Introvert, Unless You Are a Plant...
People are the Biggest Challenge
It’s hard to believe I have now been living in a Thai ecovillage for nearly ten years. How different this world is from where I grew up in Illinois where the only crop we ever saw was the genetically modified corns growing like slaves in once fertile fields that had rapidly seen countless eons of nutrient growth drained by industrial farming practices. The learning curve here has been steep. Of course the need to learn about the best ways to grow food organically, how to save seed properly, how to cook, to treat water, to manage cows and chickens, how to make products and how to sell them, etc is of great importance and I’d be exaggerating greatly were I to suggest I have mastered all these skills since moving here, but what I am most aware of now is that the greatest challenge of all is learning how to live intimately with many people. Community life is hard.
Our founder, Jon Jondai has become somewhat of a celebrity due to his wonderful approach to life, suggesting that contrary to the general experience had by many in this post-modern era of constant struggle that “life is easy”. I must say that I truly do aspire to attain the same zen inspired view P’ Jo holds, yet as I was indoctrinated long ago into a view far different than the one most who grow up in a Buddhist country carry, my default view alas, is one of scarcity, competition, and a rather curious hyper focus on the individual. Western education, though arguably not always consciously speaking directly to these ideals does so inadvertently in countless subtle and not-so-subtle ways, and how hard it is to break free from the shackles of views acquired in youth! I do not feel this way of life is easy. Meaningful, yes. Better for Gaia, no question. But easy? Far from it.
Having lived in Asia for the better part of 15 years I can confidently say that for the most part I do agree with the Easts approach to community, an approach that doesn’t value the needs of the individual over the needs of the whole and as a result it is much easier for people to live in proximity with many. This certainly had benefit when the need to keep each other safe during COVID was apparent. Yet, agreeing with something intellectually is far different than crystalizing a view to the point of real transformation. Yet although I may have lived amongst the Thai for sometime and have literally married into this place by having now physically built a home here and been greatly blessed with a beautiful Thai wife and an American-Thai daughter, I still struggle greatly to shed the American “need for space”.
At Pun Pun we share every meal together. There is only one kitchen, and many mouths to feed. Gone are the days of a slow, quiet and casual cooking morning, a few eggs, some toast, a cup of coffee leisurely sipped in silence. Now every meal must be a heroic production, making sure all the different tastes held by the myriad culturally conditioned preferences are met. You must learn to cook for sometimes upwards of 50 or more people at a time, and do so quickly while simultaneously answering the limitless questions coming at you at lightning speed from volunteers and workshop participants who oftentimes have rarely cooked for themselves before. I myself feel like no expert in the kitchen so I attempt to shield my ignorance somewhat and present instead a loose form of confidence as to hopefully suggest they too can try something new. Usually this works, but occasionally I simply become too flustered and I, very humanly, get angry and say things I later regret, confusing people and shaking my confidence further.
I had a friend from France visit the other day. She has no children, no community to tend to, no obligations that require all faculties. She is spontaneously traveling freely throughout Thailand joining various “heart opening circles” and dances with fellow travelers while her partner goes rock climbing and camps. I found myself daydreaming of earlier carefree times in my life as she joyfully shared with me her tales of life on the trail. I suppose it isn’t unique to be 40 and longing for a simpler time, when less was asked, but in this era where it seems everyone is trying to avoid growing up, to the point where, as a result, few real elders can be found amongst us, I wonder if it’s possible to build the communities we know deep in our hearts we need, the kind than can counter the madness of modernity’s hedonistic focus on the individual without losing our own self in the process. Is this a selfish desire? A product of the colonizers indoctrination? Likely. Yet I can’t help but think that there is a balance in here somewhere, an un-yet experienced avenue for cross pollination that might offer another path forward that might possibly inspire more to help build community, one’s that don’t require us to forfeit the benefits of personal intimacy, where we can recognize our needs to live more communally without denying the souls yearning for occasional silence, spontaneity, fresh perspective and wildness.
I can spend hours with plants. Days. Lifetimes. The songs of birds and the buzzing of bees provide me with boundless joy and strength. The soft kiss of gentle rain and morning mist. The hum of my heartbeat when no one is around. But when we must show up day in day out with the same people, meal after meal with all their curious opinions, sharing all their dramas, the same ones we have heard a thousand times before (and they too in turn have to put up with ours!), how do we remain not only patient but passionately, lovingly engaged? How do we maintain energy so that we can allow others to feel heard? This seems to be at the very core of not only the building of an eco-village, but the healing of society at large.
Though sometimes understandable, it seems a shame to me how many people are avoiding living in real community or pursuing a lasting partnership or parenthood or even a commitment to any real art form for fear of all these very real struggles. Yet I know that hidden deep within these struggles lies the real gold. I haven’t found it yet, and maybe it is best I (we) never do, for as my mentor Martin Prechtel often reminds me, it’s within the longing for what we love where God resides. I’ll keep showing up to the table.