Continuing on from Part I and Part II, where we explored how  people can dedicate themselves to the well-being of others (monks and nuns) and how a whole community can choose to prioritize safety and kindness (transportation in Thailand), the final seed of humility I experienced in our recent trip to Thailand was the treatment of elephants and other animals so that tourists like myself can be entertained.

I was the youngest of six kids in our rowdy Italian family. As much as I liked to tease my siblings that Mom and Dad stopped having kids after me because "they finally reached perfection," the reality was we were all invariably at the brunt of a lot of jokes and put downs.

Taking up from Part I, if the good we do in this life can be given, or dedicated, to others, what happens when you live in a culture where everyone is working toward least harm and the greater good of all? What happens when everyone comes together in their community for the the very best of not only themselves, but everyone around them?

I witness this in Thailand not in overly overt ways, but see it built into the very fabric of life. It's seamlessly invisible until you tease apart patterns and behaviors.

{Whether it's a moment of awe-inspiring grandeur or a situation that wins against my ever-so-arrogant ego, I'm used to humility slamming me upside the head--either knocking me flat on my face or at least to my knees.  In the last few days of our two month journey to Thailand, while it was a little less dramatic than this, humility had me on my knees yet again.}

We often stay along the Chao Praya River when in Bangkok. It's situated near the major tourist attractions (The Grand Palace, National Museum, various important wats, and Thammasat University). It's also far enough away from the hustle and bustle of Bangkok's mega-malls, skyscrapers and intense traffic, which helps us transition in and out with a little more grace.

There's rarely a place you can go in Thailand where, within a few blocks, there isn't a wat (Buddhist monastery). Jim and I are used to stopping at one or more as a regular part of our day--whether as tourists to explore the grandeur of the Buddha images and grounds, make an offering of incense or flowers, visit with a dog or two, or just sit in quiet stillness, bringing our attention inward.

One of our favorite things is to experience monks chanting. Without knowing the words, the melodious sounds spoken tend to lull my heart into soft knowing.

(Asia, like most everywhere, is a mixed bag--there is much to love juxtaposed with challenging to meet circumstances and conditions. This is the second part in the series of reflections from travel to Myanmar and Thailand in December, 2016 through January 2017.)


Hot springs and massage are a way of life. I've yet to experience anything that takes stress out of my body quicker than soaking in the hotest pool at a mineral bath. It is the closest thing to magic I've encountered in my 50+ years. I still believe that the hot shower is humanity's greatest invention.

Traveling in Asia feeds my heart in so many ways, yet equally confounds my mind in just as many ways. I have a deep affinity for so much of the culture--and yes, some of those things that drive my mind wild. Refreshingly different things juxtaposed with heart wrentching incongruencies has kept me pondering this trip, I thought I'd share a few of them here:

• Seemingly outrageous and chaotic traffic. This took some time to understand. While it seems chaotic and out of control, really, people and drivers are far more courteous,  inclusive and cooperative. There seems to be an attitude of "we're all in this together trying to live our lives and reach our destination. I want you to be safe and happy, too." This makes sense in a predominently Buddhist region given that keeping others' happiness in our hearts and minds is a Buddhist tenet-- we all want happiness and here we take the time to help others be happy. We've heard of some hairy accidents, but for the volume of traffic, they seem relatively small in comparison. I recently rented a scooter for a few days on the island of Koh Lanta. Learning how to drive on the left side of the road is challenging enough, but merging traffic, blurred and ignored divider lines, and roads needing repair kept me mindful and in the moment!
  
• Things are not perfect nor perfectly safe. Jim and I were not the only ones that found this refreshing. While in general, safety and boundaries can actually increase our ability to be more creative and fulfilled (we're not having to struggle with our basic needs), some cultures have regulated moment-by-moment living out of life through excessive concern with safety and boundaries. Our trek to the Tham Khao Makaeo cave on Koh Lanta brought this foremost in our minds. What we thought was going to be a simple, overpriced tourist trap walk into an open crevice in a mountainside turned into a three-hour exhilarating trek...
  

I love this time of year. As year end holidays meet the coming year, it's almost as if time takes a pause, like that space between inhale and exhale. Time stands still momentarily and we switch gears from thankful reflection to forward intention and motion. That pause is sometimes the focal point for mindfulness practice, as it is one of the more ignored moments of our lives.

Even if you've never been a client or student of mine, I invite you to take part in an exercise that honors this moment. Take a sheet of paper and fold it in half. On one side reflect back through 2016 and list your accomplishments that can be celebrated, big and small. On the other side, write a list of things you'd like to see manifest in 2017.

The crease in the center of the paper is this moment of pause. This moment of turning the corner from reflection to your coming future. I invite you to bask in this moment, because if you have been a client of mine, you know that your 2017 list has a strong potential of coming true. Particularly if you make an honest and authentic commitment to it.