And a happy mothers day to you

We spent our Mother's Day thinking about our moms... on a boat! This photo is for you, Denise and Antoinette (and also to the mothers of Jak, Rhonda, Walter, Carl & Billet- and yes, Billet's shirt does say "Liquor. She'll love it."). Dana will update you on that next time though...

What's on my mind today are words, wonderful words. Yesterday I took a day of silence, which means a day literally without words. No reading, no writing, no music with words, and I tried to avoid being in situations where I would hear too many words. The day started feeling good. I felt like a baby must feel, unable to communicate, but sure that my needs would be met anyway, and more capable of noticing the natural things around me. Butterflies and flowers and such. At this point I was also with Dana, who was keeping up a lovely stream of one-sided conversation and song singing. Her rendition of "Tea for Two" helped me feel at peace.

After morning yoga, however, I was at a bit of loose ends for, oh, the next FIVE HOURS! Rather than sit at home, I decided to set out and explore. Exploring: not so easy without the power of speech.

My first challenge was a street dog, which attacked me, teeth bared. I've never actually been attacked by a dog. I always just sort of assumed that I was one of those special people that dogs just love automatically, like they've been told via secret dog code that I'm ok. Not so, apparently. Without thinking, I shouted "Hey! Jes-us!" I covered my mouth with my hands, and crossed the street and went down to the beach, where I figured I'd have less trouble.

The beach was lovely, and I laid on a rock and took pictures of clouds for a while. There's only so long you can take pictures of clouds for, though, and when I reached my limit my mind started whining a little bit. I also heard someone yelling up the beach, and rather than risk confrontation, I got up and kept on, willing my mind to be quiet.

I was looking for Wat Srithanu, the local Buddhist temple in our little village here on Koh Phanang. Eventually I found it, after mutely waving at some passing Thai's who shouted "Sawadee ka!" at me and got no response. Assumed rudeness is the awkwardest part of a day of silence. I ran into our friend Carl, who stopped his motorbike to chat. Fortunately I had pre-written a little sign that said I was taking a day of silence, so at least Carl understood. He's another yoga student, so he got it - to anyone else (like, say, you reading this) I might have seemed sort of special, in the short-bus/joined a cult sort of way.

I found the temple. It was a small, crappy building, a building for a low-rent daycare or the local AA meeting (no offense to small children or recovering addicts). I wasn't sure if it was the right place until I saw the statues of monks around the side of the building, black statues with flakes of gold leaf fluttering in the slight breeze, draped in yellow and orange cloth. Their carven faces were kind. There were no monks around (women are not supposed to speak to, or stand near, monks). I took off my shoes and stepped into the building.

The crappiness of the building was misleading. Inside was a large Buddha, floor to ceiling, including his platform. He was gold, except for his eyes, which were white slits, with black pupils. The kind that follow you everywhere, like in old paintings. This presence, combined with the parochial building, created an extremely satisfying creepiness. I stood and watched him, my feet facing away (it's a Thai respect thing), until I heard some music start up outside, then I left. I didn't want to get in trouble if I couldn't use my words. On the walk home I kept my head down, trying to avoid reading signs. I felt like I was practicing Sharia

After the afternoon yoga class, I skipped lecture (words, and this lecture was about vegetarianism, which I already practice). I watched the sunset. By this point, my mind would not SHUT THE HELL UP. I held up the sunset for it like one holds up a mobile, or a favorite stuffed toy, to a crying child. I said, "look, so pretty, please be quiet." Of course, my mind didn't. The poor baby kept whining for the milk of words, but I wouldn't give in. I walked home, cranky. It was a beautiful night, purpley-black and caked in stars, and I wasn't having any of it. On the way home, I nearly stepped on a dead cat.

"Oh god!" I said, suddenly, covering my mouth again. I'd spoken again, and again it was somewhat sacrilegious. When you have so few words, you really notice what you say. I wish my few words had been slightly more profound.

At home, it was just me and my mind, facing off, an exhausted mother and itinerant child. So I did the only thing I could think of. I took my baby dancing.

I put on some wordless samba, locked the doors, got naked (it's hot here), and danced all over the room. I put the song on repeat and went crazy. When I was done...

...Silence. Finally! I showered and sat and meditated until I was tired, than went to bed. I slept deeply and dreamt vividly.

And through it all, Dana was patient, kind, and said "I love you", knowing I couldn't say it back. Thank you Dana, I love you too!