. It is all just "I". All just a brain. But emotions aren't tangible the way neurons are. Maybe all the different people within us are just different parts of the same brain, and so to distinguish between the self and the other within is incoherent, but fuck, don't tell me we all don't feel controlled by ostensibly outside forces which apparently exist within us called emotions!! Don't fucking tell me that!! I'm not saying anyone is right or wrong here.
I watched Good Will Hunting again last night. It's a bit corny. But you know, it's real, and it is so essentially Boston, the greatest city in the world. I'll put my cowboy boots on and stand on Thomas Jefferson's coffee table and say that, too.
Doesn't make Virginia any less my home. Or Thailand. Or anywhere--even this corporeal temple I'll always be trapped in, this governing body of bundles and neurons...fuck, it's just as ethereal as anything else we perceive as tangible, putting it all back into the realm of emotions, spirits, gods, love, whatever exists out there and doesn't...without distinction, it's all a void, but how can void exist without substance?
You need both.
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