If you could kindly tap the ❤️ at the top or bottom of this newsletter it will make it easier for other people to find this publication. Ahéhee'! བཀའ་དྲིན་ཆེ།! 謝謝! Thank you! ขอบคุณ! شكرا ! תודה! Спасибо! धन्यवाद! Cảm ơn bạn! អរគុណ! Merci y Muchisimas gracias!!
It’s the smokey season again. That time of year in Asia when my family and I escape to more breathable horizons due to the mad adoption of modern industrial farming practices, where now each year sugarcane, corn, and a handful of other crops are set ablaze throughout the region at such a large scale the AQI meters shoot to around 400 or higher in most places. My weak lungs cant hang. So this year we are staying with a friend on the predominantly Islamic island of Kao Yao Noi in the Andaman Sea.
It’s currently Ramadan, which for some reason means its harder to find sticky rice for sale. Not a good sign for my daughter who is going through a I-will-only-eat-sticky-rice-and-chicken phase. So we get creative and find glutinous snacks instead. So far so good. But I am looking forward to the return of yummy kosher food, some of which I’m certain will expand her dietary interests.
After some sticky snacks and a morning dip in the ocean where we imagined Moana and Maui were sailing in a boat with James Bond, I received a distressing call from an old Israeli friend of mine. To put it mildly, she was pissed. Evidently a recent post I shared had enraged her. As a parent, I am openly disgusted by how many children have been killed in the ongoing genocide in Gaza. And admittedly, it will be a cold day in Hell before I keep silent about the needless murdering of children. I don’t care what tribe you’re from, such action is never going to be ok. Never. But she wasn’t registering my sentiment. She felt that my anger somehow made it clear that I am an anti-semite and that I’ve fallen victim to the lies being told by “my beloved” AOC.
To be fair, I do love AOC. What’s not to love about a beautiful, extremely intelligent, badass Latino woman who got into politics because of time spent in the camps at Standing Rock? AOC is amazing! And she is damn near the only normal person in D.C., alone in a staggeringly dense ocean of morons. But she is not the reason I am angry that children are being murdered. I am angry that children are needlessly being murdered because, well, I am human. In the past week alone, since the supposed “cease fire”, over 270 children have been killed. So tell me, How should I react to this?
I spent the rest of the day wrestling with this question. The friend who was so passionately upset is indeed someone I consider a close friend. I have known her for many years. I respect her deeply. But like so many other things going on in the world now, it seems many are losing touch with reality. Who knows, maybe I am too. Maybe I am the one who is ignorant of something here. It’s getting harder and harder to tell.
A friend here on the island invited us to an art opening today. It was lovely. But as my mind was swimming in a sea of curious questions regarding whether or not war is ever justifiable I didn’t feel in the mood to talk. Instead, I played my hangdrum for the hornbill birds flying over an adjacent rice field. Some of the attendees were deeply moved my music. They asked me if I ever played for anyone, if I made a living from it. I thought about the birds, who were the ones truly responsible for the beauty that had just resounded. They were the ones who caused it to be. The Muse, as it were. I thought too about the children who have been killed recently in Gaza, and elsewhere.
“I have never played music for money, if that’s what you mean.” I replied. “But yes, I play for the children of the earth who seem to be increasingly forgotten. I play for the birds, the clouds and the Sun.”
Just then my wife ran up to me and told me a massive earthquake had ravaged Myanmar and neighboring Bangkok.
I began playing again.
…..
Question:
In what ways do you make beauty, for no other purpose than that of beauty itself?
#maypeaceprevailonearth
Tears. I understand. Completely.
And spirit consistently reminds us to have compassion for all sides. I often hear (sometimes scream) the question, how? There are just pieces that are more heart wrenching. Places that make us react bigger (children being killed - you, a people of suffering - her). I have to consistently remind myself that it is from our most hurting spaces, a deeper healing within and without unravels…
The process. It’s brutal. I commiserate alongside you…
And I also bring with me music ! I hear the reclamation of - The intrinsic value of art. I have been on a personal quest to re-enliven this in humans for decades. Dance is my vessel.
Keep playing your drum, please. For everyone. Forever.