Oh, what a night!

Sometimes, the best parts of one’s experience are the most unexpected.

We went to a club in Jomtein last night for a St. Patrick’s Day celebration that was advertized as a fundraiser for the Baan Jing Jai Orphanage.

I thought the waiters would be wearin’ the green, and that we were going to hear lots of Irish music, maybe some bad Irish jokes and, since this is Pattaya, someone was going to perform in drag.

Well, I got the part about the drag performer right. All the rest. . . . well. . . .it was more than I could - but, never would - have asked for or imagined.

Oh, it's not what you're thinking. It's not about debauchery or licentiousness. It was all "family" entertainment. Well, if you're from a dysfunctional family and, who isn't, really?

I don't even know how to describe what I experienced last night. I suppose it's what one might expect from a little community's attempt at "raising money for the orphans in honor of St. Patrick. Certainly not choral evensong with a Boy's Choir.

It was one part cabaret, one part drag show, and one part Really Bad Talent Show -  sans the "talent" part - but "all for the children", which somehow served as penance for the really bad parts. That having been said, there were some good bits.

"Willy" was a Thai version of Hawai'i's "Don Ho". He sat at the key board and sang - crooned, actually - things like Willy Nelson's, "For all the girls I've loved before" and "Moon River". His English pronunciation and diction were near perfect and his playing was more than adequate.

Then, there was "Mandy" who was actually very good. She did a great job with Julie Andrew's "Jazz Hot" from Victor/Victoria, and a great rendition of Liza Minnelli's "Cabaret" - complete with fairly good choreography on a teeny-tiny stage. Again, her pronunciation and diction were near-perfect and she had a good voice.

And then, there was "Miss JJ".

Well, words fail.

As long as I live, I will never forget her (very badly) lip-synced version in Thai and English of "I Will Survive."

I'm not even sure where to begin, so perhaps I won't even start.

Except, I want you to know that she was 75 if she was a day. I would also like to say that she obviously has a following among the locals who clapped and cheered and she seemed to know just whom to jiggle her obvious falsies and which patron liked the deep shoulder action.

Oh, and those legs! The only thing to distract you from them were the many and varied tattoos (notice, please, the one just above her red 3/4 length glove) - and, the little red matching purse slung over her shoulder where she, no doubt, keeps her lipstick because, when you wear THAT much lipstick, you're bound to need a touch up every, oh, I don't know, three and a half seconds.

She was, as we say, a 'red hot mess'.

Oh, but the worst was yet to come.

"Phil" was his name.  From the States. Upstate NY, as a matter of fact.

He was the MC of the show and the "inspiration" for this fundraiser. He's clearly devoted to the cause of the orphanage and raising money to tend to the children.

He told jokes.... very bad jokes .... which could have been humorous if the delivery had been better, and, after long, sometimes disjointed-when-not-almost incoherent ramblings, he would sing. Badly. Very, very badly.

I don't mean to be disrespectful or even unintentionally cruel because, clearly, this was a good man with a big heart who was trying to raise money for the orphanage, BUT, the experience was like a Bill Murray SNL skit of an over-the-hill wannabe cocktail lounge performer.

What was supposed to be funny wasn't and what wasn't supposed to be funny was hilarious.

About midway through the first set, he launched into one of what was intended to be memorable but better forgotten "monologues" before one of his "songs".

"As I was trying to put together the program for tonight," he said, sounding so serious and looking so somber you just knew we were going to get a "homilette",  "I remembered the time, in 1991, when I was traveling home after my mother died."

At this point, I leaned over to my friend, Richard, and whispered, "Oh....no, no, no...he didn't just start to talk about his dead mother, did he?"

Richard drew in a breath, raised his eyebrows and shifted his weight. "In 1991," he pointed out.

Rob motioned that we take our leave. NOW. I shook my head, partly because I didn't want our leave-taking to be obvious but partly because I was morbidly curious to see where he was going with this line and to which song it would lead. You know, the way one can't really look away when one sees an accident happening

"There I was," the man continued, "at 40,000 feet in the air, and I was inconsolable with grief. It was then that my mother's voice came to me, singing the words of a song that have, ever since, been a comfort to me."

"I know there are those of you out there who have lost your mother. . . ." he intoned (as I thought 'Oh, Good Lord, he really IS going to do this. On St. Patrick's Day! Ah, the Irish sense of the morose!') ".....or, a loved one...and we all need comfort, so I hope this song brings some comfort to you."

Remember: this was a St. Paddy's Day celebration. I thought...what is he going to sing? "O, Danny Boy"? "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling"? What?

At which point, he began to warble, "When you're weary / Feeling small / When tears are in your eyes / I will dry them all...."

Suddenly, I found myself in one of those moments when you feel six years old and you know you're not supposed to laugh, but you can't help yourself. Rob says my eyes got big, my lips were decidedly pursed, and my knuckles got white because I was gripping the arms of my chair.

"Phil" was not to be deterred. "Like a bridge over troubled water / I will lay me down.....". I was amazed at the way his voice could be both sharp and flat at the same time.

I thought my sides were going to explode from holding in the laughter, but I was mercifully distracted because I was also working hard on keeping my facial muscles and my mouth still so no one would see the expression of horror on it. 

The song ended, mercifully, and we quickly distributed the raffle tickets we had purchased to some of the wait staff, paid our "check bin" and got the hell out of there as quickly as we could. Slipped out the back door, we did, getting on the street and bursting with laughter which completely incapacitated us for at least ten minutes.

We laughed all the way home on the songtheaw ("baht bus"), to the utter bewilderment of the other passengers who must have thought us drunk. Or stupid. Or, both. Well, we were stupid with laughter.

It was one of those time when you really had to be there to understand just how hilarious this was.

Actually, we had a grand time.  It was so bad it couldn't have been better.

I've seen lots of things in my almost three weeks in Thailand. There are lots of things I still don't understand and probably never will.  It's just as well. This is their home. I'm a guest here.

I keep hearing one of my mentors, Father Koumarianian in Lowell, MA, saying, "God is God and people is people."

It doesn't matter, really, where you are. People are people. And, God is God. Some people will do some real good while singing and performing badly. And, no matter where you are, good, sincere attempts at bad humor will always be hilarious.

Given what I know about Irish humor, I think St. Patrick would have been well pleased.

St. Patrick and The Naga and the Problem of Evil

Naga at the steps of a building in the Wat Phra Kaew in Bangkok

St. Patrick Day festivities are in full swing here.

There's a Very Big parade on Beach Road and lots of restaurants and bars are offering green beer and there's "Irish Stew" on lots of menus. 

Beach Road was MOBBED with people! I couldn't get close enough to take very good pictures, but I'll salvage what I can and take some more later on tonight at the Irish Show at the Bondi Pub at Jomtein Beach. It should be memorable.

At first, I found the merging of the two cultures a bit jarring. I simply couldn't get my head wrapped around how the Thai culture could accommodate St. Patrick, so I spoke with my doorman earlier this morning when I went out to do me laundry.

I have found, no matter the culture or country, if you want to know something about any topic, look for a man in a uniform who is wearing a big wad of keys on his belt. I don't know what it is, but be it a security guard, a postman, an electrician or a plumber, the uniform coupled with a big wad of keys will almost promise a veritable font of seemingly unimportant trivia which can sometimes proves very helpful. It's no different in Thailand.

I wanted to know what the Thai people think about snakes in general and the story of St. Patrick driving the snakes out of Ireland in particular.

Cam - my security guard, the one with a HUGE wad of keys on his belt - told me that snakes in Thailand are called "naga" - or, the feminine "nagini".

In Buddhist tradition, the nagas are the servants of one of the Four Heavenly Kings who guards the western direction. Buddha had his own naga to protect him. They have the ability to take on human form because they are rumored to have both snake and human qualities and characteristics.

Reminds me of Slytherins in the Harry Potter series.  They were the most cunning and ambitious of the four houses at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Sorting Hat almost sent him there, but he ended up at Gryffindor, with the "brave of heart".

Cam told me the story of the Naga prince "Sesha" and how he came to hold the world on his head. It begins when Sesha appeared before Brahma as a dedicated human ascetic who was apparently practicing a hard penance as atonement for sins. Cam didn't know what sin, exactly, but he thought it was "Very Big".

Sesha's hair is knotted and he is dressed in rags. His flesh, skin, and sinews are dried up from fasting and praying in the hot sun "many, many long year".

Brahma is pleased with Shesha, and entrusts him with the duty of carrying the world. At that point in the story, Shesha begins to exhibit the attributes of a serpent. He enters into a hole in the Earth and slithers all the way to bottom, where he then loads the Earth onto his head.

"Be very careful snake," says Cam. "No trust. Delicious in curry, but can bite. Dead."

Garuda, the eagle King, is the natural nemesis of naga. They were, I think cousins but something happened and the Naga enslaved the Garuda and would only free him if he stole a magic potion that would make them immortal. Garuda apparently accomplished the task but something else happened - I had trouble following the story because Cam became very animated and spoke more rapidly so it was hard to follow - so Garuda tricked the snake and didn't give the Naga the potion. From that point on, Garuda no longer thought of them friends but as food.

I asked Cam what he thought about St. Patrick and why he thought St. Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland.

"No trust snake," he said again. "Sometime very bad. Sometime good, but can be very bad. Snake for farang (I'm assuming he meant St. Patrick and/or the Irish people) be very bad. Send out-out. Good for him. Good for country."

So, it would appear that the myth and legend of St. Patrick does make the cultural translation quite well. I suppose I shouldn't really be surprised.

As I listened to Cam, I thought that Jung's idea of the "collective unconscious" makes more and more sense to me.

In Sunday's Gospel, Jesus reminds Nicodemus of Moses encounter with snakes, alluding to the serpent in the Garden.

"Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life." (John 3:14-21)

Just in case you missed the point, Jesus adds what Martin Luther called "the gospel in miniature, "For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life."

As famous as John 3:16 is, I wish we would not forget v 17: "Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him."

Not to condemn the world but to save it. The same way Garuda did not give the naga the magic potion for eternal life but dedicated his life to removing the naga from the world. The same way St. Patrick rid Ireland of the snakes by driving them out.

Interesting that scripture tells us that "Moses made a serpent of bronze, and put it upon a pole, and whenever a serpent bit someone, that person would look at the serpent of bronze and live." (Numbers 21:4-9) Interesting as well that The Buddha got the Naga to guard the palace as the Four Heavenly Kings got them to guard the western direction.

I suppose those are two ways to deal with the idea of evil in the world: Run it out or make it work for you.

No matter your country or culture, your creed or religious practices, the Problem of Evil exists. How you deal with it - and not succumb or be overpowered by it - is the question that cuts across all of our cultural and religious differences.

I don't think I'm ever going to be able to celebrate St. Patrick's Day again without thinking of Garunda and the Naga and The Problem of Evil. Or, the image of smiling Thai people wearin' the green.

The Thailand Trots

The Thai Alphabet

I've been feeling a bit peaked today.

I understand I have what is called "The Thailand Trots". This is similar to - but not to be confused with - Montezuma's Revenge" which one gets in Mexico, or "Delhi Belly" which one gets in India.

The source of the ailment is the same: water. Contaminated water, that is. In my case, it was probably the tap water used to wash out the lettuce and tomato in the salad I ate last night as part of my most amazing meal at Rob's birthday celebration.

Despite Rob's assurances that "everything is safe, I never get sick," I have been scrupulous in avoiding vegetables or fresh fruit and I haven't eaten anything off the numerous carts with amazing looking chicken satay or beautiful sliced pineapple, papaya, mango, etc., which abounds here.

But, this was an upscale restaurant - I mean, we had the prix fix menu - salad/soup, choice of five luscious entres (I had the delicious medallions of boeuf with mushrooms, mashed potatoes and green beans), and dessert (an amazing chocolate and vanilla mousse) - all for 290 baht (about $10 US) which is considered an expensive meal 'round these parts.

I thought it might be safe to have the salad here. Not so, apparently.

Well, I think the salad, combined with being out last night until 2 AM coupled with this morning's 110 degree heat and the most beastly humidity I've experienced thus far (and, it's been fairly beastly) have all conspired together to bring "the troubles" to Paradise today.

I'm learning that it's not a pleasant experience to be ill in a country where one does not speak the language and can not effectively communicate what one needs or wants.

Thank God I brought my own Immodium. 

We went for breakfast this morning at The Cucumber Cafe across the street. I've been getting the Waffles or the Pancakes with maple syrup. Lovely. I couldn't even look at the picture on the menu this morning without feeling my stomach lurch.

I found "hot tea" on the menu (Beverages, #58) and pointed to it. My waitress smiled. I carefully checked the "Accompany" section to find a side of plain, steamed,white rice. Nothing was listed there or anywhere on the menu. So, I tried my luck with the waitress who knows me now.

We operate on a very basic Thai-English communication basis. We actually sound like we know what we're talking about. And, mostly, we do. We're fine as long as we're simply exchanging pleasantries and I can point to something on the menu. A simple bowl of plain, steamed white rice was pushing us both out of our comfort zones.

"Tummy upset," I said.

She looked at me quizzically and I think, registered concern. My facial expression was communicating more than my words.

"Um....plain, steamed white rice," I asked.

She pointed to the picture of the bowl of shrimp soup so many Thais eat for breakfast.  I have no idea what she thought I said, except that one can have that with rice if one prefers.

"Oh, no, no, korb-koon, ka (no thank you, madam)," I said. "Rice. Just rice. Plain rice. Rice."

She looked at me again like I was talking....well.... Greek.

I tried a few more times and then, suddenly, she smiled and said, "Ah, moment, moment. I get."

At that point, I had no idea if she really understood. I was feeling too ill to continue the conversation, anyway. I closed my eyes, took some deep breaths, and waited for the lovely pot of tea I was certain would be at my table momentarily.

To my absolute delight, she did "get it". Suddenly, there was a lovely mound of steamed, white rice on a plate which I ate slowly and gratefully, sipping my cup of hot, lovely tea.

I must sound to them the way they sometimes sound to me.  Case in point:

Rob was supposed to have a massage yesterday for his birthday. Joe was to come to his apartment at 1600 hours (4 PM). He waited until 4:30 and then tried to call Joe to no avail.

"I'll bet he's lost his cell phone again," said Rob, and that was the end of that. The subject of time is an entirely different conversation. Except, this morning, while we were sitting at breakfast - I enjoying my plain, boiled, white rice as if it were a filet mignon - Rob got the following email from Joe.

Hi Peter (he always calls Rob "Peter" for some unknown reason)

You can tell me why not.

I can not see his phone.

I call to my phone. But it can not any influence.

How can I do to get in touch with you?

Joe.

I immediately heard how I must sound to the Thai people and practically snorted the tea and rice out my nostrils.

The good news is that while my tummy may be out of sorts, my sense of humor and ability to laugh at myself seem to be working just fine.

I fully expect to be "fit as a fiddle" for tomorrow's festivities for St. Patrick's Day. There's a parade with floats and everyone will be wearin' the green. I understand that the Thai people really get into it and drink green bear and eat corned beef and cabbage right along with the farang (foreigners).

I guess it's really true: Absolutely everyone is Irish on St. Paddy's Day.

I wonder what they really understand about it all, and which Buddhist Spirit they compare St. Patrick to in making the translation across cultural and religious lines.

Then again, maybe I don't really want to know that.

Having the Thailand Trots is enough of a cultural immersion for me.

Happy Birthday, Rob!

Rob and me at the Alcazar, Pattaya, Thailand

Today is the 70th birthday of my very dear friend, Rob. Ostensibly, it's the reason I traveled half way 'round the world to be here. "Just" to celebrate his Natal Feast Day. But, I think it's becoming obvious that the Spirit had other things - many other things - in mind for this trip.

It's become a "tradition" for us to get together to celebrate his birthday that ends in a '0'. So, 40 was in Maine. 50 was in Vermont. 60 was in Hawai'i. And now, 70 in Thailand.

I know. The sacrifices we make for friends, right?

He doesn't look - or act - 70. I don't know what that is supposed to mean, actually. I suppose everyone who reaches a certain age they think is "ancient of days" is surprised by how young they actually feel.

Oh, he has a bit of arthritis in the hip which slows his step from time to time as we travel the "Sois" (lanes) around his neighborhood, and he's got even less patience - if that's possible - than he had when he was 40 (don't get me started about his learning how to use the internet), but his mind is still razor sharp, his curiosity about people still active and open, and his humor is still outrageous.

No one makes me laugh the way Rob does.

We got all gussied up and went to the Alcazar in "uptown" Pattaya last night and had an absolutely FABULOUS time. The Alcazar is a drag show, but nothing like I've seen, even in NYC.

The sets and costumes and lightening and sound were amazing. There was lip syncing, of course, but the choreography was well done and nicely, professionally, executed.

There was a great, interesting mixture of cultural representations - Thai, Japanese, Korean, Russian and American. Clearly, they know their audience. The house was PACKED - and, we were at the first of three shows for the evening.

Rob wants me to remind you that, except for the boys who were playing male roles, all the "women" were in drag.

My apologies to those of you on the gender binary or spectrum who may take offense at that. It seems to me that the complicated issue of gender identity and expression is even a bit more complicated here in Thailand. The thing of it is that some of those boys think of themselves as men who like to dress up as women (transvestite) - sometimes called "lady boys" here - which doesn't necessarily mean they are gay.  Others are. They just like to dress up and express themselves as women.

That's gender. Sexual orientation is separate and different from gender identity and expression. 

Then, there are the transgender folk, most of whom have taken hormonal therapy and/or have had "the surgery" - well, at least,  most have had breast implants but not necessarily had "gender reassignment surgery".  Some are in process to have that procedure done, but most will simply have breast implants but keep their external male genitalia.

Up to them. See? Not up to me. Or, you.

Again, that is separate from their sexual orientation. I know, it can be confusing, even on a good day. That's our problem. Not theirs. One has to be very clear about that or one will find oneself becoming judgmental and frustrated and grumpy, and what's the point of that, really? It won't change a thing.

Those who have had breast augmentation are obvious - I must say, there was a LOT of silicone on that stage - because their breasts were perfectly symmetrical, but there were also lots of boys with prosthetic breasts that looked so natural I was amazed that they weren't "real" - well, implants.  These makeup artists are positively genius.

At one point, Rob leaned over to me and said, "I'll bet his mother is so proud". We giggled a bit and then he said, "And, of course, she IS proud of her son, and more than happy for the money he sends home at the end of each month."

The Alcazar

We are having a bit of a lull by the pool this afternoon and then, home to shower and get gussied up again for a late dinner at one of the great restaurants here in Pattaya.

We're going to a little Thai-French place down the Soi called "The Marina". We ate there the second or third night I was here and the food was to die for.  Rob made reservations on the spot for tonight and invited two of his good friends to join us.

I am so looking forward to it, not only for the great food but the company. Gay men, in general, are so much fun. I hesitate to confess this, but I do love being treated like a queen princess.

I know my place. They are the Queans. Actually, I am less a princess and more a "lady in waiting", except, I'm the one who is greeted by having my hand kissed and complimented profusely about what I'm wearing. I love that they notice things like rings and jewelry and hair style and clothing. It may just be the circles in which I travel, but it has been my experience that most straight men I know seem to care less about those things - or, at least, letting a woman know that they appreciate her style (If that's important to her and yes, even dykes like to dress well, even if it's just jeans and Birkenstocks. If you take the time to notice, the jeans are ironed and creased, the shirt is starched and the leather on the Birkenstocks oiled.).

The thing of it is, I notice what the men are wearing and return the compliments. It's all very sincere and genuine but there's also a ritual of sorts. We take time to notice things like that about each other. It's all terribly superficial, I know, but there's something wonderful about having an appreciation for aesthetics and the attempt to look nice.

I've noticed that Thai men and women do this quite naturally. Men to men, women to women, men to women, women to men. Everyone notices personal aesthetics and beauty and does not let it go past without mention.

It reminds me, in a way of that famous line in "A Color Purple" when Celie says, "I think it pisses God off if you don't notice the color purple."  When you live amidst so much poverty and suffering, it makes God smile, I think, to recognize and lift up the beauty around you, even if it is in someone else's clothing or hair or jewelry.

Ah, and age. I think, when we are granted long life, we ought to celebrate it. We need to honor the gift of life and gather a few good friends 'round and eat well, if we can, and laugh often.

Of all the beautiful prayers in the BCP and in our liturgical heritage, I think it pleases Jesus most when we honor the gift of our lives by breaking bread and making a "sacrifice of presence" to be with the ones we love - and who have loved us in return - over the years.

There's a song our Girl Scout granddaughter, Mackie, has learned, "Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other gold."

You are golden to me, dear Rob. Happy, happy birthday.

Alcazar Opening Act

You've often said to me over the years, "I love you more than my luggage."

Well, dear friend, it's not exactly the same, but it's the best I can do: I love you more than my lipstick!

God grant you many, many years of life and health and intellectual curiosity and openness and compassion and, of course, outrageous humor. 

It would be good if you learned some patience, but I won't push the point with God and ask for that. In the grand scheme of things, I think S/he may have other things in the cosmos that need more attention. I'll see it as an opportunity for me to practice patience - not exactly my strong suit, either - and be happy for all that we have be given.

Please join me in celebrating Rob's birthday and, if you are of a mind, send a few arrow prayers of praise and thanksgiving for his life.

Buddhist Evangelism

 

It's just my observation, but I think Christians could learn a great deal from Buddhists about evangelism.

They don't do it. They live it.

It's not about getting people to "join" them. It's about living it. It's not about the Wat or The Temple. It's about your home and your family.

Every home and business - shops, restaurants, dental or medical clinics - have a small "Spirit House" just outside or near the entrance. Sometimes it has a statue of Buddha in it. Often times it does not.

Freshly strung flowers are hung from it and, at the start of each new day, a bowl of rice, something to drink (I've noticed the Buddha apparently likes strawberry or cherry Fanta), and some incense is lit and put out in front of the Spirit House.

I watch someone - sometimes male, sometimes female - from the family come out, place the "offering tray" in front of the Spirit House, bow reverently and, for just a few moments, pray.

They pray, I've learned, mostly for the two pathways to Nirvana or Enlightenment - prajna (wisdom) and karuna (compassion).

Wisdom comes from the awareness and understanding - and, ultimately, acceptance - that everything is dynamic. The world and all creatures are both in flux and interrelated. Compassion comes from Synyata or emptiness, understanding that the self is "no self" without others.

One can not have wisdom without compassion. Neither can there be compassion without wisdom. The two are deeply, profoundly, interrelated. Well, one can have one without the other but one would be out of balance. Achieve a balance of them both, and you have a greater opportunity to achieve Enlightenment or Nirvana.

Notice, please, that you don't have to go to confession a prescribed number of times, or attend church on High Holy Days and receive communion as a requirement for membership in a Temple. No sign-ins on a registry of attendance, status of membership, either

As Mary Oliver writes,

"You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting."

And, God knows, you are not expected to tithe or pledge to your Wat. You are, however, expected to be generous and to bring food and water and clothing to the monks who are, essentially, teachers and spiritual guides. Oh, and flowers, candles and incense to Buddha which you purchase from the monks at a teeny-tiny profit to the Wat.

Maybe that's because there's no guilt-tripping. No talk about "sin" or an external force of evil known as "the Devil" or how "Buddha saves" you from your sin if you only "repent and turn to the Lord". No "original sin" you were born with, only "cravings" which are a normal part of life which one learns to empty oneself of if one wants to end suffering in one's life and the world.

No promises of tomorrow or what happens after you die, only instruction on how to live a moral life.
At home. Where you are. With your family and friends and those who come into your life or home or school or business.

I suspect the Temple gets more this way than most churches reap from well-designed well executed Evangelism or Stewardship Program.

That's because Buddhism is not a religion. It's a way of life. One, I'm discovering, is highly compatible with the way of Jesus.

It really is the way Jesus lived his life, isn't it? Near as I can tell, he didn't have a Temple of his own. He didn't have an office or keep office hours. He went to were people were, teaching, healing and, on at least a few occasions, preaching.

I see the Buddhist monks doing the same thing. And, I see an entire nation of Buddhists who are working out and living their faith publicly.

Which all causes me to wonder. What if Christianity took a page from Buddhism? What if, rather than the church and her clergy being the center and mediators of our expressions of faith, the self and the family home became the primary focus of our religious lives?

What if, from the time a child drew her or his first breath, s/he breathed in prayer? What if the first sound to greet you as you ushered forth from the womb to enter the world was the chanting of prayers of joy and thanksgiving?

What if, no matter who you are or what you are or how much education or money or social status you have, people bowed to you when they met you? What if every day of your life, you saw your parents making offerings and praying at the Spirit House, and they taught you how to do that, too? What if the point of your whole life was to learn wisdom and show compassion?

And, what if, wherever you went - home or away - people greeted you with a sign of reverent prayer?

What would happen to Christianity if we practiced our faith less in church and more in our lives and homes and families?

Isn't that a better form of evangelism?

Call me a heretic if you wish, but ultimately, isn't that the best form of evangelism: to help yourself and others become a better member of the human race and a member of the family of God through the attainment of wisdom and compassion than to become a member of a Church?

Unless, of course, the church took more seriously the task of helping people attain wisdom and compassion and lead moral lives.

Then, I think, absolutely everyone would want to belong.

I know I would. Wouldn't you?

Danger in Paradise

Child sex trafficking in Pattaya

The gay community here is all abuzz.

"Eddie" was caught in the bathroom of the local McDonald's with a 12-year old boy. Which is stupid on more levels than one has time to enumerate.

In the first place, sex - any kind of sex - is amply available here in Thailand but especially here in Pattaya which has the dubious distinction of being a "destination location" for those looking to participate in the commercial sex industry.

The same is true in Cambodia, Laos, Viet Nam, Tokoyo, Singapore, India and most of Asia.

According to one news report I read, of the estimated 20,000 commercial sex workers in Pattaya, hundreds are children who are either lured from their villages by the idea of opportunity or by criminal networks.

Pattaya has a multi-billion dollar multinational sex industry with links to drug trafficking, money laundering and an expanding regional cross-border traffic in women - especially from Russia and Ukraine.

In Thailand, trafficking is a 500 billion baht annual business, which is 50%- 60% of the government's annual budget and more lucrative than the drug trade.

You want sex? Man? Woman? Anybody? No problem.

Why, then, have sex with a child?

Because, apparently, you can. And, for the most part, get away with it. Unless, of course, you are dumb enough to frequent places like the bathrooms at McDonalds where everyone knows there is CCTV (Closed Circuit Television). Men's or women's facilities - you can't miss the CCTV signs on the door as you enter.

From what I understand, "Eddie" is from a little town just a few miles north of Liverpool. Father left the family around dubious circumstances. Lived alone with his mother all of his adult life until she died about three years ago.

He reportedly has an older brother who is married and lives and works in Liverpool, but Eddie has inherited the house. Been living and traveling off his inheritance since Mum died. Due to retire in May.

He's been coming to Pattaya three or four times a year for the past three years. His family thinks he's coming for "the women". Which, I suppose, was okay. "Normal" you know, especially for an older "life long bachelor" who is about to enter the ranks of an old age pensioner.

But, of course, he's been able to satisfy his fantasy having sex with Thai "lady boys" who are men but look like women who look like they're 12 years old but they are 18 and so "legal".

The local press is all over the story. Apparently, it's important to the Thai government to let people know that child sex trafficking will not be tolerated here. Offenders will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law, which here means that he will be in prison for at least a few months and then he will be deported to UK. There, he'll spend additional time in prison and be on the sex-offender registry.

No one is quite sure what will happen to his pension. The consensus among the Brits here is that he may well be denied it because he has committed a sex crime and is registered as a pedophile and has brought disgrace to his homeland.

The Thai prisons are notorious for being more like the 7th rung of Dante's Inferno. There is no food or water except that which is brought in by family or friends. There are 25 or 30 men to a cell. A hole in the ground as a place to deposit one's bodily waste. No showers or sinks. No fans or anything to move the heavy moisture laden air around.

The reaction from the gay community here has been fascinating. Everyone feels sad for their friend when they are also outraged by his stupidity and the way it makes all gay men look bad.

No one is talking about the 12 year old Thai boy.

Frankly, I don't think "Eddie" is gay. He's a bit "slow" intellectually. Some have described him as "simple". They say that, when the cops brought him to his apartment to get his passport, he could have bought himself off for about 5,000 baht each policeman. Why he didn't, they say, is evidence enough that the poor lad doesn't have both oars in the water.

He's also a "loner". Doesn't hang around much with his British mates. Sleeps until past noon, comes down to the pool where he mostly drinks Chang beer all afternoon - one after another, sometimes with a beer in one hand and a glass of gin in the other - and then lumbers off around 1800 hours when the rest of the crew either goes out or goes home for their supper. He isn't seen again until the following afternoon at the pool when he drinks his way through another day.

I suspect - and it's only my speculation - that "Eddie's" father's disappearance from the family has something to do with his inability to form relationships with anyone as well as his attraction to young, under-aged Thai boys.

Not that it ultimately matters, and I'm not saying this to excuse this heinous behavior, but I'm betting solid money his psychological profile will include sexual abuse when he was about 12 years old. I think this is a pretty clear case of "arrested development".

Conspiracy theories abound. Everyone is convinced that it was a set up. That, the young boy had been caught before and, as part of his penance, was used by the Thai police to set up a European man so that the Thai people - and the whole rest of the world - would have evidence that Thailand does not tolerate child trafficking. The child, they say, was probably back out on the streets turning tricks that same afternoon.

It's all rubbish, they say. This sort of thing goes on more than anyone is willing to admit. Just not in places where there's closed circuit television.

So, I ask, this is the boy's fault?

Well, they say, it's just the culture here. What can you do?

Ah, I ask, so this is like in the US or UK or most places in the 'civilized world' where women are still payed 65 cents compared to every dollar made by a man? It's just the way it is? Or, perhaps, it's rather like when women wearing short skirts who are raped are really to blame because they were "asking for it."

I was met by stone cold silence and pained looks all 'round. I'm not making friends here as long as I follow this line of thought and ask these kinds of questions. It is, after all, a man's world.

The sadness of the day "Eddie" was arrested moved into anger the next day and now it's just fodder for gossip and dish. Apparently, "Eddie" has been moved to a prison closer to Bangkok where it is surmised he will stay a few months - through the worst of the summer heat and oppressive humidity, no doubt - until the Thai and British consulates work out the arrangements for his deportation to UK.

That is, if he doesn't either off himself or is killed in prison. Folks here say that the odds are greater for that happening than for him to return to UK.

Or, perhaps, that's wishful thinking on their part. It would simply add to the drama and the dish.

I'm still outraged. I'm not buying the bit about the culture or the attitude about sex as some sort of permissive factor in all this. We're talking young peasant boys and girls who are taken from their families on poor farms in the north who don't think they have any other options to put food in the mouths of their children than to sell off some of their children.

THAT's what needs to be changed. At the very least, the money being made by the government from this "industry" ought to be channeled into improving the lives of the peasants in the North, until it reaches a point of diminishing return.

I wonder if anyone has thought of that? Probably not. Then again, no one has asked me. I suspect some of the social service agencies that are here are working out strategies to end child trafficking. None of them really seem to be working.

As promised - me on ZaZa the elephant with my mahout Cam

You can only go so far shoveling the pollution out of the water in front of you. You have to go upstream to see what is polluting the waters and work on solving that problem in order to have fresh water to drink where you are.

It's hard to remember that I'm on vacation and probably ought not be thinking about these things, but it's hard to put this "incident" of child trafficking on the shelf.

Having been this close to it, however, is closer than I ever want to be again in my life. If it's all the same to you, I'd rather be celebrating Thai culture and riding elephants.

The poor, said Jesus, will always be with us.

You may not be able to 'push the river' as the Buddhist say, but you can certainly go upstream and clean it up. 

Elephant Riding in Thailand

View from the top of an elephant - Nongnooch Gardens, Pattaya, Thailand

One of the best parts of my Big Phat Thai Adventure is that, every day it seems, I'm learning things about myself I never knew before.

Besides discovering a real affinity for Buddhist spirituality as a pathway to deepen my love of Jesus, who knew I would come to love elephants?

Well, not at first.

I rode an elephant today, in Nongnooch Gardens, just a bit north of the city of Pattaya, Thailand. Not only did I love it - well, eventually - I can't wait to do it again.

Yes, pictures were taken. Unfortunately, those won't be available until some time tomorrow. My friend Rob took them of me and we have to get the 'doohickey' that connects his camera to my USB port so we can upload them.

I took the above picture while I was on the elephant. It was, in fact, a very brave thing for me to do (I'll accept your applause. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.). I actually had to let go of the death grip I had on my seat, search through my bag, take some deep breaths, and then steady myself on the side railings of my seat to take the picture.

My mahout (driver) heard the camera click, turned around and offered to take a picture of me. I told him that my friend had already taken one, thank you. I sounded very adult and composed and mature.

"Ah, but you no have for self. Own camera. I take for you." And, he started to get off the elephant.

It was the first time I panicked.  I have no idea where that little girl voice came from, but suddenly I heard myself sounding as I once did at around age 5 pleading, "No, please don't leave me!"

('Don't leave me' ???? Where the heck did THAT come from?)

He giggled a bit and said, "Madam safe with me."

"You can get back on after you get off?" I asked, again sounding like a scared little girl.

"Oh, elephant go down, I get up."

"Elephant go down?" I practically shrieked. "I go down  too?"

"Okay, Madam. Okay. You stay. Stay stay. I stay. Be fine, fine."

Poor man. I think I scared him almost as much as I scared myself. So, he started talking to me as I tried to regain my composure.

He told me that he had been working at Nongnooch for 10 years. This was "his" elephant which became "his" shortly after she was born. He slept with her and her mother and began training her when she was four years old.  Up until that time, elephants stay exclusively with their mothers.

Elephants only sleep four hours a night, he said, usually from 11 PM to 3 AM. They simply yawn and then sit down, often snoring "like old man" he said, as he laughed. "Keep me wake."

Elephants only sleep standing up if they are not well.  "Has she ever been ill?" I asked. "No, no," he said. "She good. I good. I get sick one. I no come for sorng - two - day. She worry. She walk-walk. No sleep. I come back, she happy, happy. She sleep good time that time. Me too."

I guess it really is true: Elephants never forget.

My mahout (driver) said that the reason Thailand is free today is because of elephants. Kings mounted elephants and fought in battle on them, which is why they won so many battles on so many occasions when the Burmese invaded the country. The elephants made all the difference.

Earlier in the day, we were treated to a reenactment of two kings battling on elephants in the cultural center. Here's a very brief clip of it which I took from my cell phone, so it's not the best, but it's not that bad, either.

I asked my driver if he was married. He laughed and said, "You want marry me, farang lady?" I laughed and said, "Are you proposing?"

We laughed together and he said, "Thai people say marriage like elephant - man front legs, yes? Choose direction. Wife back legs. Give power."

"Ah, I see your problem," I said.

"Problem?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, "why you no marry." He looked at me curiously.

"You find maybe Thai woman give you power but no want follow."

He roared with laughter, "Yes, yes. True, true."

"I stay with elephant. Good that way."

All too soon the ride was over and it was time to take my leave. "You come back. Five o'clock. We go again. No charge. My time. Free," said my driver in a remarkable expression of generosity that I have come to know of Thai people.

"Oh, no. I would love to, but can't. Bus come. 1400. Have to go back home."

"You come 'nother day. Five o'clock. I take you." 

He bowed his head and then took my hand and kissed it like a proper gentleman. I think I actually blushed, but I bowed in return and then took my leave.

I do believe he was flirting with me. Which was fine because it was all so innocent and lovely, in a way that was not at all offensive. It was, at a very basic level, human and relational.

You know, somewhere in the midst of the time my driver and I were talking about elephants and Thai-Burmese wars and Thai philosophy of marriage, I was able to let go of my anxiety and fear and just allow my body to sway with the elephant's walk and my mind relax with the driver's talk.

I think allowing the scared little girl that still lives in me to come out first also allowed me to turn that expression of a base, primordial fear into a deep, adult respect - not only for the elephant but for the relationship she has with her mahout (driver).

He would never hurt her. She would never hurt him. And, by extension, neither would either do anything to put me in harm's way.

We have so much to learn from each other - across gender and culture and even species.

I think I'm finally old enough to begin to learn how much more I need to learn. It happens when I can acknowledge and then let go of my fears and simply be what God created me to be - and become.

As the Buddhist monks would say, "We are not human beings. We are 'human becomings-with'."

Symbols, Images and Meaning

In a place like Pattaya where people come to vacation from around the world, one has to make certain that signs communicate effectively.

I think this picture of the signs for the "restroom" which I took just this morning is not only explicit, it is hilarious. No question about what one does in these rooms, is there? It's also clear that one is for men, and one is for women but both are in similar situations of...um... distress.

There was one room, directly opposite the woman's room, that was wheelchair accessible. The image on the door was that of a 'stick figure' in a wheelchair, racing full speed ahead, his mouth and eyes clearly in distress.

I didn't want to hang around and take a picture of that. It was bad enough that I was taking pictures of these signs for bathrooms. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Thai people walking around me and I could almost hear them thinking, "Farang lady ding dong." Or, maybe even, "pervert".

There are, of course, lots of signs all 'round that are for hotels and restaurants and shops. Those that cater to a certain audience have their message written in Thai and the language of the audience with which they intend to communicate.

So, one finds signs and adverts written in Thai, English and German, for example and one knows what one will find on the menu there.

Others are written only in Thai and Arabic - but one knows that this is a Muslim establishment because, more often than not, there are men and women out front smoking.....something.....in hookahs.

This sign for Take Care is pretty clear, isn't it?

In case you couldn't tell, this is an AIDS organization, especially targeting gay men.

Like every place else in the world, HIV/AIDS in Thailand is hardly limited to gay men, but the only adverts I've seen target gay men.

From the material I've been able to pick up around town I've learned that the first case of HIV/AIDS in Thailand was diagnosed in 1984.  It was diagnosed in the States on June 5, 1981.

And, like everywhere else in the world, the first diagnosed cases were primarily among gay men, commercial sex workers, intravenous drug uses and tourists.

My pamphlet informs me that the case of Cha-on Suesom, a factory worker who became infected with HIV following a blood transfusion, was widely broadcast through the media after he agreed to allow his story and identity to be publicized in 1987.

He became well known after appearing on TV shows and in national newspapers, allowing the public to appreciate the human side of the epidemic. Cha-on and his wife had both been fired from their jobs as a result of his HIV-positive status, and the injustice of this situation helped to increase public sympathy for people living with HIV.

This is the way it seems to happen, doesn't it? No one cares if the "disposable" people in one's culture are affected. When "normal" people become affected, suddenly it's a "health crisis" and there are "injustices" which play on the "sympathies" of people. 

According to another pamphlet I picked up, in 2010 there were over 67,000,000 people from all walks of life in Thailand who were living with HIV/AIDS. And yet, to see the signs, one would assume that it was still a "gay disease". Or, perhaps, it is that gay men are more proactive in "taking care". Or, more than likely, I'm not able to read the signs that may well be around but written only in Thai.

If you want to communicate with me, however, you're going to need to do that in pictures and images with very few words - preferably in English - but as long as the images are strong, I'll get your message and you'll be heard.

Except, there is this one sign I noticed the other night at Jom Tien Beach. It was dark so I couldn't get a good picture of it. It had "Take Care" in bold across the top and I'm assuming Thai on the bottom.

The image was one of an eight ball heading into the side pocket of a pool table. There was a man and a woman standing behind the eight ball, looking very sad. The man was holding a pool stick. The woman was nearest the side pocket of the pool table.

Clever, I thought. Take care. Don't 'get behind the eight ball" with HIV/AIDS.

There are a few signs around the beautiful grounds of my neighborhood Buddhist Wat (Temple) where I join the monks in daily prayer.

My favorite one thus far is the one that says, "When money speaks, truth is silent."

It is written in English and Thai.

The second one is not anywhere near as profound but it makes me giggle every time I see it. It says, "No public display of affection. No smoking and spitting."

It is clearly written in English. Not Thai or German or Arabic.

Guess who they want to read this sign?

Guess who apparently needs to read this sign?

Signs sometimes say more than the words or images on the sign.

I wore my small Celtic cross out to dinner last night. The waiter noticed it immediately and said something before I even sat down.

"Christian?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, quietly, not really wanting to get into a conversation about religion.

I noticed he was wearing a jade Buddha sitting za zen (praying) around his neck and complimented him on how lovely it was, happy for the diversion from a potential conversation about religion. 

We shared mutual 'oohs' and 'aahs' over our religious jewelry.

"Ah," he said, "Christian - Buddhist same-same."

I looked at him quizzically, not sure what he meant. "How so?" I asked.

"Dukkah," he said, adding, "Cross is dukkah,  yes?"

"Ah, yes," I said, suddenly catching his meaning. "Suffering is dukkah, yes, yes."

You know, until that moment, I hadn't realized that Buddhists and Christians share that same basic philosophy about the presence of suffering in the world.

Oh, I suppose I knew it but hadn't made that sharp a connection.

Except, of course, Christians believe that Jesus came to relieve suffering through salvation from our "original sin".

Buddhists believe that suffering is simply a part of the enterprise of being human - a suffering which is, predominantly, self-inflicted because of our "cravings".

Christians look to Jesus and follow His teachings to relieve suffering which will only really end when we die and "return" to Paradise (Heaven) for "Eternal Life". 

Buddhists follow his Dharma (teachings) to find the path through detachment and moral living to enlightenment ("Nirvana") which one can experience in this life. 

Funny how Christians wear the cross around our necks as a symbol of our faith and Buddhists wear the Buddha sitting in prayer as a symbol of theirs.

What are we communicating? And, to whom? What is the "message" people are getting from our signs and symbols? What meaning does it have for people?

Which is the more powerful symbol, I wonder: The image of a cross of suffering and redemption from "original sin" which we'll only fully know after we die....OR... the image of a man in prayer who says, "Come, follow my teaching and you will learn how to deal with inevitable suffering and find enlightenment in this life"?

The image of the cross is one that requires a great deal of explanation in order for people to understand it as a symbol of hope. The image of Buddha is pretty clear and straightforward: Meditation and  prayer as a symbol of hope. 

I wear my cross without even giving much thought to its symbol and meaning. For me, and I suspect for lots of Christians who would be equally hesitant to admit this, it's more a piece of jewelry than an outward statement of faith.

I mean, Madonna is pretty famous for wearing lots of crosses while she cavorted about the stage in a white dress and bustier which showed lots of cleavage, singing, "Like a virgin" - which she looked anything but.

How did it come to be that the cross became so meaningless for so many people? Does it mean something that it has become meaningless? Is it time for a new symbol? Maybe something a bit more explicit, like the restroom signs I spotted this morning?

Even my waiter understood something about the symbol of my faith to which I had become numb and taken for granted. And, he immediately saw the parallels and the things we have in common, rather than the differences.

I've never worn a cross with a corpus - and, never would - but I sort of fancy a cross with a dove of peace taking wing as something that says more about what I believe about Christianity.

What I find curious is that I had to come to a Buddhist nation to get more serious about my Christianity. Not that I wasn't or haven't been serious about it, but I suppose it comes from the challenge of being a minority when I've been in a decided majority.

Then again, they are just signs and symbols, aren't they?

Faith is not something one wears about one's neck or sticks on one's lapel.

Faith is to be lived. The only way to have faith is to live it.

God is not to be talked about so much as to be experienced.

I'm beginning to hear a deeper meaning of the wisdom attributed to St. Francis who is rumored to have taught his monks, "Preach the gospel always. If necessary, use words."

To which I would add, "And, use symbols even more sparingly".

They have a power all their own.