Patience. You learn all about it here in Asia. The hustle, the bustle. The long queues. The interesting confounding processes that seem simple; yet remain so complicated. The delays. The constant shuffling between one person to another. Patience, you learn it here in Asia.
But it is not the patience of raging against the storm. Forced upon you like weathering the storms, in a broken battered down shack. It is the soft gentle patience of acceptance. If you can find it. If you can handle it. It is the patience of accepting the inane ridiculous processes and chores of a life on this earth. Forced rest, my father calls it. The rest is the key word.
And so I found myself in between legs of a journey. From the pleasant comforts of an oasis in Phuket to the bright lights and burning fuel of airports and aeroplanes. On to business and the call of the commercial. Behind lays the sweet friendship of a Thai rose. This butterfly cannot linger too long. The call of the quest continues.
Looking at the travel schedule, I reluctantly give up the desire to race around the city, madly taking in scenes and giving the camera a workout. Instead, I sit alone at the airport, in a square courtyard carved out amongst the jungle of glass and concrete. A single tree springs up next to me, content in its own existence. A reminder that above all nature; is natural. It does not conform. It does seek reform. It does not require the norm. It is. It will be. It will be tree.
These thoughts bring a smile to my face. It reminds me of the depressive rage of past times and the fury of anxiety. A time when peace was in pieces. And Bliss was the name of an erotic massage parlour. Where meditation was a thing for hippies and monks. A time when spiritual life, seemed more construct and destruct. When it was a template for life. Not a temple for living.
Even though I am jet lagged and tired as hell. There is a strong undercurrent of energy and focus. Not on burning ambitions or driving dollars. But contentment and contemplation. The travel drains one force, but if we look hard enough, it creates so much more. And the thought occurs to me, inspired by my reading, travelling is with us all the time. Through meditation. Through reading. Through socialising. Through the observation of comings and goings. It is the desire to escape and experience new sights, sounds and pleasures. Why is this not achieved in our own backyard with a good book, a notepad and the luxury of segregated time.
If we desire a holiday. And if holiday is really a holy day. Cannot then every day be a Holy Day? Why not be on a holiday all our lives. We can escape from the routine. The pinch of the penny. The stress and anxiety of this alien modern world. The worlds within dwarf the world without. The inner voice unleashed is the best travel guide.
Is not the sharing of 2 minute noodles with a loved one discussing philosophy or art or the beauty of your children; far better than the finest steak and wine at a 6-star restaurant with dead of heart and mind?
The crash of a something, somewhere by a somebody; invades my thoughts. Its muggy in the courtyard. The hum of the airports air conditioners is very pleasant. A cold beer makes for an excellent refreshment and will hopefully aid the sleep on the overnight to Seoul. A depiction of Bill Bentley, hovers over me, holding his own frothy and smiling benignly.
Something tells me, quietly, to sit still and just listen. And so I do.