Let no man call me a liar, for though I have taken my sweet time, I will finally introduce some bros that I mentioned previously. We’ll also be learning the fate of “Spring Breeze Hut,” which has seen surprisingly little play recently. That’s mostly because I’m just not spending much time in there at the moment. The hut itself isn’t in decline, but monastic culture in the hut has crumbled, and I’m assuming rodent culture is booming. Here are a few of the things that happened.
First of all, as the summer wound down and lazy days ran out, the hut saw an influx of visitors, eager to get in on the vibrant intellectual and artistic culture that had blossomed therein. Bao Tich was among the great patrons, although he doesn’t quite fall into this category because his presence was nothing new in the hut. He was coming by all the time, and contributed greatly to our salon discussions. Bao Tich is from India, and spent six years in the US doing finance in New York. Somehow he got roped into treasury work here, probably based on the (very inaccurate) assumption that financial analysis and reimbursing people for airline tickets are one and the same. It’s a high pressure position, as he’s responsible for our monthly stipend, but he seems to bear it with lightness.
He and I are developing a very necessary skill in our community: super-human endurance for listening to unintelligible conversations. This has come up a lot recently, as we’re both on the Care Taking Council, an elite task force that organizes a number mission critical responsibilities, like writing the schedule on the whiteboard and planning the next pizza party. As a part of our top secret training, our meetings take place almost exclusively in Vietnamese. And also because five out of seven total members are Vietnamese. I’m getting there, but I’m also learning some Vietnamese so it’s less confusing all the time. Bao Tich is proving himself more than capable of handling the challenge.
And let’s not forget that time that he sat with such concentration that a rainbow exploded out of his back:
In a more exotic appearance, Dai Dinh came by to hang out one afternoon. He lives down the hill at Son Ha Temple. He’s the kind of guy that reminds you that no matter how rugged your mustache, no matter how greasy you get changing the oil on your Prius, you’re always gonna be a cream puff compared to most of the world’s population. He grew up in Indonesia, where he practiced as a Sufi. He read a book from Thay about mindful walking, and put it into practice when he walked the 300km pilgrimage that is a part of the training in their tradition: no food, no water, no money, one set of traditional clothes, and it is forbidden to ask for assistance. It is only allowed to accept what is offered. You just walk and presumably pray, and people on the road support you. He met Thay when he went to Indonesia and scored a scholarship to come chill with us for five years in PV. He showed up with that same set of clothes and his passport, and that’s it. Like a boss. He’s about the only one in Upper Hamlet with rhythm, and as such is featured in every musical performance we’ve put together in the years since his arrival.
We also saw a bit more of Nam before the end of the summer. I’ve mentioned him before. He’s in line with two other guys hoping to become monks soon. I cooked with him over the summer, and working with him was like a breathe of fresh air. First of all, he knows which seasons of the Simpsons are best, and makes timely references to those episodes which alight upon the great peaks of American culture. He’s also a wild card in the kitchen, experimenting successfully and with a cockiness that really cracks me up. Not that I don’t have a sense of adventure, but I turned him down flat when he suggested that I add curry and cayenne to my garlic mashed potatoes.
He came by when things were degenerating a bit over in the hut. Evan was going to leave soon. The summer was over. I was getting ready to fast and had purchased, among other things, a couple bottles of sauerkraut juice. Desperate for some way to express our manliness, competition ensued, and cowboy faces followed quickly behind.
Once the boys left for Spain, I decided I needed to clean the hut up before Jacob and Jillian came to visit. The first stage was to haul all the trash out of the various nooks and crannies around, the second was to actually clean it up and rebuild the stairs, a task that my brother ended up having to do for me when he finally arrived. What else are big brothers for? Here’s a quick photo history of the whole affair. Here’s the before:
So once I get all my stuff out of there, it will be a whole new hut, ready for the adventures of someone new. Until then anyone who goes in is likely to get the impression that a permanent resident has just stepped out to use the bathroom. I also found an ancient tribal totem while I was cleaning, so I leave him out front to ward off evil spirits.I’m leaving him in charge around here until I get around to another post. Take care.