Yangon: Lessons in Duality

Yangon is a jungle disguised as a city. 

Inle Lake, Myanmar

The iconic images of Inle Lake

Lotus Weavers, Inle Lake

Lotus plants abound in Inle Lake and a hundred years ago the weavers discovered an ingenious use for the plant's spiderweb like fibers.

Our Bagan Family

After buying several of his sand paintings Uncle Tin Lin insisted that we let him return the generosity. "My wife is a very good cook," he assured, but we didn't need much convincing. 

Sunrises and Sunburnt Clay in Bagan

Layers of mist and peepal trees float above the arid landscape. The earth exhales its last cooling breath of the day as the morning sun burns through heavy curtains of fog on the horizon. Balloons take to the air in a watercolor sky of orange and pink. The rapid clicks of camera shutters and revving motorbike engines accompany the sun on its silent assent into the day. Gold leafed pagoda domes melt the night’s chill from their pointed hats, excited birds dance in silhouetted trees and monk chants echo through a crackling radio in the gate keeper’s quarters. 

The morning routines of Myanmar’s sacred city, as seen from the temple tops.

A Perfumed Week in Ngapali Beach

Ngapali Beach is a paradise of puppies and palm trees, where the air smells of sardines but the water is so clear that you don’t even care.

That Feeling

early morning June 7th, talking to Willy

Three months ago we lost one of my absolute favorite humans. In his death, as in life, Willy has made me think.

Over these past few months I’ve come to believe that a person haven’t truly lived until they have lost someone close to them. Until they have survived the gauntlet of this twisted rite of passage for the living. Until their heart has sunk to the unexplored depths of the ocean and reluctantly re-surfaced for that first painful breath.

As I reflect on my own personal loss I realize that this feeling is one that unites all of humanity; we all share that same horrific moment of heartbreak each time we’re forced to face our mortality. The human race is a collection of personal tragedies; of people whose hearts have been crushed and painstakingly rebuilt.

This feeling transcends ego, wealth, privilege, age. This feeling will crumble even the most powerful.

Yet in spite of this heartache the wars continue. There is violence and vengeance. The feeling is inherited from one family to the next. No one escapes.

Why can we not channel this feeling into good? Survive our own tragedies so we can help others through theirs? Shouldn’t this feeling make us better people, more compassionate? Shouldn’t this feeling humble our greed? Open our eyes to the fact that we have enough? That each moment is enough? That living an ordinary life filled with extraordinary love is all that ever really mattered?

This feeling of loss has made me realize that our experience on this earth is everything. And nothing. And that that’s the whole point: to live purposefully for no reason. To find joy in the smallest details, to make a ritual of the simplest acts, to be conscious of each breath and of the life it brings to your body. This feeling has made me realize that no matter the distance, you’re only ever as far away as you make it.

So this one’s for you, dear friend. You will never be too far away.