So what?

Finding creativity has been a struggle--

Well, no, because there has been no resistance to its lack: 

I have been content to take in good films and eat well when I'm not teaching. 

I ask myself the purpose of this sort of venue: 

--to thrill an audience?
--to expose said audience to a new culture? 
--to provide a forum for your humble narrator to express his thoughts? 

How honest can you be when you write for such a varied audience? In such a public domain? 

How honest can you be when you create for any audience? Does art imply an audience, necessitate one, or does the potential for an audience taint the art? Is purity not to be witnessed? 

(more on this here)

Last weekend if I sunk further I may have actually hit something.  How else do we bounce back?

I took a jaunt to the beach for the weekend to clear my head--the previous week was characterized by frustrations in the classroom. No, not frustrations--more like resignations. And not surrenders either--rather than acceptance, the preceding motivations involved dejection. 

An art festival was to occur anyway--on the beach, you see--and naturally, I was intrigued. 

There were some lovely prints there, truly--but it was a festival, in the sense that it was a party, and the "art" moniker was, well, a moniker...depending on your definition of art, of course. 

Because the artists put on a show, yet they didn't realize it, and I was the only audience member. 

You see, I don't mean to judge the acts of drinking large quantities of alcohol and making loud noises that essentially preclude genuine connection--it is fun, and I have done lots of it. It just isn't quite where I am today. In fact, a bit quite far from where I am, today. 

It was very nice to walk down the beach and notice that the moon was full. I passed multiple sets of lovers in the sand and felt lonely and free and heavy.

Unbridled emotion on my part generally leads me to an act of consumption, devouring really. With work, I've been able to let non-action in the front door of many of these living situations, but we can't always remain in the light can we, so we go out the back.

It was like a scene from a movie: accelerating, fast, on a motorcycle at midnight under a full moon on a deserted beach highway, heading for something big--

Not 7-11. 

Ok. 7-11. The place that had the ice cream. 

I am so predictable. 

And ice cream is never just ice cream. It leads to chips, cookies, milkshakes, pastries, etc--I mean, for God's sake, I intentionally ate on the stoop of that convenience store so I could return 3 times for more junk food, munching noisily as I read the news. And feeling really pathetic. 

I sought more solace in the moon, and it left me empty. Just sleep. 

When I awoke I felt like I had cheated on a girlfriend. But not only was I the betrayer--I had also betrayed myself.

And you may scoff: how trivial! So you ate some junk food 'cause you felt lonely? Please, you're not the only one...

On 1 hand, you are wrong: it isn't about what I did. It is about everything associated with it. The sentiment did not reflect the act--it felt like more. 

On the other hand, you are right--and I realized this after more than 10 minutes of cognizance. I offer utmost diligence to my physical, mental, and spiritual health all week, and then the weekend comes, or some small jolt of inadequacy creeps in, and rather than merely meandering from the path momentarily, I dive into the fucking bushes searching for water and avoiding hypothermia. Basically, because I don't permit abberance, when I deviate, I really do it right. 

I laughed. I thought of how insignificant I am. I felt freed. I ate a breakfast of kings and relaxed on the beach all day with a book and my thoughts. And when my bike broke down in the pouring rain 15 km out of town upon my return, instead of cursing the guy who sold it to me or blaming the rain for damaging the engine (thoughts I had!), I walked to a gas station, and some friendly customers took me to a mechanic, and 15 minutes and 3 bucks later I was back on the road. Folks here are refreshingly willing to help. Surrender --> Winning. 

This past week has provided me a sort of extended release of these realizations. Instead of eating a week's worth of junk food when the moon is too massive or distant to comprehend, why not eat a cookie a day? It will keep the demons away. 

Or why work out and eat well? To strive for the perfect idea of a body I'll never have? I had lost the point: I have fun sweating. Panting. Exertion clears my head. And vegetables my heart.  So I covered up my mirror with a sheet and tried smiling more. 

And so yesterday I got on a karaoke bus at 7:30 in the morning with my colleagues, farang and Thai alike, and went to the ocean to get dirty planting mangroves. And when I felt hot, and tired, and bored, I said "hello exhaustion. hello heat. hello boredom. I smile to you." And I was simply and wholly right there. 

And right there when I stayed up until 3 am watching good movies, eating pizza and ice cream, discussing politics, religion, and love, and cheering on the World Cup with my good friend Kevin--right there where I needed to be, the same as being at that party, and planting those mangroves, and hiking that trail, and teaching those children. The difference was that I was just smiling to it all. 

Oh, and as for the classroom: rather than entering with resentment, I approached this past week with innocence funded by gratitude leading to JOY. A teacher is a mirror: our enthusiasm defines the class that day. My attitude sculpts their clay--and yet there is never a finished product, nor an audience--so is teaching an art? 

I'd say yes. 

I spoke from my heart today. This is Nick unmasked. No bells and whistles or flashy language to make you swoon or twirl. The stray pun here and there but who can resist the lowest form of humor? 

so, So what? Ask Miles. Always apt. 

Central Plaza does not exist

Like Gatlinburg, Tennessee, Suratthani's brand new super mall enters reality only through ripples and waves in consciousness--now you see it, now you don't!--a magic trick performed only through the deceptive comfort of treats and goodies, plush chairs and Disney Lands, Dolly Parton and Big Brother manifestos...but how deceptive is it? Comforting, yaas, but real? 

Way before all that: existed (exists!) a geological bounty, a cavern of snakes, spiders, rocks and bats, bones most likely! Buddha wall-impressions, mold like cotton, and all the dank drippings a cavern of this sort has to offer...

  
Yet perhaps no more real/less real than Central Plaza Super Mall, supper mal, sniper mail, slightly male, knightly snail, itself...

Entering this cave yesterday from the early morning mist of Thailand's lush altitude, hearing only the quiet squeaking of thousands of bats fluttering above, peace and isolation descended upon me, or I into it, and my stroll through Earth's depth left me awestruck wondrous love, and thirsting for more geology...

...that which gives life: 

On the trail again, friends! The trail that provides, that always does provide, yaas, the same trail, be it through Appalachia or Southern Thailand's jungles, that generous pathway, always enough and never in excess, like a garden who's zucchinis will complement your pasta but don't grow big enough to be baked into bread...

I walked through level upon level of rushing water, even letting some of it bathe me, and then: smack wham BOOM life again loneliness emptiness worthlessness comes at you like a 1000 mile an hour freight train skidding up the coast--and just when your world seems balanced, maybe not perfect but at least easeful in spite of all this dis-ease, the feeling that in the end all we have is this body and it is desolate and separate, that same thought UNTRUE THOUGHTS but real thoughts that dissect humanity, causing us to suffer, our false perceptions like tendrils splicing The Trail into negatives all too often developed into colored prints, distorted arrows rearranging order and harmony, union...

This feeling sticks with you--me. Into the evening, compelling you, me, us to go on what we can playfully dub a Cake Mission, to the Cake Store (caught by the neighbors too!), to buy Cake, and a good deal of ice cream to go with it--but ah, even we must permit aberrations, no!?--and make a big old pot of tea and get into bed, turn up the noise and slip into frigid North American landscapes, the home of Paul Bunyan to be precise (ok, fuck, yes, I ate a pint of ice cream and watched Fargo alone at 7:30 on a Saturday night 'cause I felt the Great Emptiness, so sue me)...

(At some point in the night Jif and spoons, well just 1 spoon actually, entered the equation. Yaaaaaaaas).

...and the feeling persists my friends and colleagues, you, the receivers of these words, which are truly just products of the empty spaces between silence and home, inter-tonal vibrations within the notes of a reed flute...these words, the taxis of emotion requiring us to give in to the unavoidable relatability of one living being to the next...for what else do we need to connect other than the experience of living?

Fuck! Ok, yes, so I awoke still feeling kinda yucky, and throwing on my best Polo I sauntered out the door at 7 am to go golfing with my boss. That's right--king shit. 

On a military base. During a coup. Knocking divots in the green, catching glimpses of generals in I Love New York t-shirts (hell, these guys don't seem so bad), sipping ice cold water on a misty Eastern golf course after a night of rain, and just trying to put balls in holes, all we're ever really trying to do, isn't it though eh? 

And here enters Central Plaza (pursued by a bear), perhaps the biggest ball of them all, can it fit into the hole I'm trying to fill? Oh too easily--for it only disintegrates upon entrance and woosh! out the other side like the mere apparition it is, this Super Mall, Snooper Hall, Stupid BALL scruples n' all...

Right. Central Plaza. First some herbs to soften the stools, because, you understand, my lower intestines often feel like they're perpetually paper cut--''If anything ail a man, so that he does not perform his functions, if he have a pain in his bowels even—for that is the seat of sympathy—he forthwith sets about reforming—the world.''--thank you Henry David! And into the jangling intestines of this city's streets, thinking "oh yes I'll find this monstrosity! Directions, or even any remote inkling of a hunch on where this place is, will only throw me off!" Hubris, my friends. Hubris.

And as Achilles and Oedipus and the rest of my predecessors--ha! talk about ego! But really, don't we all simply precede each other, or perhaps revolve, yes! revolutions, circles--accompanied by, including, as it were, reformations--I stumbled blindly into danger's way searching for a Holy Grail...

Wait a minute, fuck, Holy Grail? No, we were talking about Greece here not King Arthur...fuck, this boy must have an ENGLISH DEGREE and clearly a flare for the dramatic, because danger?? No. Let's be more accurate and call it "getting lost." Driving aimlessly, I mean without any basis whatsoever for where I ought to be going, down unpaved sidestreets until I re-entered the jungle, ended up at one too many dead-ends, and decided to let that hubris rest--and it wasn't thumos that was gonna get me outta this one, no, but instead, metis....ah, that's better!

And could Odysseus be called heroic if he had a smart phone? 

Shit man, Google Maps are just part of the illusion though--yes. Offering us a version of "objectivity" only portraying non-existent establishments like Central Plaza??

A VERSION of objectivity??? Excuse me???

When I saw that billboard--"CENTRAL FUCKING PLAZA HOME OF NON-EXISTENT NOTHINGNESS"...Lord! I finally stopped muttering to myself and began to smile. I didn't even need to go to the damn mall. I just wanted to find it. 

They have strategically placed a McDonald's at the entrance for people like me in states such as this. And let me tell you--a cheeseburger is a cheeseburger my friends. Those people have it down--what mastery of replication (by the way, so does KFC I discovered 15 minutes later). 

What I learned after the burger, the fried chicken, the chocolate croissant, and the ice cream cone, upon descending the steps of the mall that doesn't exist--

nothing. 

We all knew how this story would end--ye olde lattice cherry pie, no doubt--"the holes that makes us whole"--the wholes that make us hole!!--such ingrained knowledge, holy as a sponge, wringing itself all over my self, always, yes, nothing knew here folks, no grand finale or realization, it was all there, and all never there, just like Central Plaza and the rest of existence...!

Just gonna quietly slip into evening's oblivion, again and again.  

You must touch the waves to touch the water

Yeah, time has passed since I last wrote, more than usual--I guess that means things are swimming, or swimming along, or even going swimmingly. 

There hasn't been much to write about!

I wake up. Meditate. Go to work. Teach. Work out. Eat good food. Come home. Read. Go to sleep. On the weekends, there is more lounging and barbecues and films involved. 

So, what do I even have to say? Simply that life progresses wherever--this is no longer an adventure, and simultaneously, it is all 1 big adventure. 

I woke this morning to John Prine's lilt and missed the mighty Blue Ridge. 2 hours later, I again awoke, out of my nostalgia, to the cadence of 30 second graders wishing me good morning. Wherein lies the difference?

I want to teach, travel, grow food, own a music venue, roam and rumble in the hills, sit zazen, stare at the stars swim in the sea...and why not? I am doing all of these things, because you are. 

But first, I need to brush up on my pop music knowledge if I want any hope of winning another quiz night at the local bar the foreigners overrun every Thursday. Mark Twain quotes just won't get me through next time. Grateful for collaboration. 

I wish love and peace to everybody reading. 

ทั้งหมดคือความสุขทั้งหมดที่มีความสุข ... 

Undulations, Postulations, Inflammations, and Celebrations

A dead man comes to me, asking, "What is it like to be alive?"

I reply, "Don't you remember?"

And no, of course no--for the only way to access the experience of alivedness is to live, the dead have no memory, and we cannot transmit this experience, particularly one of a human disposition, to a corpse or a martian no matter how effective our exhibits and advertisements. The ever-quarreling dogs below my balcony will attest to this. 

Undulations: 

Riding high from my travels last weekend, I went back to work with a clear head and open heart, ready to teach (learning implied in teaching). But I have this one class. A group of 2nd graders. And they are...well, 2nd graders. They don't want to learn how to offer each other markers in English. They want to shoot play guns at each other and yell and get up and walk around, and no matter how many anti-gun signs I draw on the board (I am adamant about this!) or how many times I raise my voice or take away points or use a physical response drill to calm them--nothing seems to work. And this is draining--when you give 100% throughout the day only to be met with a wall. The wound is already open, and dejection a bacteria so easy to infect. So easy to blame the children. Or blame myself! "Those little brats. No--I am just a bad teacher. No--I just have no desire to teach CHILDREN because I don't want to be a disciplinarian...especially in a language they can't understand yet..."

Planning my escape route. Through Vietnam? Maybe straight to India? Istanbul? Eventually I'll land back at my home in Boston, or the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia...

And then--! The undulation. Maybe it was a good lesson plan. Maybe just well-executed. Maybe the kids had been drugged. Maybe it was my use of the guitar? Or I began to earn their respect. Or it was completely random and meaningless. BUT. It clicked. It clicked! For 1 class--I fuckin' HAD them! Let me tell you--I walked out of there glowing, preparing schemes for indefinite elongation of my visa...and this carried me through the day, until about 6 o clock when I still had 30 minutes left of my last class and their usual respectful mature selves had been possessed by satanic unruly rudeness and I threw my hands up and handed them all books and told them to sit there silently reading until the end of class and NOT A PEEP or I'm crackin' skulls, well, something to that effect--and I don't want reading to be punishment! Fuck, when I was a kid I LOVED to read. Still do in fact (my current smorgasborg: a collection of Rumi poems, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, The Heart of the Buddha's Teaching by Thich Nhat Hanh, and yep, the Bible)--but I couldn't handle these kids--and mainly, because I was hungry. Like, food hungry. Simple shit. 

Undulations. 

Postulations:

This is what I would say to the dead man if he could understand it:

--outside stimuli (e.g. society) + the mind are constantly trying to make you less grateful, less present, less aware, and less whole. We go through life undulating between suffering and joy. The point: to feel the waves and recognize their meaninglessness. How? Ego-relinquishment, divine nourishment. 

Inflammations: 

The Thai military assumed Martial Law 3 days ago after a few weeks of an impromptu government established due to the sudden removal of the Prime Minister. Last night the army announced an official coup and imposed a 10pm-5am curfew. I fell asleep excited to be part of this, not worried for my safety in the slightest, hoping that this conflict can be resolved peacefully, and dreading the thought of facing my innocent 2nd graders this morning. 

Celebrations: 

I awoke and began to amble downstairs for the toilet like I do every morning and was greeted by a scrawled note from my roommate--"no school, check your email." I just about pissed myself. Subsequently, it has been a day of celebrations. 

I spent the morning literally doing fuck-all: had TWO bowls of muesli, made a peanut butter banana jelly coconut yogurt shake, and watched 3 hours of Dexter--IN BED. Around noon I ambled down to the bank to try and get a cash advance on my credit card because I don't have my PIN, but they couldn't do it there, and recommended I head down the street to SBC Bank. On the way a fellow traveler guided me to a natural foods store where I spent a fortune on some deliciously select items (granola bars and real coffee!!), and Bangkok Bank happened to be right next door so I popped in there instead of SBC. It was kind of a silly situation:

As I was bumbling about in the corner trying to stir the instant coffee provided by the bank in one hand and holding my credit card and passport in the other, a bespectacled bank mistress asked me how much cash I wanted. She was a bit shocked to hear 20,000 Baht but goddamnit ain't no one here takes a credit card so I gotta stock up on cash when I can. We went through the usual rigmarole of showing ID (passport, VA license), comparing names (but this one doesn't say Nathaniel and this one does!), striking poses, spelling out L E N D E R K I N G - B R I L L ...and once again, it all came down to the fact that my card says ASK FOR ID on the back instead of my signature (that and even my passport signature is a bit dodgy, seeing I signed it when I was 16...). Dumbest thing ever. And even though the "writing-ASK-FOR-ID" trick works at the department store, it don't work at Bangkok Bank during a military coup when this silly white boy is trying to withdraw 20,000 Baht on a foreign credit card--even if his picture is on the front and ain't no one forging a name like Lenderking-Brill. 

Ah, but it pays to be a teacher in this town! I dropped that little nugget, she locked herself in an office to call my school (even though it is closed I guess she got someone), and as I fumbled a bit more with the coffee, she beckoned me back and told me to sit down, ready to hand me cash as long as I could furnish my PIN. 

Ah. 

I figured the situation was like in Brazil--when the first bank told me to go to SBC, I just assumed they were full of shit for some reason and didn't take them seriously. Happened to me a million times. But I decided to try it out anyway, I resolved it was the 3rd and final bank I would inspect, and just a few blocks down...AND there happened to be a blossoming fruit market on the way so I furnished myself with a sack of lychees...

I am laughing right now. Fuckin' SBC bank man. Walked in, got called up--on my cell phone at the time, mind you!--was asked what I needed, said between sentences of my phone conversation (which was to my school manager who speaks English fluently 'cause I thought I'd need her help translating at this bank), "uh, cash advance, 20,000" while still bumbling about with my passport, card, and now cell phone (I left the empty coffee mug on lady 1's backroom desk)--the teller did a little shuffling and scuttling in the bank, opened my passport to the signature page and turned over my card, staring at 2 completely different-looking lines of characters, and I'm thinking "well fuck here it comes again" and she asks me to sign...shit--which one?? I took a gamble and wrote "ASK FOR ID"--she does a bit more shuffling and scuttling--haha fuck I am still laughing right now--reaches into a drawer, and after having me sign "ASK FOR ID" on about 5 other documents--passport real signature still blatantly apparent--she hands me 20,000 Baht in cash! I even got her to change it for small bills. 

Celebrations. 

I know who I'm banking with from now on. SBC baby! Despite their clear lack of security, I got handed 20,000 Baht today by a young Thai girl with braces wearing pink lipstick. And you know, the great thing is, I wasn't defrauding anyone. This is my money. I did what I needed to do. It just goes to show you--money really doesn't need to be taken seriously. 

And then off to the gym in a torrential downpour to pump some iron with a smile on my face. And I still have 4 hours and 11 minutes until national curfew! During my travels today I noticed the soldiers beginning to congregate...what more havoc can I wreak before the sun sets?

It is only because all is nothing that all is bliss. Good night. 

Sometimes paradise is cloudy too

And thus it achieves perfection. 

Riding to you writing the Blue Ridge high and free--the Blue Ridge, my home, those mountains in my heart, yet how so different from the green palm-studded hills of Thailand? Yas, but more on this later. 

Tension--and resolution. That dissonant half-diminished chord taking you back into the relief of a II-V-!.

What the hell am I talking about? 

Last week was my first full week of teaching. Moments of real failure. No sugar coating here people--failure to properly execute coherent lessons. AND moments of great success. That "click" when an hour is filled with order, laughter, expansion, ease, and expedience. Aligning a workout schedule with classes has not been simple--and yet, I am finding myself in a blissful arrangement that involves a trip to the gym between my morning classes (not bad!)--this coupled with a new diet involving actual consciousness (a very new concept with me regarding food) has left me feeling GOOD. Healthy. 

Back to tension and release. The release came midday Friday after one of the aforementioned successes, gliding me into the weekend--a weekend highly anticipated and effortlessly executed. 

I was to embark for Ton Sai, a small beach cove on the West coast near Phuket, accessible only by boat and without electricity between 6am and 6pm, a rockclimbing haven (see cliffs) and a hippie chill spot, stocked with delicious food all around and hiking trails through the lizard-crawling monkey-monkeying rainforest. 

Right, and I did. 

After the typical afternoon on a tropical beach, evening thunder clouds rolled in and the sky shook with darkness. Ah, but at 6, power returns...incidentally, our beach butted up against an outdoor wooden bar (the source of at least 3 but no more than 5 fruit smoothies throughout the weekend) which, incidentally, was equipped with a stage, incidentally advertising an array of incidentally rock and roll music making apparatus, and me being me, us being us, we moseyed on over and picked up a few guitars and began to strum a bit. The resident pirate with his toolkit of English catchphrases ("You like this shit!" "You'll see me when you see me." "Why not?" "Make a BIG music!") eagerly grinned his way over and plugged us in while sitting down at the drums--then the local milkboy hopped up, we made a switcheroo, and before we knew it, we had a rock and roll outfit thrumming up sounds only the thunder could compete with. After noodling on their stratocaster for a bit I decided to create some bottom and grabbed the bass leaning up in the corner--easier to get funky down low anyways, especially seeing that all these instruments were right-handed of course, less accessible to the southpaw contingent, yet adaptability friends, yes, adaptability, a saving grace in this goofy world...where were we? Yas, making music on a beach at a bar in a thunderstorm. With an audience! Oh it was great fun--the milkboy a pure natural who could pick up any beat, akin to the albino banjo-picker in Deliverance, and Blackbeard with his silliness and rhythm guitar, smirking into the microphone "you like this shit!" or a "see me when you see me!" after every song--Rolling Stones, Clapton, a blistering rendition of "Imagine"--music is everywhere friends, and it ain't goin' nowhere. 

My weeks are spent eating delicious street Thai food. I love it. But holy mother of fuck the burger and banana split I devoured last night were practically orgasmic. 

These tropical enclaves--they are lovely, but once you see beyond the surface, quite tragic. They lack culture in many regards--80:20 White:Thai ratio. A group of Chinese tourists speaking English to the Thai waitstaff. Everything English. Cute rustic bungalows...but also dubstep bars and tailor shops and pharmacies. Shawled Thai women begging to give you a massage to make a little dough. And we are part of the problem. Me, I am. I did what I could to pick up some litter and pay homage to the land and sea by keeping quiet and reverent. After the rock and roll music and burger, of course. And all this for less than 60 bucks--food, transport, lodging...but ah, I am on a Thai salary filled with thousands of Baht amounting to significantly less than thousands of American dollars...

The evening cleared and we did a lil' pickin' and-a-grinnin' on our own down the beach into the night and hovered back on air to the quietude of our bungalows up the hill and into the palms, away from the crashing waves below. 

This morning I arose very early and with a cup of real coffee (a luxury here--the Thais don't drink much themselves but make instant concessions for the Westerners passing through) waded far out into the sea amongst coral and rusty boat propellers, only revealed during very low tide. I looked around, saw the cliffs towering above me, felt the salt and sand on my, in my body, the palms bowing to their elemental counterparts--and I was utterly overwhelmed--verklempt!--with the knowledge that everything is interconnected--you can't have rocks without water, nor humans without air, nor wooden tables without trees--in fact, nothing without the mind! All we perceive--by definition, objects of of our minds, the prevailing subject. When I ponder the sea, I ponder my mind. I am settled in mindfulness. And with this knowledge, as in I KNEW IT IN AN INSTANT, NO INSTILLATION REQUIRED, came the understanding of the impermanence of things, of every thing--and yet, it isn't this impermanence that causes us to suffer, no no, it is the attachment to something already unattachable--so why this preponderance of suffering in the face of impermanence? It is the ACCEPTANCE of such transience that brings us joy--ah, joy, yes! The spaces between the suffering! For suffering is nothing without joy, and still, joy is but an object of the mind, and on and on and on...

And coming to know this alone in the water at daybreak, I was overcome with bliss--knowing that this is empty, we are empty, we are connected, we are alive, awake, yes! But all one, the same, and all without substance, neither good nor bad or anything in between--and this, my friends, has carried me through the rest of my day. 

Up and over a cliff. Down into a lagoon. The familiarity of skipping up a mountain, feet pounding into muddy earth, muscles tensing and guiding the bones they envelop, waves of strong emotions met with smiles fueled by the knowledge of their emptiness...

I will probably be heading back. 

For the rest of the evening? A trip to the market for some fresh fruit and fish, still flopping on the chopping block--and a night of sound contemplation, preparing for another week of city life interacting with young people before another foray into the jungles and beaches of the Thai interior...my interior...

The trail provides. ทั้งหมดเป็นความสุข ...

The reason I came here

What was it? Is it?

To feed my addiction to adventure (i.e. perpetual insatiation).
To discover a new culture (again, the concept of satisfaction foreign).
To escape the winter (ok this one is deifnitely justifiable--and I can say I've pretty certainly checked this one off the list).

But the point?

To TEACH. To begin my career. And I'm learning: it isn't just the kids who receive an education in the classroom. 

After having spent weeks training, planning lessons, researching approaches, orienting with the school, meeting with colleagues...the moment of truth finally arrived last Monday...

And I was nervous. I really was. 

But teaching is like everything else: it requires a calm mind, an impulsion to adapt, a stronghold of confidence and a flicker of improvisation...and there you have it. Smiling learning kids. 

It wasn't as hard as I thought. It was (is) relatively easeful. Fun even. I spend my time writing days of the week and animals songs--not bad. It is useful (and a necessity re: peace of mind) having the guitar here. 

And the thing is--I am finding myself paying attention to myself in the classroom. What I mean is: it isn't about executing a lesson plan. It is about finding what works. Not everything I try works. So I note it. I adapt. 

And I am in "teaching kindergarten." There is an utter wealth of information previously untapped by this guy right here--and guess what? I get to learn it. PAID to learn it. Oh what a world of discovery I have before me! 

Another thing: these kids are fuckin' smart. Too smart for my bonus word on hangman today, that's for sure (it was rhinoceros. I thought it was hard). 

In other news: I am making a home in Surat Thani. Adapting quicker than I thought. I have a house and a job. Friends. A routine. I am in a real city, yet very conveniently stationed at the sternum of splendiferous sights sultaning over succulently sublime scents and subtle sounds...fuck! Like:

--tropical beaches
--jungles
--islands
--rock-climbing meccas
--dive-reefs
--limestone monoliths
--other interesting and exotic things

Where should I go this weekend...?

There were 2 dead rats at the bottom of my street today, and I didn't mind. As I was running this morning, a coconut from a towering palm overhead fell directly in front of me with a crack. I looked up and saw a sniggering youth and his friend. I looped back around so I could smile back. I ate a fish drenched in saucy ambrosia for lunch today. I like my motorbike but I like walking more. I get bad vibes when I go to Makro, the Costco equivalent. The daily floods soothe the swollen air and cool the earth--and fill my poorly designed half-covered bathtubesque balcony. So I bail it every morning with a tupperware container after I meditate. I'm reading Rumi, the Bible, the Buddha, and Hunter S. Thompson. I am obsessed with watermelon slushies. I am singing and playing a lot of Bob Dylan. The political unrest in Thailand and mounting tensions between SE Asia and China are non-existent in my world. I am adapting to the heat so much so that I get cold with the fan on at night. I miss home sometimes--pizza, rock concerts, autumn, the Sox, all of you that I LOVE--and I know that right now, I am home, too. I am a hybrid papyrus reed--floating down life's Nile, from the Appalachian Trail to Thailand and God knows where next...and it's all the same: beautifully empty in qualification, all simply existing, awake, pulsating, transient, suffering, joyful, and self-less enough to be calm. 

Fill 'er up there, God. We do need education. 

ทั้งหมดเป็นความสุข, all is bliss...

FOOD!

After experiencing a bit of blockage due to the quart of rice I eat daily I decided I needed to mix it up a bit. 

It's been a butt too long since any food left me, and for a moment there I was thinking "Dang my body is freakin' efficient!" Or "yeeeahhh I've really cut down my portion sizes!"

Nope. Just too much sticky white rice. It is the basis for everything. Except noodles--ask where you can find a dish without rice, and you get "you want noodles?" Same thing. 

And I realized this as I was trying to run my morning 10K around my favorite river island, when a thick brick dropped into my gut and as great as it felt to be sweating only a normal amount (because it isn't oppressively hot early in the morning--it's actually quite pleasant. In fact, I don't know what I'm saying, it's never oppressively hot--it's the fucking tropics and I love it) I knew I was about to sweat a lot more. 

And sweat more I did.

Luckily there was a bog hole on the island--a very hot one--but a bog hole indeed. A squatter too--even more conducive to evacuation. Cha ching. But ah but ah but ah--the toilet of absence paper, present yet again! And this time not a squirter in sight. 

But. A bowl. A little doggy dish, next to the hole, with a low-flying faucet next to it. Hmm...ok...this must be for bum splashing and subsequent hand washing, right? So, I did as the Moroccans do and did the deed--right hand only! (a slight modification for the southpaws in the building) and then splashed off and continued my run, about 15 degrees for the warmer, fantasizing about a shower.

Interesting, I thought. Nothing to flush with. No handle. Well, I guess I'll just leave it. 

Well I showered, shaved, got off to work...and at lunch I found myself pissing next to a colleague (in the bathroom, in a urinal) and relaying this story with glee--yeah, he smiled and said: that bowl? It was there for flushing. Filling and flushing. Ahhhhhh

Good thing I'm not easily embarrassed. 

Still, to remedy my situation, the larger problem I mean, I took a little trip down to Makro, the Wal-Mart equivalent (only after another aggressively rousing game of Chair Ball, cackling included--and today we couldn't resist a bit of friendly tug of war...who else works for a school principal who insists upon raucous competitive sport after lesson planning? It's brilliant! Apparently we are training for Sports Day, where the teachers tee off against the parents--and losing is NOT an option. We are being chiseled, trained, and scouted to annihilate. Good! AND I must say: as proud as I usually am to be a cyclist, I adore my motorbike. I have sacrificed my dignity to make life infinitely more convenient. Sue me.) to pick up some supplies. 

And oh, supplies I did find! 

Ham
Cheese
Peanut Butter 
Jelly
Chocolate
Lettuce
Yogurt
Mayonnaise

Yes!

It cost me a fortune but my rice-filled belly and Western sensibilities were happy. 

I returned home with my bag of treats to a scolding Dutch housemate: "Peanut butter and jelly? You silly American."

Ha! He says this now, until he wants a PB&J...

And you know, the funny thing is? I fucking miss Thai food. 

And life goes on, in bliss, in bliss.