Staying True in Thailand

The first thing that distracted me was the heat. If you haven’t been to Asia in the sweltering summer, you don’t know heat. It was at least 110º F, with 110% humidity. By rule, women had to cover their bodies from elbow to the ankle, and my friend had advised me to wait until I got to Bangkok to buy the appropriate garments that would allow for maximum coolness. I followed her suggestion, but I still found myself bathed in sweat after only ten minutes had passed, desperately wishing for a cool washcloth or, let’s be honest—a Corona with lime.

This led to my second distraction, the absolute shock of my own foul smell. We were discouraged from wearing deodorant or any sort of lotion or scent, but, again breaking the rules, I had dabbed a little “Secret” under my arms before leaving my room. I could have applied it head-to-toe and it wouldn’t have made a difference. I had no idea a human being could smell so bad, much less my being. It was utterly horrifying and fascinating at the same time; and, I admit, a point of distraction for the rest of my time in the meditation hall. I wished I had a girlfriend next to me who I could nudge, “hey, get a whiff of that.” I had to stifle my giggles more than once.

Not that you could hear my giggles over the mosquitoes. My body, in the first half hour of day one, became a landing zone for an entire tribe of mosquitoes. We were not allowed to kill any living creature, nor were we allowed to move enough to swat bugs while we were on our cushions. I did my best. I promise I did. But after an hour of foul-smelling, itchy misery, I had to open my eyes to see if anyone else was struggling. I was amazed that none of the Thai people moved a muscle. I was touched, actually, by the beautiful, still vision in front of me.

That night after the dharma talk, nursing my bite wounds, and disgusted by my own smell, I sat on my cot waving my fan furiously while writing the pro’s and con’s of staying vs. going in my illegal journal. “There is no enlightenment without suffering,” I scribbled. This was followed by “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” I had good intentions in planning this experience, and I knew if I was patient, I could learn to endure, which would be the greatest lesson of all. But, did I really want to? By the time the ten-day course was over, I would have only ten days left to see the entire country. It was a tough call.

The bell rang at four forty five the next morning for the optional pre-dawn sit, and I surprised myself by choosing to participate.