The Retirement of a Cultural Dissident....

I've spent more than a few mornings on this balcony now. The smell of the air around me is invigorating and peaceful at the same time. The conversations with others have been flowing easily like a lazy river. The tea is wonderful! I love this place. I love everything about it.

And all that's good but part of the reason I took this trip is to make some decisions.

Just before leaving, my rage level was getting out of control. The slightest thing set me off. It seemed that ordinary irritations were amplified. I was haunted by memories that I'd rather forget.

I've been a warrior all my life. Injustice doesn't just bother me. It enrages me. The things I grew up with were too hard to simply accept as "human nature" and I mounted my wild pony, spear at the ready, and set out to right all the wrongs. I marched. I participated in social justice movements. I did all the things the civics teachers told us we should do.

I've come to realize there's a thin line between commitment and zealotry.

I fought and I fought hard. There have been negative consequences. I've been dismissed as a crackpot, kicked out of schools, put in jail and lost friends. I've been yelled at, shunned, called names and have had my life threatened. I became a zealot. Nothing could temper the fire in my belly.

People hold tight to their most cherished beliefs, even when they are not sure why they believe them.

I am included in that. This was never about fighting for Thai culture. Actually, it had nothing to do with Thai culture. The reality is that I fell in with a very traditional bunch of people here. Most Thais can't even handle the kind of "Thai culture" that I live. My dissidence started a long time before I knew anything about this place. I couldn't have found Thailand on a map.

But still, I had my cherished beliefs. The world was filled with corruption and conspiracy, ill-intent and brutality. And they had to be stopped. There was no exit strategy. No rebuilding plan. I pounded my fists against the prison walls until my hands bled. The chains rattled so hard that it was deafening.

I'm getting older now. The energy and vigor of youth is waining. I am older than my chronological age. I'm not as flexible and resilient as I once was and the bouncing back is much harder.

The reality is that it's time for me to lay the mantle down. It's time to pass it along to those who are younger and more energetic, those who aren't shell-shocked. In fact, that is what I am. Shell-shocked. Battle weary. I feel like I've been at war for 40 years.

I don't want to do it anymore. I don't want to fight anymore. It's time to lay down arms.

It's time to relax into the life I have found here. Maybe there is some weird, cosmic system of punishment and reward and this place is my reward for all the years spent fighting in the belly of the beast. At this point, that is what I will do. Live here. Peacefully. Even though I do have to come back there for a while, I need to stay focused on this, my center. My foundation. Home.

I don't regret anything I've done. Maybe it has made a little bit of difference. Seeds planted. Watered and nurtured. Lives changed. Perhaps improved. It might have only been a scratch mark on the monolithic brick wall.. but it was my scratch mark.

There's still much that needs to be done. Carry on, warriors.

I've got your back.
~*