Meditations on the Mekong

Shortly after dawn we stepped onto the long narrow slowboat, embarking on a voyage down the mighty Mekong river. It was overcast and chilly, the other passengers were wearing warm clothes and scowls. Anx and I left our jackets in the big packs, which were already stowed under the floorboards with the other baggage. Shivering in the morning wind, we set off in a dreary mood. Anx went to use the lady's room in the back. When the boat pushed off shore with a jerk, she almost fell into the toilet. She was not a happy camper. 

By midmorning it warmed up, the sun rising above the breaking clouds. The sunlight reached our faces, and people began peeling back their layers. No longer strangers in the cold, the faces began smiling at each other. With some delicious muffins for breakfast, the mood improved considerably.

The slowboat—true to its name—moved at a leisurely pace. The shores on both sides drifted lazily by, rolling hills of lush forest broken up by barren beaches and rock formations jutting out of the water. Stops were made at villages along the way, as our vessel doubled its duties by supplying goods to the remote river folk. 

A tranquil atmosphere settled in, matching the calm river current. We had all day to get downriver, and this moulded our mindset. Here, we were in no rush, there was no schedule to chase. Sightseeing was easy, the scenery was all around us. A world away from the chaos back home in the big city.

The boat sat about thirty rows, each with five seats and separated by an aisle down the middle. There was enough space for Anx and I to stretch out and occupy a whole row to ourselves. With only a railing separating us from the outside, it was a breezy ride in the open air.

Every now and then we were overtaken by a 'fast boat', the other way of going downriver. With a big commotion, these would slice through the water, bouncing like a skipped pebble on the surface and splashing in all directions. The passengers were strapped into bright helmets, and even from here we could see their faces of horror. Baggage was tied down to the boat and threatened to fly off at any moment. Lucky we didn't take that thing, I thought to myself. 

Homage to the River

Once we settled in, it was time for some exploring. I walked to the front of the boat, and stepped to the edge. The view was much better up here, the river ahead looking narrow enough to swim across. At the bow, a simple altar was set up, with potted cactus flowers, incense, candles and a cup of water. An offering to the gods of the river to grant safe passage. I lowered my head and extended my gratitude and respect as well. In response, sunlight glittered off the water in the distance.

What began in Luang Prabang applied here and everywhere: I didn't have to know or fully understand the ritual or the religion in order to recognize its holiness. Instead of standing idly or being a detached observer, I could participate in my own way and match my vibration accordingly. By opening up my heart in humility, I could communicate with God and the Universe through any channel. 

When I later watched an episode of Human Planet, I came to appreciate the power of the mighty Mekong in full force. During monsoon season, the river swells to twenty times its normal volume, surging with torrential rapids twice the flow of the Niagara Falls. The Mekong becomes a raging beast, swallowing everything in its path and threatening livelihoods. Those who live off of it are allowed no mistakes, as fishermen risk their lives for their trade. No wonder there was an altar on the boat

Fortunately for us, the Mekong was a sleeping beauty, posing no threat whatsoever.  

I sauntered back to my seat and stuck my head over the railing to bask in the sun. Dipping my hand into the water, I felt the current gently flowing through my fingers as I slipped into a daydream. The lax atmosphere was entirely guilt-free. Nothing we did could change the speed of the voyage, and in any case we would be on the slowboat for days. Why not enjoy every minute of it? 

Anx and I embraced the slow pace, and gave each other plenty of personal space. She napped, I meditated. She read her book, I wrote in my journal. We sat in silence,  relishing every sensation of the timeless river. 

A New Earth

The book was given to me by a good friend named Eed. 

It taught that there was more to us human beings than our ego, i.e. more than the sum of our thoughts and feelings. Throughout history (and certainly in my life) much importance has been placed on thought and logic. But thought is affected by emotions, and sometimes both thoughts and emotions are tumultuous, pulling the mind in different directions. Given the same set of circumstances, a person thinks  differently if they're in different emotional states.  

Someone who talked to themselves in public would be considered crazy. But the only difference is that they give voice to their thoughts, whereas a 'normal' person would keep those thoughts unspoken. Most of us are still in the grip of that inner monologue, an incessant and compulsive stream of thoughts. Does that mean we're all quietly crazy?

Beyond the self, beyond the person we think we are, is a still and pure consciousness, or awareness, that can perceive both thoughts and feelings from a perspective separate and further back from the ego. Thus when Descartes says, "I think, therefore I am", he is mistaken in assuming that being and thinking are the same thing. The author believes rather that Sartre came closer to the truth when he observed, "the consciousness that says 'I am' is not the consciousness that thinks." 

Awareness is distinct from thinking, it is in fact "the space in which thought exists." This awareness should be focused on both the world around us and the world within. By activating it, the power of the ego is reduced. Staying aware helps to liberate the mind from the constant and many desires of the ego to feed itself: money, beauty, power, status, consumption, distraction. We can thus start to be free of the narratives we write into our lives, believing to be real. 

I paused here, as images and memories came rushing into mind. If all this was true, then I had been in the grip of the ego for most of my life. A career in banking no doubt inflated my ego, while satisfying a lot of its wants. From the outside, it must've seemed as if I had everything. But inside, I was unfulfilled and slowly dying. That ultimately what led me to leave everything, and end up here.

I took a deep breath and kept reading.

The being side of a human being can be described as a mindfulness of the only moment that matters, which is now. To be aware of the present moment requires one to be still and not think. The analogy is that you can't properly listen and speak at the same time. Similarly, you cannot be properly aware if you are thinking. By definition, being in the present moment doesn't happen when the mind is constantly focused on memories past or some uncertain future. Life is not out there, but now in this moment.

Once we let go of our attachment to the self (the ego and its associated dramas) we become aware that we are each a part of something much greater than our individual self. We can then open ourselves to the nature that underlies everything, and can connect with the entire Universe around us.

The concept of a pain-body was introduced, an accumulation of pain that pervades an individual, a family or even an entire national consciousness. Described as "emotional pain from the past that wants to renew itself through experiencing more pain," the pain-body is very much tied up with the ego, even enhances it. As an example, some people play the role of the victim, not because it makes them happy, but because it gives significance to their lives. Practicing awareness and staying in the present moment both help to alleviate and supersede the ego and pain-body. 

Subsequent pages repeated the same messages, with different images and language. The author, Eckhart Tolle, was not writing from the perspective of any particular religion, but drew references from Christianity, Islam, Buddhism and other texts. There was a common line that was being drawn, linking them all.

He was describing that which can't be described. The best he (and other wise men) could do was point to the formless in all of us, which by nature remains beyond words and form. It had to be experienced.

Such a dense read required time to reflect and (more importantly) to practice. I put the book down frequently to absorb the truth behind the words. What was being exposed was a collective unconsciousness that was the root cause of many a problem. The path to rise above sounded so simple, yet so fickle. 

I looked up to the river, trying to be more aware of myself and the world around me. Closing my eyes, I focused on breathing to still the mind, observing the thoughts that fell onto my consciousness like raindrops, causing ripples and then fading. Awareness then opened up to the breeze on my face, the chuckling current, the voices of the other passengers and the low steady hum of the engine in the background. Then further out, I could sense the other boats and the sounds from the shore. As my awareness enveloped my surroundings, I breathed into it all.  

A New Earth traveled everywhere with me, but often set aside for lighter reading. Whenever I came back looking for perspective, in different places and circumstances, the pages never failed to deliver the message I needed at that moment. Much like drinking from a well of truth…a few mouthfuls at a time, to slowly digest.

Yin and Yang

Anx and I discussed what we were reading, interpreted our dreams, and gave voice to random thoughts that surfaced. The dialogue was honest and open, taking on a life of its own. We mirrored for each other once more, to help understand ourselves, life and what was happening to us. Slowly, some great mystical puzzle was unraveling.

She was reading two books herself. The first was more well-known: Men are From Mars, Women Are From Venus. When she finished a pivotal chapter, she held it out to me, saying: "Here, read this." 

I did, and then we talked about it. Her recently failed relationship was a study, something to be analyzed. What she could've done different, how she could rectify these flaws that she identified in herself. Anx believed that if she could heal herself, then her relationship would also heal. My own breakup was not as recent, so I wasn't as emotionally involved. In fact, I was happily enjoying my single life, but by that definition, all my relationships had also failed. I was therefore not opposed to learning more about intergender relations. 

The book describes men as being like rubber bands, and women like waves. It calls for the woman to let the man have his freedom and space, during which he will move out and explore to a certain extent, then 'snap back' like a rubber band and willingly return to the woman. On the flip side, the man must be there to support his woman when she is in the valley of a wave, until she returns to her normal self as a being of love.

Other images used by the book were the cave and the well, though essentially saying the same thing. The man must periodically go into his man-cave, to do manly things and be away from the woman. When he emerges he will be more balanced and achieve a happier union, otherwise tensions may appear. The woman for her part will periodically fall into her well when she becomes emotionally distraught. This is where she needs support (not quick-fix solutions), and when she comes out of the well she will also contribute to a happy union. Apparently, many relationships fail from lack of knowledge or respect for these patterns.

If it wasn't for Anx, I would have never read this book myself, but it was maybe the first time I explored male and female energies in such a way. No knowledge is bad knowledge, so I stored it away for future reference.

Mad Mac

I struck up a conversation with him in the afternoon. His name was Mac (short for Maciej, pronounced matchay) and he was wearing a similar shirt to mine, so I complimented him on his good taste. Young and goofy, he was traveling alone, and had his fair share of stories. The last leg of his journey was similar to my first, through Vietnam and Laos on the way to Thailand. He'd been on the road outside of his native Poland for almost a year, including a six-month stint in Australia. Costs there were kept to a bare minimum as he bought a used car, slept in it while driving around the country, and sold it when he was done. Clever, if not exactly comfortable.

Turns out his traveling tendencies were the opposite of Anx. In other words, he planned nothing ahead of time, going everywhere on a whim and figuring it out as he went along. In a constant state of flow, so to speak.

By dusk, the slowboat had arrived at Pakbeng, and we stepped off to spend the night. I barely set foot on land when we were hounded by people advertising rooms. Anx engaged with them, asking for details vital to her like ensuite bathroom, air conditioning and hot water. I was less fussed and followed her lead. What we learned is that in a transit town like this, the prices you pay are often higher than the more popular destinations, due to a lack of available options.

Mac had other ideas, and disappeared quickly. When we met up with him again the next morning, we found out he paid half what we did for accommodation. He considered it more expensive than free, which is what it cost to sleep in a car for 6 months. It saves money when you don't care where you stay. 

Something I would learn in full when I met Diego.

Peace Cloud

We returned to the pier, boarding a different slowboat from the day before. Here the seats weren't individual chairs; instead three seats connected together into a sofa. These sofas were movable, so we quickly went to the back of the boat, turned one of the sofas around and created our own area. Anx, Mac and I each grabbed a sofa of our own and grinned smugly at each other. It was time to put our feet up and really relax.

The sun shone warmly from the get go, with no morning chill. We eased into our seats and got comfortable with the surroundings. Anx dived into a book while Mac and I swapped stories and music. The boat was calmly under way as we laughed and joked.

After a while, I got up to stretch and realized what a gorgeous day it was. The cumulus clouds were fluffy pillows in the sky, and I walked around the boat to take in the landscape on all sides. Long narrow boats—looking like mini versions of our slowboat—seemed the transportation of choice for the Lao folk, who wore straw hats against the sun. Opening the door to the back of the boat, I was momentarily stunned by the roar of the engine, suspended in mid-air above the floorboards and guzzling away. Walking past, I found myself at the stern of the boat, staring back at the wake parting the water. 

When I looked up, I couldn't believe my eyes.

The low-lying clouds were positioning themselves right next to the sun, forming a shape that became more and more familiar: that of a hand giving a peace sign. As I stared, disbelief was replaced by a welling up of gratitude inside me. With a beaming smile, I acknowledged this omen in the sky, this affirmation that I was meant to be right here, at this exact moment. Whatever fears and worries were left inside me dissipated. All my focus was on being in the here and now, watching the peace cloud as it shape-shifted in the wind. Within moments it was gone. 

The Man Who Stares At Doors 

In high spirits, I returned to the passenger cabin to rejoin my companions. Shortly afterwards, a boat lady opened the cabin door and stepped out into the engine room, leaving the door open behind her. The noise from the engine was overpowering even here, preventing Mac and I from hearing our music. We were both too lazy to abandon the comfort of the sofa, and waited for the lady to come back out, but she never did. 

Finally, I made a move to go close the door, but Mac held up a hand to stop me, declaring, "I got this. I'm going to close that door with my mind." 

Laughing, I told him to be my guest. He put his fingers to his temples and fixed an intense glare on the open door, silent and unwavering. I was amused, writing it off as another oddball moment and waiting for the right time to interrupt. The anticipation dragged on and I was about to put an end to it. But something held me back; beyond the skepticism, a small part of me wondered if he could do it.  

Whether we hit a wave or what, I'll never know…but the door suddenly slammed shut, of its own accord. Mac jumped up, hands in the air and celebrating. I laughed along with him incredulously and gave him props. He was absolutely certain that he just performed telekinesis, like a Jedi. 

Who was I to doubt the power of the mind?

Happiness

While Anx busied herself with Mars and Venus, I picked up her other book and start reading. It was simply titled Happiness. The author, Matthieu Ricard, is a Swiss-born molecular biologist, the son of a philosopher who grew up around some of the brightest minds in Europe. Even as a man of science, he was confounded by the fact that brilliant artists, thinkers and scientists were no better than normal people in the realms of "altruism, openness to the world, resolve and joie de vivre." For all their talents, they did not lead a fulfilled life.

His search led him to the Himalayas and he became a Tibetan Buddhist monk, dedicating years to studying under some of the most renowned spiritual masters of Tibet. He then opened a collaborative dialogue between science and Buddhism, resulting in some amazing experiments and research. Since he came from the Western tradition, he was able to explain Buddhist concepts in a simple, scientific way. 

Mr. Ricard described how to be happy regardless of one's lot in life, whatever problem or worry was plaguing the mind. He spoke of consciousness being a light, shining upon all things without itself being affected by them. Or a mirror, upon which all desires and thoughts are reflected.

Obstacles to happiness like anger (and indeed all emotions) are but fleeting, temporary arrangements of nerve synapses in our mind. Angry thoughts and feelings rise up naturally in the spirit like sickness in the body. These diseases of the spirit can be cured or prevented through a variety of means, but it is important to realize what they are: mere impulses that don't take root if we don't give it fertile ground to grow in. 

It may be natural to have an angry impulse rise up if someone does you wrong. How you deal with this spark of anger depends from person to person. Some may react with a reproachful remark or an annoyed glance. Some may push back and escalate the conflict. Still others may choose to hide their anger, thinking to control it by repressing it. But this may not be enough to dispel the anger completely, and the infraction might be carried throughout the rest of day, spurring complaints to friends and family.  

In all the above scenarios, there remains a varying degree of anger towards the other person. But, as Mr. Ricard writes, "you can't have two opposite emotions happening at the same time towards the same object or person." Thus, generating the opposite emotion of anger towards that person, i.e. altruistic love, would dispel the anger in your heart. Similarly, there are corresponding antidotes to the poisons of hatred, lust, greed, fear and so forth.

Mr. Ricard describes a more general antidote by looking at anger itself, instead of the object causing anger. If attention is focused on contemplating the emotion, it will vanish. The more one contemplates anger, the more the tendencies of prolonged anger will fade.

It was emphasized that all disturbing emotions were the result of attachment to the self (or, in Eckhart Tolle's language, the ego).

From what I was reading, Happiness and A New Earth were pointing in the same direction. It hadn't occurred to me that A New Earth was promoting Buddhist ideas, and perhaps mindfulness and awareness are universal concepts. But there was a definite anchoring of ideas.

I looked up to notice the reflections on the ceiling of the boat. The sunlight was so strong it was reflected in the water, and then again reflected off the long ceiling overhead. As the boat moved forward it seemed as if waves of light were radiating towards me. Reflections of reflections of the light.

The sun gracefully made its descent to the horizon. When the golden hour arrived, we stared directly into the sun in all its glory. There was no need for words until we stepped off at Huay Xai.

The Numbers

Anx asked me about numbers, and whether I paid attention to the numbers I saw. What a strange question, I thought. Numbers were everything in the finance world, so I was quite comfortable with them. But that was clearly not what she meant.

Anx saw the same number everywhere. 927, 927, 927. She was attuned to it because she was born on September 27th. This special number of hers appeared all the time and everywhere, in different ways: on clocks, on bills, random and unsolicited. She would turn her head and there it was. Sometimes when she tried to show someone else, the number had changed already. It was meant for her eyes only. This had been happening for awhile, and she didn't understand why. 

Repeating number patterns everywhere. Outside of some sketchy writing in the TV series Lost, I've never encountered this concept before in real life. It was curious, but I thought no more of it. 

Until months later, when I started seeing coincidences in the numbers myself. 

And then a series of coincidences in numbers led me to discover that this second day of our slowboat voyage, December 12th 2012, or 12/12/12, was an auspicious day in astrological terms. Known as The Gateway, it was interlinked with the Big Day that had so many people spooked...December 21st 2012, the end of the Mayan calendar and "the end of the world." The so-called apocalypse.

Apparently 12/12/12 was the day that a door would be opened, allowing an "influx of Light."

Luang Prabang: Go Chasing Waterfalls

Anx and I went to university together, years ago. We a shared connection of depth, while engaging in conversation outside the library. Our enquiring minds sought a common thread of truth, both in our fields of study and beyond. The dialogue was philosophical in nature, like two mirrors facing one another, reflecting the angles.. Although no definite conclusions were drawn, we walked away with a deeper understanding, if only for a moment.

We graduated in the spring, and by autumn we were back in the big city, with new jobs in the finance world. Here, our paths diverged while remaining parallel, stepping into the "real world" and adapting ourselves to the corporate machine. The finance dream was alluring: high pay, affirmation of intelligence, fancy titles and a glamorous lifestyle. The price we gladly paid in long hours, steep learning curves and high stress environments.

Anx and I drifted apart, which so easily happens in Hong Kong...you just get caught up in life, in being busy. When I saw her again, she seemed different to the girl I once knew. No longer a humble student, she was now a classy young finance executive, immersed in fancy labels and brand names. Chic restaurants weren't good enough, private kitchens were all the rage. I got the impression that, since she worked so hard to attain the labels she attached to herself, Anx would look down on other people who hadn't achieved the same. 

Then again, maybe she continued to act as a mirror, revealing behaviors I was blind to in myself.

Fast forward a few years and we cross paths again, at the perfect time. I had quit my banking job and broke up with my banking girlfriend. Bad things happen in threes, and to top it off I suffered a debilitating health crisis. After a 6-month recovery, I was beginning to enjoy my life, back to planning the big trip. 

Anx found out from a mutual friend that I quit, and wanted to hear from me. She too was at the breaking point. Her working hours often stretched until midnight, and the signs were plain: edgy nervousness, eye bags and stressed skin. She looked like she could've slept a week. Her resignation letter was already typed up, and within days of our conversation, she handed it in.  

This decision sparked a dramatic transition. Soon her love life unraveled as well. A lot of her previous stress had bounced off her longtime boyfriend, and the relationship had reached a tipping point. Anx was gutted by this, way more than over her job. She had no control over what was happening, and it dealt a crushing blow to her self esteem and psyche.     

She was now exactly like me: no job, no partner, no status, damaged self-worth. What we did have was freedom, a little faith, and someone to share the experience with. 

So began our journey.

The Lao Connect

Anx went through a slew of self-help books to decipher how she could change, in order to get him back. Time off the job gave her the space to see where she'd gone wrong, and she was eager to make the necessary adjustments, immediately. He was unresponsive, but (she thought) it was a matter of time and determination.

We met up for coffee to relish in our funemployment, talk about life and plan the next moves. She knew about my designs for world travels, and decided last minute that she too wanted some adventure in her life.

Unfortunately, adventures can't be planned according to a strict schedule. Before I left Hong Kong for Vietnam, we did some research and agreed on a rough date and place to meet. With modern technology it was easy to continue planning as I traveled. Turns out I needed to stay in Vietnam for longer than expected, so luckily we hadn't finalized our arrangement. Anx was not pleased with the change in plans, but I appeased her.

And so it was, a little over a month into my travels, that I met Anx in Luang Prabang. A picturesque town sitting on a bend of the Mekong river, it is the place to be if you travel to Laos. When Anx arrived at the guesthouse we booked, she was nervous but excited. She'd already met a new friend along the way named Allison, a solo traveler from the States. 

As a city girl backpacking for the first time, Anx's approach was different to mine. She was operating far outside of her comfort zone, and took it very seriously. Everything was to be pre-booked and confirmed in advance. With a definite itinerary, more structure and less uncertainty. I was only happy to accommodate. With a long journey ahead, there would be plenty of opportunities to be spontaneous. 

Cascades of Light

The morning was foggy. We followed a guide through a village in the valley, where the children ran freely. With the fog descending upon the hill, we passed through farmland and a rubber plantation before entering the forest proper. This was where the proper trekking started, and we steadily made our way for two hours before stopping for lunch in a clearing. Through the trees we could see a golden Buddha statue, protecting a nearby cave. Naturally we went to explore, lighting the way with our smartphones. We inched our way in until the ceiling got lower, and the cave floors wetter. Until I lost my footing, slipped and almost cracked both my skull and phone. Fortunately, I was able to break my fall and clutch the phone before it smashed. Reflexes from years of judo and a lifetime of dropping things. 

Nearby was a gentle stream of aquamarine, that would eventually flow into the majestic Kuang Si waterfall. The early fog opened up to a stunningly beautiful afternoon, and just as we arrived, the rays of the sun poured down over the top of the travertine falls. The water was illuminated in turquoise tones as it cascaded, gathering in rock pools and basins. 

At each lower level, the falls were less steep, as if the water was slowing its descent. From several stories high, it cascaded to a height that, two or three levels down, you could jump off. The rapids then continued down, washing over large flat rocks into the bottom basin. In all, there must've been a hundred separate waterfalls, all interlinked. It was surreal.

The bubble burst with the sudden realization that, like a fool, I left my swimming trunks back at the guesthouse. When Allison and Anx went to change into their swimwear, I exercised my only available option: I found a secluded spot and awkwardly stripped down to my underwear. This was the most gorgeous waterfall ever, and I wasn't about to pass up the chance to experience it. So there I stood, trying not to be embarrassed in my red plaid boxers. 

Then I saw an old Asian man with the same problem as me, who solved it the same way. Only he was wearing tight-whities (the proper term slipped my mind—briefs). It was blatantly obvious he'd been in the water already, because his soaked-through underwear left little to the imagination. Some people jeered and laughed, others smirked with a sidelong glance. He couldn't care less what anyone thought, he was loving life. Good for him. Helped me to get over my self-consciousness.

We started off bathing in the shallow waters of the bottom basin, getting comfortable with it first. Even here you could feel the icy, raw pressure of the flow. It really forced me to be in the moment, flushing all other thoughts from my mind. Anx suggested I try to meditate there. Which I failed to do.

At a higher level, it was deep enough for a swim. I grabbed a makeshift rope swing on a tree overhanging the rock pool and launched myself Tarzan-style into the middle of its depths. Completely immersed, I felt my body forgetting all the trekking fatigue. The perfect antidote for a long hot day. I leisurely swam to the shallows, standing up to enjoy the view of the falls, when something started sucking on my foot. Startled, I took a few steps and it followed me, sucking and nibbling my feet. Looking down, I saw a group of fish the length of a hand going to town all around my ankles. It was thoroughly discomforting, and I made a quick exit.

We could've stayed for hours, but then the sun disappeared behind the hills, and the warmth went with it. The water became freezing and we called it a day.

What a glorious day it was.

The Novice Life

A group of young ladies shared our ride back to town from Kuang Si waterfall. They had been volunteering in Laos for months, teaching English to the young monks (called novices) at the temples. Anx and I had seen these young monks walking around the streets in small groups, ranging from kids to teenage, all with shaved heads and orange robes. 

It was interesting to hear about their lives. They rise at dawn to meditate, then form a procession to receive their daily alms; whatever food was donated by the townpeople would be their sustenance for the day. Their time was split then between their studies, duties and chores at the temple. Eating after midday was not permitted. I later learned that they take ten vows of abstinence, which become two hundred vows if a novice makes the lifetime commitment of becoming a monk.

The novices were friendly with their teachers, but strict rules of etiquette had to be observed. Physical touch with a female was of course prohibited. Even if a lady was their teacher and friend in the classroom, she could not just walk up and say hello on the street. Instead, she had to wait until addressed by the novice, and only then acknowledge the gesture to start a dialogue. But other than that, the impression I got was that the novices were similar to ordinary boys in many ways. They had cell phones, and would text each other constantly to chitchat and gossip. 

I was interested to teach the novices myself, thereby learning directly from them as well. But this didn't happen, and the most I could do was greet them with a namaste gesture and a smile on the street. Their behavior was formal and rigid.

Back in town, Anx mentioned how strange she felt, being Chinese in this Asian country. It seemed rare for people from Hong Kong to travel in these parts. Both the locals and European travelers treated us like we were Lao, until we started speaking English. I picked up on this too, but we resolved that it wouldn't be an issue if we didn't make it one.

For my part, I knew the least about Laos among the South Eastern countries. While their neighbors in Vietnam and Thailand had more prominent cultures and history, the Lao people were closest in disposition to their Cambodian cousins: they were friendly, calm and patient, though less effusive. Above all, they were personified by a quiet dignity. It seemed that many were at peace with themselves. Or maybe I was feeling that, and projecting it onto them.

I later learned that the Lao worldview is one of acceptance. Circumstances, good or bad, are seen as interlinked with one's previous life, and can therefore be accepted without emotion or protest. In short, "things are as they are and should be." Why try and change it?

This was an alien notion to me, and would certainly be anathema back home, where nobody ever just accepted their lot in life. You had to have ambition and drive, work hard and get what's yours. That's why the city is so developed, the epitome of efficiency. It's also why everyone worked so hard and moved at such breakneck speed.

Complete acceptance...what a novel idea! If everyone accepted all things as they are, then there would (theoretically) be a lot less suffering and conflict. But would there also be a risk of being passive and stagnant?

Well, when in Laos...

Flyfox
Simply put, we wanted more waterfalls. 

A tuktuk ride through the country led to a long, narrow motorboat down the river, where we arrived at Tad Sae. There was a definite letdown, as they could not compare to the mystical Kuang Si. The waters were still pristine, but these were baby falls. 

Instead of swimming then, we went zip lining high up in the forest canopy. After an initial climb, we were in the trees, perching on platforms built right into the tree trunks. Beyond the edge of the platform was a sea of green treetops, with no sign of the forest floor. But any vertigo was mitigated by the extensive safety measures, and I focused on the exhilarating experience of gliding from tree to tree. 

One zip was incredibly long, breaking clear of the foliage halfway along the line. Beneath my dangling feet, the treetops opened up to a beautiful valley with a river running through it. For a few precious seconds, I marveled at the expanse I was flying through, before plunging right back into the thick of the woods.  

The safety harness was designed so that we didn't have to hold onto it. Of course, for the first few zips, we clung for dear life anyway. But by the end of course, I was comfortable enough to imitate our guides. For the last zip over the falls, I let go to hang upside-down with my arms out wide in an upturned crucifix. While in this position, I had a bird's eye view of the waters below, in which people were riding elephants.

Saffron Sky

We made our way back to Phu Si mountain in the middle of town to catch sunset. There's a temple at the top of the mountain, and we arrived early to get a good view. While the sun dominated the sky, the panorama was breathtaking. The river ran on both sides of the mountain, and the hills stretched to the horizon. 

As the sun dipped lower, cloud formations passed over it. The sky became a vivid painting that swirled and changed by the minute, capturing my imagination. From a cluster of starships, it became the Eye of Sauron, then a scene of Genesis. 

The orange rays outlined the clouds for a few lingering moments, as if the sun itself did not want to set. And then the day was over. 

Chanting Vibrations

We failed to wake up at dawn for the monks' daily alms collection. Monks and novices alike rely on daily donations from the people for food. I later read that in Luang Prabang, this has become a very commercialized procedure due to tourists, who disturb the solemnity of the ritual by blatantly breaking the rules regarding proper dress, talking and flashing cameras. Reports even mentioned that greedy merchants sold stale or unsafe food to tourists, who unknowingly donate the food to the monks and make them sick. So it turned out for the better that we didn't see it.

I would witness the dawn alms collection in another time and place, but not here.

We did spend the day exploring Buddhist temples around town. Anx grew up in a Buddhist family, and was familiar with the traditions. It made the entire experience more meaningful to me, watching her light incenses and prayer candles. She knelt in front of the golden statue of Buddha, silently praying. Not being a Buddhist myself, I stood apart. 

But I bowed my head and offered my own prayer to the Universe, asking that her request be answered, if it was meant to be.

Indigo shawl

When we stepped out of the temple, something felt different. Up to this point our trip had been lighthearted and fun, but there was a change, as if we remembered why we came here in the first place. It remained unspoken, but as we carried on with our day, I knew she felt it too. 

The monks and novices chanted at sunset, another daily ritual. This was our last day in Luang Prabang, so when dusk approached we set off on a mission, walking through all the main roads and backtracking to the temples we visited. By nightfall, we hadn't found anyone chanting anywhere, so we abandoned the search, disappointed. 

As sometimes happens in life, you find what you're looking for when you least expect it. While discussing what to do next on our back to the guesthouse, we heard the chant. The sound was faint amidst the noises of the street. But when we stopped and listened, there it was, coming from a dark alley between buildings. Without a word, we stepped into the shadows of the alley and followed our ears.

The chanting grew louder as the alley led into an empty courtyard, and when we saw the temple's silhouette, we knew we'd found them. Through the open door we saw the novices, facing the Buddha statue with their backs to us, chanting in unison. We sat on the steps outside and soaked in the steady rhythm of the voices. 

We didn't know the words being chanted, and probably wouldn't understand even if we did. But we found what we came for, and as the voices resonated through the temple, I felt a palpable peace. Silently we observed the chant, and silently we departed. 

Out in the courtyard, we overheard a conversation between a tourist couple and one of the novices, through a guide's translation. The novice told of his life: he came from a poor family in the countryside, and was sent here to receive an education, provided by the temple provided as long as the rules were obeyed. Not all novices became monks, but they would leave here with a better understanding of the Buddha's teachings, which along with their other studies would further their lives.

When we emerged onto the street again, we stepped into another world. The silent shadows gave way to a wall of light and commotion. The empty void had been filled too quickly, and our eyes blinked in adjustment.

As we scoped the night market to buy supplies for the journey ahead, it felt like waking up from a dream, forgetting exactly what just happened. Except for the vibrations of the monk chanting, echoing in my mind.

Ascended Master

Dragon stairs