On The Write Path

No vomiting today

I need to empty the vessel of myself at times. Others call this introspection or meditation leading to a cleansing. I just call it vomit.

I'm not there today. I had a thought last evening as I was in the hallway, heard the joyful screech of a child as their father opened the door, heard the rumble of the train passing by 8 floors below and 100 meters to the east. Both filled the space with echoes of other places... and then it was silent again.

Unfortunately, I didn't write down my fleeting thought; so, ignored and miffed, it fled. I suspect it's surveying another landscape by now.

I'm settling in. Rural Isan is subtle fields of rice and sugarcane rubble. The villages are tight and life moves to the rhythms of mango and durian, the small dramas of daily spats between those who depend on each other.

Udon squats above it all. Lumpini soars 14 stories. I ponder about life in the alleys and view the distant mountains from the 8th floor, descending daily like a sloth to do my duty.

My life isn't boring; although, it must seem that way to those who need the adrenaline of adventure tourism or sightseeing. I smell whatever is blooming. I nod to whomever passes by. I need to clean before Ponnya comes home this evening and I find my solitude shattered by his warm hugs and radiant presence.

So, no vomiting today. I won't have enough time to clean up any mess I make.

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