What good do words really bring? We constantly blabber on in
our lives as we justify, explain, relate, admire, and demonstrate. Our verbal
input makes us feel…. connected? But there is already this endless chatter in
our mind space; does the talk need to consume our lives as well?
I decided to take a
break from the words. A break from the need to be connected. And although I
love having company join me in my adventures, I did something for myself this
weekend. I went alone. Not to affirm that I can get it done solo style. I
already know I can. But to grace myself with the silence my body so dearly
needed.
Nong Khai is a quiet, tranquil town that borders Laos. The
muddy Mekong River flows between with the Friendship Bridge linking the two
countries. The Mutmee Guesthouse was the perfect accommodation tucked away for
my weekend of silence.
And let’s be honest, I wasn’t completely silent. On my
four-hour transport, on bus and mini-van, I had great conversations with Thais.
Regardless if I wanted to be bothered, I’m white, and that often entices the
locals to try out an exchange with the farang.
One older gentleman reached for my hand before he got off the bus and told me
Thailand loves America and America loves Thailand. One college student insisted
I sit next to her on the mini-bus and was just staring at me, smiling, the
whole way.
I wandered through the markets, snagging an American flag
hat for the 4th of July weekend, a pair of gypsy pants made in
Thailand with fabric from Indonesia, and some bracelets . . . because one can
never have enough bracelets. And here I was in this peaceful town, taking
whatever outlet looked interesting as I walked on. I wasn’t pointing out all
the amazing things I saw, I wasn’t verbalizing how sweaty I was, I wasn’t
clouding the air of Thai language with a farang
tongue. I was just, silently, taking it all in.
With no company at dinner, I mindfully ate my
food. Rather than shoveling in bites between stories, I was slowly enjoying my
meal and tasting all the ingredients. I thought about the farmer who picked the
tomatoes, the cook who made the sauce so perfectly acidic and juicy. I thought,
but I did not speak. And at the night market my solitary silence continued. I
communicated with the local Thai dancers by snapping their photos as they posed
for me. I joined an older couple, who interacted with me through grins, as we
watched the music performance. I was all there, but I did not waste my energy
on words. 
Before my friend, Jick, arrived to take me back to Khon
Kaen, I savored the silent moments with a riverside bike ride to the must-see
sculpture garden, Sala Keoku. Sala Keoku, built by a Laotian artist, was
created to honor the spiritual teachings of Buddhism and Hinduism. Upon entering the park, with it’s
awe-inspiring giant monuments, I was quickly distracted by a precious young
boy. We giggled and played, and after twenty minutes I brushed off the gravel,
and let him on his innocent way. It’s amazing how I can be in the presence of
such beautiful art, and yet be so much more captured by this little live-image
nugget.
I spent hours circling this garden. I’m not sure if it’s
because company didn’t distract me, but I just had this overwhelming sense that
nature was so intertwined with the art. It seemed that every sculpture was
paired with wildlife; whether that be a flower growing, a butterfly landing, a beehive
serving as a beard, or the fauna backdrop adding to the overall image. The
flower child in me was beaming. Beaming on that blessed of an overcast day that
allowed me to coolly stroll.
Overall, a perfect weekend where I reminded myself it’s ok
to get tired of words.
“It is only in an
atmosphere of quiet that true joy dare live.” –Bertrand Russell
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