Blogging on Blogging

I used to do this all the time: blogging before blogging. Now that
there's blogging, I can hardly bring myself to blog anymore. Always
trying to be different, I guess. When alternative becomes mainstream,
what's the alternative?

Of course, it always come down to: just doing it. Being extroverted,
by definition; though I'm not, by nature.

In the end, there is a new beginning. Philosophy ends action; then
action ends philosophy. On and on: yang on yin. Or, action is
philosophy; philosophy is action.

Any words can be defended: terrorism on terrorism, for example. Or,
any are indefensible. My friend got stopped coming off a ferry,
because he "looked suspicious" - swarthy complexion, black beard,
backpack and bulky coat, looking around at things, writing things down:
a grocery list, thoughts about sex.

Many, in other words, forms of subversion, perversion. Depending on
one's point of view. Thus, the necessity, or the impossibility, of
expressing a point of view.

To speak or not to speak...it's not even a question: just a dual
imperative, with either choice as good/bad or appropriate/inappropriate
as the next.

In the meantime, there are cultural observations to be made, true or
not, but apparent in the moment:

Food in the USA is more interesting than in Canada. Americans are more
talkative and outgoing than Canadians.
American politics isn't more evil than Canadian politics, just more
blatant, less wishy-washy.
Or maybe that does make it more evil.

On the subject of politics and philosophy, I like Joanna Macy's take on
it, going back to the Tibetan "Shambhala Prophecy"
(http://www.joannamacy.net/html/great.html) of the 8th century:
combining the two principles of compassion, which fuels action; and
insight, which recognizes that all our thoughts and actions, no matter
how slight, have an impact on the whole web of life.

Impressions of Paradise

Halfway along in this five-week stay in Thailand . . . Each day I move slower, sinking deeper into life’s simplicity, the gentle warmth of air and water, and of the people who live here. In this respect there is little difference between the native Thais and the foreigners vacationing here, or those who have adopted it as their home. The pace of life is universally relaxed, at least on the island of Koh Phangan . . . even at the thronging spit of beach known as Haad Rin, home of the world’s biggest full moon party.

This is supposed to be the dry season, but it has rained almost every day, and recently for most of the day and night. The occasional appearances of full sun are reminders of the blasting power of that element, which otherwise is rather subdued, moderated by soft clouds and caressing breezes. At night there is seldom need for more than a sheet, and often just half of that is enough to cover bare skin. In the sun it is impossible to keep clothes dry from sweat, and in the torrential rain likewise impossible to stay dry. But there is no panic of hypothermia or even much of a chill . . . just acceptance of that other universal element, the water which surrounds us.

I’ve been somewhat guiltily managing to carry on my editing business here, averaging a couple hours a day of work on the laptop. Internet connection businesses are everywhere, so it was a simple matter to find one with a fast connection and ethernet cable to hook into my laptop for transferring edited files. The guilt part has something to do with working at all here, when the experience of paradise is so rich and full in itself; a feeling that I should be immersed as fully as possible in it while it lasts. The other part of the guilt has to do with enjoying the best of both worlds . . . that’s it’s somehow unfair or undeserved to be able to make one’s living in so relaxed and effortless a way as this. In fact the combination is doing what I anticipated it might: convincing me that living and working here at least six months of the year is eminently sensible.

The other part of my working life is also coming together as well as I could have imagined, with a full dozen of the yoga students deciding to attend drum classes once or twice a week while I’m here. The main obstacle of having enough drums was passed last week when I accompanied half a dozen of the students into the nearest town (Thong Sala), to buy passable djembes for under $40 each.

The beach itself is perfect for swimming, with a broad crescent of white soft sand, shallow clear pale green water, and minimal wave action here on the mainland side of the island. A recent visit to the seaward side gave some challenging variety in the form of big breaking waves, but a tropical storm whipped them too high even to travel out by boat, so we had to hike back to our starting point, two hours over a steep rough trail. Amazingly, no complaints from 9-year-old Cleo on the grueling trek.

Other roads and trails nearby have taken us by foot to neighboring beaches, giving us relatively local access to groceries as well as, again, more variety of experience here – much more immediate than traveling by taxi or motorbike.

With the beaches lined by bungalows and restaurants, there is no shortage of variety in eating out . . . though the menus differ very little from place to place. There is only a subtle difference between the universally offered green, red, or coconut curries, but it’s hard to tire of these, when the result is almost always excellent, and at times absolutely transcendent. (The homemade coconut or chocolate ice cream doesn’t hurt either, or the discovery here and there of a real cappuccino). The biggest challenge on the food front is appeasing (or not) the endless restaurant obsessions of Cleo.

Yes, this is yuppie heaven all right, but heaven by any name is hardly to be argued with. If I have found the formula and means to live out my ideal 8-hour day here – 2 hours each of work, music, swimming and walking – there is no cause to complain. And that’s just the quantitative analysis of how time can be spent . . . when the true experience is timeless, and of a mysterious yet unmistakable quality, impossible to convey and equally impossible to resist.

conservative minority

So that's the way it works, eh? Canadian politics symbolizes it, with
a new minority Conservative government. Most of the voters prefer the
more liberal-leaning Liberals or NDP, but the government goes to the
control of the conservatives.

It's like this: it's easier to stand pat, to stay stuck, than to figure
out where else to go.

I must admit, I didn't even get involved in the issues in this Canadian
federal election enough to know any specifics. And I didn't vote. I
lost interest in Canadian politics after the Quebec separatist movement
died down. But it's interesting enough to note how this election
points to an ongoing syndrome of political life.

Those who want change inevitably end up being split over how to do it,
where to go. The liberal or progressive agenda is split into a rainbow
of sub-issues, of constituencies, of ethnic and ideological diversity.
Whereas the staid middle-class, largely white and conservative values
are more simplistic, more generic, more homogenous. Thus they have an
advantage in holding a solid block of votes for a single party or
ideology...or negative ideology, if you will.

The result is inertia, the inertia not of movement but the easier
choice, of stasis, status quo. Here we go, again; here we stay.
Business as usual.

Otherwise, what? Who can agree?