Leaving Bhutan: Lessons in Impermanence

Two years ago I moved to a place that I never knew existed.

Two years of deep introspection; of learning to feel whole in the isolation; of living the questions.

The present moment is simply a culmination of all the things, all the decisions- both good and bad- that have led me to this place, in this house, in a country I never even dreamed of.

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.

A String of Today's in June

I

AM

NOT


A
BODY


I
AM



FREE

Today I found a bag full of Willy hair in your car.  

And a mango pit wrapped in a black t-shirt.

Today I watched your wife hold your stained, shredded clothes
no longer smelling of you. 
 

It was the first time you had worn the pink shirt she gave you for your birthday.

Today I stared into the eyes of your child, almost a year from the time we first met.

He smiled and reached out his hand as if he remembered.

I imagined he will laugh like his father.

Today I witnessed our friends gather around your widow and promise 
that the work will get done,

that your dreams will live on.

Today we drove to the mountains

to hug all the people 

who love you the most.

I watched your mother smile



 and your sister laugh.  

I stood in awe of their spirit
as the sky morphed 
from blue to purple to gold.    

The first fire burned
and the didgeridoos groaned. 

A dazed group of drifters
lured to the shadows.

Eyes closed, souls entwined.
Five instruments. 
One rhythm. 
One heart.

Today I heard your voice,trapped in the intestines of an I-phone. 

Your words so meticulous,
so far beyond what I am yet able to comprehend.

Our conversations were always like that; 

pushing just beyond the mind’s highest limits.  

   

   

I thought about you for days before it happened.

Each time your face came to me I smiled, but never called.

Your energy was so clear then,  
was that our goodbye?

There’s always tomorrow to call.

Until one day there’s not.

Today another fire blazed,

like so many we've burned here before. 

The skyline simmered
a bittersweet tune
as we listened to tales of our
adventures. 

And all the many times

you narrowly escaped death.  

Broken faces glow

in the firelight. 
And a lingering stare assures
he still feels it too. 

I prayed the night would never end 

That we'd wake up tomorrow 

and it would all be pretend.

Today the morning came baring a harsh reality, so we tied blue stones around our necks 
that vibrate truth and clarity. 

Today an entire community

walked together
in spiritual solidarity 
through a tunnel 
of sunflowers and firemen. 

Clouds full of memories
flooded the sky
and teased the mountains 
with promises of snow. 

Your mother's grace flew 
on the tails of a flute.  
Your sister released you 
to the winds.  

Your wife sang a sound 
that came from somewhere 
far away,
free from our earth-tethered hearts. 

It rained.
And it was perfect.

“I LOVE WATER!” you yelled,
as we tilted our tear stained faces to the sky,

and smiled 
from a place we feared had died with you.

I dreamed there was a rainbow.

It was too vivid to be real.                                                             

Today we drank.
And I cried underwater 

until my lungs begged for air.

But just above the surface 
the world didn’t care.

Because today it’s all over. 
Everybody’s gone.

And I just can’t quit 
singing Twila’s song.

We’re supposed to go back to life 
as it once was.

They say time heals all wounds, 
but nostalgia haunts my sleep.

Today our best friends got married 
and your ghost left a void.

But "we will not 
let ourselves be sad today…

Today we understand that joy 
is our function here."

A kiss 
and a dip 
and the toss of a hat. 
A gaggle of cackles 
echoing in the wind. 

And a lone deer standing silently by.

We laughed 
and we danced 
and we howled at the moon.

When we did need to cry 

we did it alone.

We all wore your top hat, 
smacked asses with your cane.
Within this group of friends

there is much that can’t be explained.

Then one day it’s all over. 

Everybody’s gone.

And I just can’t quit singing Twila’s song.

Now that I’m finally at your house everything but your body is here.

A life reduced down to books, tools and tears.  

We dig through boxes of journals 
filled with words 
too wise for your years.

Prophetic.

Did you know 
your time would be so short?

It’s your snowboard that breaks me.

Makes me want to go back.

To those powdery days 
when we had everything we needed

but didn’t know it.

You would be happy to see us 
here together.

But I wish I couldn’t hear
her quiet sobs in the shower.

She is stronger than me 
and for that 
I am thankful.

I watch these women in your life rising 

to a place 
where you’re radiating peace.

Hold them there til morning,

because the night is the longest.

Like the sun, we will continue to rise. 

Tears will fall 
Years will roll by.

Our friends will get older, 
but you will stay the same.

Eternal.

Every time we’re together 
we’ll dance 
to the beat of your heart

that lives on
in another body. 

And we will celebrate 
the many people you’ve saved.

You’ve changed us forever

It will never be the same.

But even through this heartbreak 
we couldn’t have lived it any other way.

So when Alpen wakes from his nap 
and instead of crying, 
he looks at me and laughs,

I'll know you’re still with us,

all fragmented in the sunlight, 
making silly baby faces.

Forever and Always

Wild, Gentle and True.

A Brother in Bhutan

Over the past two years, many of our friends and family have said they would come to visit. But when we break down the logistics no one can find the time to actually make the long journey, and have enough days here to actually enjoy it. 

David Vernon made it happen. 

Paro Tsechu and the Tiger in his Nest

We arrived to our hotel in Paro just after breakfast and a few of the staff girls came to our room to help us change. You can't show up to the town's biggest party in your western gear, so we dressed up for the occasion. Just a few chillups out on the town trying to blend in.

Journey to Gasa Hot Springs

Finally, STARS! So many stars.

I gaze up from the bottom of the valley, walled in on all sides by enormous mountains cloaked in shadows, their outlines barely visible against the pitch black sky. The encroaching silhouette of the mountains exaggerates the domed ceiling of stars, creating the feeling of being in a planetarium. The constant rushing static of the river carries my thoughts far away from where I sit, to memories of many starry nights in the company of friends and strangers.

A dog howls and I come back to this place; seated in a dark valley at the gateway to the high Himalayas.

Colors and Faces of Thimphu Tsechu

Gnome Poem: Haa Valley

I overheard an older gentleman telling a story about Haa. All the children throughout the region, he said, knew if they didn't eat a hearty dinner on the night before the festival, the elves would come and steal them away in the night. This is a very old wive's tale, he explains, "I grew up believing it was real too," though he never made any assurances that there was no threat of elves today.

So, a few weeks later when we boarded a bus heading west, I already had this image conjured in my mind of little people with felt hats poking their heads out from behind boulders and curtains of lichen.