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."